By Sylvia Sabes

A happy dad—just don't ask his name!

“Hello,” I said with a bright smile. “I am M's mom. She is so thrilled your daughter invited her to the birthday party. She'll be very happy to join you. Oh, my name is Sylvia.” I rattled this off to the other mother in my nearly fluent French, my hand out, ready to shake.

“Oh, very well” was the rather dry response. The rejection hit me like a cold shower. Whatever had I done to offend this woman that she wouldn't even tell me her name? Our daughters were seven, went to school together and spent most of their afternoons at the playground with each other. The mom had a full-time job, so our paths rarely crossed. I could not for the life of me figure out what I had done wrong.

Such was my introduction to French society. This mother was an extreme example of traditional French manners, so extreme that she eventually pulled her daughter out of public school because it was just a bit too much for her. But the story stuck with me and taught me a very valuable lesson about French culture. Names here are a valuable commodity and not easily shared.

Understanding this helped me feel less ostracized from the neighborhood. When I met other moms at the park, and other parents who joined our coffee circle every morning at the café, I no longer took it as a snub if we did not exchange names. Eliminating the “Hi, my name is Sylvia” introduction put them at ease and let them know I was one of them. Eventually I'd learn their names. Or not.

When you ask for someone's name in French, you are actually asking for her last name. It is impossible for someone to think you are becoming too chummy. But if you've ever asked the name of a customer service agent in France, you know it is important information that is usually withheld. Even your doctor's secretary is unlikely to share her name.

I didn't understand why this was such an important part of the local culture until I met M. Parmentier. That's right—you probably know a dish named after his family. And a metro station. After our daughters had been friends and classmates for several years, he finally felt compelled to introduce himself. “Parmentier?” I queried. “As in the guy who convinced the French to eat potatoes?” I thought I was being clever and showing that I was not some hayseed Yankee. But I was quickly treated to a lesson in French military history. He explained that, actually, Parmentier had pioneered a system for extracting sugar from beets—which helped Napoleon win a war or two—and it was very frustrating for the family that everyone linked them to the lowly potato when their ancestor had really contributed so much more.

And then I got it. In France, when you give your name, you are often giving much, much more. You are revealing a piece of your family history. Mme Leroy . . . one of her husband's ancestors probably won an archery tournament in the Middle Ages, allowing his family to use the king's name for a year. Mme Leon . . . her family was from Leon, Spain, and was likely chased out during the Inquisition; they probably spent a century or two in Turkey before making it to France. That is a lot to know about someone you've just met. Which is why the French hold their names close to their chests. Oh, and Madame from the playground? I eventually learned that she has a princely name, probably worth guarding . . . de Saint-Exupéry.

You might also like:

By Doni Belau

Photo: Bonne Nuit Paris.

Last summer I tried out the concept of staying at a bed-and-breakfast in Paris. I found the experience a bit odd. I researched and secured a lovely apartment, beautifully decorated and around the corner from the Musée Picasso in the Marais, which is a perfect location. The proprietor was a very charming gay guy who had to move out in order to move me in. The whole apartment still smelled of his cologne. It seemed I was staying in his only bedroom. Maybe it was a way of making a few bucks (he moved across the street to his boyfriend’s house), but it seemed a bit unsettling to me. He was perfectly nice and brought me excellent croissants each morning, but the experience was not what I had expected. I had assumed (you know what they say about that) that I’d be staying in an extra bedroom. I’m not giving up, though—this is probably the cheapest way to stay in the city and has the potential to be a unique and charming experience that will allow you to really get to know a local. I recommend it for the adventurous and the friendly, not for those who feel privacy is paramount. Do ask a lot of questions before you book.

Here are a few other B and Bs I found that are worth sampling:

Paris Oasis, on rue André del Sarte, close to Sacré-Coeur, is 100–150 euros per night (depending on the room) for two. Prices are slightly more for more people, and there's a three-night minimum. It pays to have friends. This maison in the 18th Arrondissement (Montmartre) has an indoor pool and a lovely exterior garden. There are six bedrooms, some with kitchenettes, but no breakfast. Guess you’d call it a bed sans breakfast. Some rooms are better decorated than others, so be choosy.

La Villa Paris has been exquisitely designed in an art deco style, and the owner is very helpful. It might be interesting to discover this part of the 13th. We like the Concorde room.

Paris Chic Near the Champs in the 17th sits this lovely B and B for 140 euros a night for two. It's nicely decorated and situated in a Haussmann-style building, sporting a Jacuzzi tub with views of the rooftops of Paris. Your host is a musician.

B&B Folie Oberkampf is a cute guest apartment in the 11th (the owners have two other places for rent), run as a B and B starting at 85 euros per night. Now that’s a bargain—you’ll have your own apartment complete with a kitchen and living room. These owners like color, and you’ll have to walk up the stairs, but it’s the best deal in town short of a hostel.

Villa Clara is a luxurious B and B in the 9th for around 200 euros, but you’ll sleep in a mansion and receive a bottle of champagne. Not too shabby.

Nouvelle Athènes B and B is a great choice in the 9th, if you don’t mind climbing up to the fourth floor. The Chambre d’Hôtes St. Georges has been superbly decorated. Only 75 euros a night for two.

Commerce B and B in the 15th, from Meeting the French, is a sophisticated and charming place for only 169 euros for three, which works out to 56.33 euros per person. Now you can’t beat that price!

Bonne Nuit Paris will set you up in an ancient building in the Marais, on the wonderful rue Charlot. Rates for two start at 125 euros a night, with a breakfast of bread/croissants and homemade jam. Owned by a French man and an American woman; you’ll enjoy their hospitality.

Bateau Pytheas is a fun one—for 170 euros enjoy a weeknight stay on a boat in the 8th (360 euros for Friday and Saturday nights combined). Breakfast included.

Bateau Johanna is another boat, close to the Tuileries, with two rooms. Rate for two: 100 euros. Two-night minimum.

There are countless companies, so enjoy the search and let us know how you find B and B-ing in Paris.

BB Paris
Meeting the French
Fleurs de Soleil
Bed and Breakfast
GoodMorningParis

You might also like:

By Sheila Campbell

The signs are posted all over Paris: a wide-angle photo of an enormous brown cow. The annual International Agriculture Salon—where France celebrates its culinary heritage—closes this Sunday, March 7.

Here’s what you need to know if you spend the day at the Ag Salon: Go hungry. Everywhere you turn, someone’s offering a taste of artisanal cheese, creamy yogurt, new flavors of ice cream, foie gras, honey, olive oil, sausage, bread, wine, beer—just about anything made in France.

Two of the five enormous pavilions at Porte de Versailles are devoted to eating. At the Régions de France pavilion, you can feast on oysters from Brittany, aligot (mashed potatoes with tomme cheese) from the Auvergne, foie gras from Périgord and snails and beef from Burgundy. There are also temporary restaurants, each featuring the specialties of an agricultural area. Before you know it, your shopping bag is heavy with treats to take home.

The Régions de France pavilion also includes Madagascar, Martinique, Guadeloupe and the other overseas areas considered part of France. Spices from Africa and the Caribbean scent the stalls, and Calypso music plays under the crowd noise. Another entire pavilion is devoted to foods from other countries: Japan, Korea, Switzerland, Italy, Germany and many more. Overall, there are 38 restaurants to choose from, plus hundreds of booths selling artisanal products to eat, wear, supply your kitchen or delight your dog back home.

Enticing as all the eating is, for me the highlight of the salon was Pavilion 1, where all day long you can watch competitions for the most perfect specimens of different cow breeds. You might have to step aside as a handler walks his bull through the aisles. The deep clang of cowbells echoes through the hall. We wandered through row after row of stalls to pet the cows, sheep and rabbits. (No touching allowed for the new litters of piglets suckling their moms, and signs warn you that the donkeys bite.)

Outside, between the pavilions, my friend Donna Morris of Best Friend in Paris climbed into a huge green tractor and took it for a spin.

At the end of the day, we left well-fed and smiling, with just the lightest whiff of manure on our boots.

INFO

Hours: 9 a.m.–7 p.m. (Friday, March 5, until 11 p.m.)

Admission: 12 euros.

Metro: Porte de Versailles.

You might also like: