Bastille Day was really something last Wednesday! The day began early for me. I love the morning light and quiet in Paris --- so I had gotten up early and thought to get up and read for awhile as the day began. A short while later I heard some noises and voices on the street. I stepped out onto our terrace to find the whole length of street had become the staging area for the most amazing variety of army tanks, representative of the French Army motorized troops.

Since World War I the parade has been held on the Champs-Élysées, the first occasion being the défilé de la Victoire (“Victory parade”) led by Marshals Joseph Joffre, Ferdinand Foch and Philippe Pétain on 14 July 1919. Maury and I spent a few hours roaming around where many of the troops were milling around and staging in full dress uniform, including 140 horses all dolled up, ready to lead the parade! Marching down that grand boulevard, with the magnificent Haussmann buildings on either side, it truly has to be one of the most beautiful settings for a parade in the world.

As we sat in a café with tourists having coffee and croissants, the whole scene unfolded. The nervous and excited military personnel --- this probably constitutes the largest military parade in the world, with every mounted, dismounted and motorized troops represented, including schools and academies. The crowds of thousands streaming by to get a view further up on the Champs Elysees --- the French show up to the parade 45 minutes before the parade walking as if they are taking a stroll in the park with no extra equipment --- I didn’t see a single folding chair, igloo filled with food, umbrella, blanket or any of the accouterments you see at the Rose Parade, much less blurry eyed people who had spent the night on the curb saving their spot; nobody stops for overpriced coffee and croissants as we did --- they already had breakfast at home and will probably go there for lunch after the parade; it was quiet, it was orderly; and the only document, I mean the only document that was being handed out by these lovely volunteers with a welcoming “bonjour” was a two page program listing the order of the parade participants. I didn’t see a single street vendor, a single flyer or a single advertisement. Ah, I said to myself, another example of it is “simply not done” in France.

Deciding to avoid the crowds we walked back to our apartment to watch the parade on T.V. and I’m glad we did. About 15 minutes into it, the sky opened up and there was an unexpected downpour. A friend who was there told me that there was absolutely nothing to do but stand there and get drenched. So they did. Meanwhile at Ave Marceau we were having a ball, especially when I realized it was directly in the flight path of all of the military aircraft in the parade. So I got an up close and personal view standing on my terrace. The parade ended with a helicopter fly past and the airdrop of 8 paratroopers, also, what felt like right outside my window. I must say, even for a peacenik like me, it was really impressive.

Later that evening, we went to a small and intimate jazz venue to listen to a Caribbean vocalist from Boston named Lyambiko. It was a great way to end the day with a drink and beautiful soul filled music. For all of the crowds, at this the biggest community gathering in Paris, we only really felt “crowded” on our way home from Jazz, at 12 midnight, when there was traffic after the finish of the fireworks. And the next morning, there were as many people on the Metro as usual, going to work.

A word about the food in Paris and the French who are "all" thin. Well first of all, they're not. Parisians come in all shapes and sizes. However, there is a certain percentage of the populous that does look the picture of French elegance that we equate with Paris. They’re thin, they’re natural, they’re sophisticated and clearly take a lot of pride in looking like that and spend a lot of time grooming that look. Lotions and potions to stay looking young is a huge industry there, as are spas.

The food is just one piece of the picture, but obviously a huge one. So while they are obsessively checking the scale to make sure it never deviates, they simply don’t have the same anxieties and issues around food that Americans do. Something I have learned, even the short time that I have been here, is that there is a world that exists out side of America that doesn’t have food issues because it simply is not a part of the culture. They eat everything, but in small portions, having never been exposed to the super size world of fast food and Costco; there is a cultural discipline about what they eat when --- coffee and croissant for breakfast; small salad or sandwich for lunch; appetizer, main plate and cheese or dessert for dinner with maybe one small roll and one glass of light wine. Most restaurants are only open from 12-2 for lunch and 8-10 for dinner, which is generally when everybody eats. And when you’re done, you’re DONE. The overall sense is that, except for little cups of espresso, they don’t snack in between meals.

I don’t think the word “binging” exists here, much less “dieting.” In fact, from what I can see, the whole weight loss industry (from weight loss programs to self help books, from health food supplements to exercise equipment informationals and every thing in-between) is practically non-existent here. One never feels judged, but I think the typical French person is truly stupefied by the obesity epidemic in America.

You seldom see anyone eating or drinking coffee or other beverages on the street; there are few to none sidewalk vendors or junk food; in the market and bakeries everything is portioned and packaged very small. For exercise they walk all day, and while they walk, they talk, they shop, they stop to chat with friends; and they take the Metro, which on an average day is going up and down several flights of stairs. They think of the gym, jogging and other extreme exercise as a form of torture, and besides, how do you stay looking well groomed all day if you need to spend hours at the gym sweating? And why would one need a personal trainer to motivate you to tell you to look good? You just do because why would anyone want to look bad?

I must say for me, it’s been a great blessing to experience this different perspective. It takes me back to a childhood in Los Angeles, where in my family we had the same cultural and social values around moderation in food that the French do. I can’t remember a single adult or kid for that matter, who was overweight, except for my “zaftig” Grandma Sophie, who by today’s standards would be considered average. Nobody went to the gym, they walked, or they went to Rancho Park, our local community park to play tennis and golf, while the kids kicked a ball around. Or they took a long walk on the beach or a hike in the mountains. Or they went for a sail and had a cocktail on board afterward.

It really makes you stop to think how so much access to so much excess over the last 30 years can have a very detrimental effect physically and emotionally on a society and culture. And how much time is spent judging ourselves, each other and our community around that focal point, rather than what brings joy and beauty and happiness into our lives.

Also something else I noticed here living in France is that when asked about what I do, and I say community education, they are puzzled by the word “community.”

One Tunisian-French woman we met through our English-French conversation group, who for years had been a translator at the U.N. and UNESCO said that it was a word that kept coming up in documents, but she never could really figure out what it meant. In America charitable giving has become completely integrated into the economy as a source of support for picking up the slack that the government doesn’t provide, and providing recognition of the power of individual citizens helping one another. This is especially true for religious organizations that are woven into the culture as providers for social support. I believe it to be an extraordinary conduit to the betterment of our society and to international global betterment as well.

In France they pay much higher taxes that go to social help, museums, universities, hospitals, etc. so in essence, citizens there do not feel a sense of personal responsibility to “give back” in that way, nor are they ever asked. Obviously, it creates a whole bureaucracy on who gets what and who is the individual government official or committee that is deciding that.

In comparison, I came home yesterday to a mountain of charitable requests, brochures, newsletters all geared to tug on your heartstrings and make giving a personal experience. I was thinking that it does make life, at moments, a lot more difficult and challenging. Rather than knowing your income is your own, there is a certain amount of pressure and guilt that you should be giving a portion of it back to society. But I certainly feel honored to take the challenge, and the depth and gratification it brings to me and my thinking of what it takes to build a sustainable society and to recognize the value of individualizing that experience.

It feels a little strange to be back at my desk at home after our seven week adventure. But I've got my scrapbook close by to share with friends and remind me where I've been; I've got my blog to continue connecting my thoughts from here to there; I've got my ultimate French Practice and Review book to keep my eye on the ball and my list of French singers whose CD's I want to order. So the adventure
continues!