Whoopee! It's 'Rentrée' Time

In various kinds of shade, the 'Beer Station' near the Etoile.

August - Count Your Last Days!

Paris:- Monday, 28. August 2000:- The end of August is marked by the return of Parisians, rested and relaxed after enduring two days of traffic jams encountered on the long and short routes home from their holidays.

While they still have this momentum, they plunge into the Paris - and French - season known simply as the 'rentrée.' This involves putting all of France's kids back into schools.

As many readers who are fond of France know, this is a country devoted to endless social progress.

During the period of the 'rentrée' - lasting up to six weeks - parents will come to grips with new school hours, eliminated school days and 'requests' from teachers to impoverish themselves in order to buy school supplies.

This period also coincides with the tax collector's demand for the final 'third' installment of income taxes for 1999. After over-blowing the holiday budget, after getting all the 'not-on-sale' school supplies, many residents are finding that their taxes have increased too.

This is mainly their own fault. It is a direct result of increasing prosperity. But the three shots coming all at once, can be a little hard to bear.

On top of all this, gasoline prices have gone through the roof. The government is awash with cash from tax collections, and a big tax-reduction announcement is expected in the near future.

It better be soon and it better be big enough to count. Truckers, farmers and fishermen are nearing the end of their patience with the sky-high fuel prices. They are starting to grumble.

About the weather - Paris had its 48 hours of 'dog-days' and the temperatures have returned to normal. The air-conditioning that most of Paris does not have, is no longer necessary.

I have seen the guy around off and on for a long time. He usually wears a black top hat, jeans, a jean jacket and has very clean black shoes.

A lot of people wear jeans in Paris. Except for the top hat, he is not really unusual. He has another hat too, but I forget what kind it is. Clean black shoes are definitely rare.

He is tall and skinny and about 60 or 65, and his hair is kind of long and he has a pointy Van Dyke beard, going grey. He also has a piece of blue chiffon as a jaunty scarf. Most of the time when I see him, in a café or on the street, he has a small dog inside his jacket, with its head sticking out.

He was having a cola drink in the Bouquet last Saturday. I looked up when Madame called after him as he was going out the door. "Monsieur, you've forgotten your change!"

He glanced back from the street and told her to keep it until next time. It wasn't exactly 'change;' it was a fifty-franc note held in place on the bar by the cola bottle.

Madame asked Yannick 'what to do about it.' Yannick just shrugged.

I saw the guy get into a little Opel Corsa across the street, parked in front of the 'theatrical' book shop. I only realized he had a car the other day, when I saw him driving down the Rue Boulard. People who have cars in Paris, even if they are little, are not clochards.

He got out of the car and came back into the Bouquet. He had gone to get a cigarette. He seemed surprised that the fifty-franc note wasn't where he'd left it. "Where's my change? It's 17 from 50," he said.

A bit embarrassed, Madame put the sizeable tips-box on the bar, and made the change from it.

I thought, where the dog's head sticks out of his jacket, it could have a drink too if a dish of water - or beer! - was on the bar.

Monsieur Top-hat had lit his long American filter cigarette. "Are you an 'Auvergnate,'" he demanded. 'From Brittany,' Madame responded. After a few more questions, a few more puffs of smoke, a few more replies, he left the café again.

Outside the café he took the little dog out of his jacket with one hand and dropped it deftly on the sidewalk; keeping hold of its leash. The two of them then strolled all the way across to the other side of the Rue Boulard and got into the Corsa, and drove off in it together.

Readers seem to have evenly divided opinions about whether the Place du Tertre on Montmartre is a 'tourist hell' or not. Some said it is in summer, but not in winter. Others wrote to say they have found it enjoyable - and I presume they mean in winter too.

Others wrote to confirm what I suspected. You can stay in a hotel two blocks away from the Place du Tertre, on one of the nearby sloping streets of Montmartre, and be completely unaware of the 'hell' or 'paradise' just up the steps a bit.

This is yet more proof that Paris is what you make of it. It also is another indication that Paris is the sum of '100 villages' which are very close together.

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