Ironic tonic: Restoring the French to their native state of joie

A few years ago, my wife took me on a trip to Paris, France, otherwise known as “The Paris of France.”

This being my first trip to Europe, and as I speak only a variation on a subgroup of a dialect of southern Appalachian American English, I understandably had some slight anxiety about communicating effectively with the natives.

My concern was for naught.

As regards moi (say “mwha”), I soon learned that I’m in honest possession of a certain quality the French call  “Je ne sais pas” (say ge-neh-say-pah). I’d never have predicted this, but evidently I’m just naturally rife with whatever mojo that expression carries.  And, if I do point it out myself, I believe I discovered the cure for the French peoples’ notoriously dour disposition.

Initially, I found priding myself on my cross-cultural skills made the visit interesting and fun, not only for me, but for those whom I met as well. Smiling, the girl behind the counter at the bakery noted my “constamment confondu,” proof a-plenty, I believe, of my adroitness at connecting with my new friends right across the language barrier.

We were staying in the heart of Paris, on Île Saint-Louis (say “eel san lou-ee”), one of two natural islands of the Seine (say “Sehn”) in Paris, handy to many of the city’s major attractions.

For example, Catherdral Notre Dame (say "no-trah dahm"), birthplace of the legendary French prophet Notredamus, was just a short walk.

Île Saint-Louis is named after King Louis IX of France, aka Saint Louis, the only canonized king of France. Mostly residential, the island also features several cafes and shops as well as a large church. Connected by bridges to both banks of the river, Île Saint-Louis has narrow one-way streets, two bus stops and no metro stations. It is said that some residents of Île Saint-Louis rarely, if ever, leave the island. There is a bakery and a butcher shop, a couple of bars and small general markets, a drug store and more in this little ultra-urban world.

But like the French as a whole, many of the everyday people I encountered on the Île appeared dour, downright unhappy. Depressed. Despite my natural social gifts, at times, my efforts to relate to my hosts were met with, frankly, a less-than friendly attitude. Maurice at the butcher shop, for example, was short and surly with me on several encounters, despite my considerable cross-cultural acumen.

On the river, long, low barges plied the waters in both directions, along with dinner cruise boats and whatnot. Lots of whatnot.

In the distance loomed the Eiffel Tower (say "la tour F-L"), ironically the most famous symbol of Paris. I say, "ironically" because I've come to believe la tour is the curse that plagues the mood of many French folk.

La tour was erected in 1889, after which for 41 years it reigned, at 324 meters (1,063 ft), as the world's tallest man-made structure. Built as a centerpiece for the 1889 World's Fair, La Tour F-L was not without quite apoplectic detractors from the start, who warned of the dire consequences that were sure to accompany la tour's erection. A broad swath of the Paris art establishment endorsed a petition sent to Charles Alphand, the Minister of Works and Commissioner for the Exposition, and published in the leading daily newspaper:

"We, writers, painters, sculptors, architects and passionate devotees of the hitherto untouched beauty of Paris, protest with all our strength, with all our indignation in the name of slighted French taste, against the erection…of this useless and monstrous Eiffel Tower … To bring our arguments home, imagine for a moment a giddy, ridiculous tower dominating Paris like a gigantic black smokestack, crushing under its barbaric bulk Notre Dame, the Tour Saint-Jacques, the Louvre, the Dome of les Invalides, the Arc de Triomphe, all of our humiliated monuments will disappear in this ghastly dream. And for twenty years…we shall see stretching like a blot of ink the hateful shadow of the hateful column of bolted sheet metal"

Some 120 years later when I visited the base of La Tour F-L, I declined to pay an entry fee to go up in la tour, out of deference to these writers and artists.  Around seven million people from around the world do choose to pay the fee each year, making la tour the most visited paid attraction on earth. That's those folks' choice, but it's clear to me that the bad attitude that generally afflicts the French people results from the presence of this tour. 

Those writers and artists who railed against La Tour F-L knew what a ghastly nightmare was threatening, and that's when they thought it had only a 20-year lifespan, before it became the evidently permanent curse into which it has been transformed.

I feel certain these artists were correct about the dread effects of la tour and I advocate for removal of La Tour F-L as just the tonic the French need, one that would restore them as a people to their native state of joie.

It's evident to me that my friend Maurice from the butcher shop on Île Saint-Louis and millions of others like him would enjoy a brighter frame of mind if only France would realize its mistake and take down that ill-conceived tour.