"Was Rome where we saw the big yellow dog?"

This MetaFilter thread concerning "ugly Americans" traveling abroad got me thinking about my own European encounters.

Before I arrived in Paris, I was fearful of the French. I bought into all the exagerations.

Everyone: "They're rude!"

Everyone: "They'll hate you."

Everyone: "They hate all Americans, you know."

Me: But I hate Americans. Does that matter?

Everyone: Be prepared.

So, I prepared for the worse yet only encountered one rude Parisian. He worked at Gare De Lyon. But I guess I can't really blame him. How many outgoing and considerate Americans do you know working at public transportation stations? What about your local post office?

As it turned out, I became some American's image of a rude French person.

I was in the Louvre giftshop reading a book by the counter when an fanny-pack clad, ugly American actually grabbed the book I was reading in order to show it to someone else.

When I silently, but snappishly, grabbed it back, the man said something like "Excuuuse me. Or rather, pardon moi."

I could almost see him telling his story when he got back home:

"You should have seen this French bitch..."

But my favorite, oft-told ugly American story takes place in a French restaurant on Rue de la Harpe.

We're sitting at our table and enjoying our dinner when an American couple sits down at the table directly behind my seat. They were an older couple, perhaps in their late fifties, early sixties.

The moment we saw them, we knew they were trouble.

They're were exactly the sort of American that we all exaggerate about -- the kind that you picture when you utter the phrase ugly American.

They shouted. They only spoke in English. They actually said gar�on.

David Sedaris says it best as he writes about the relationship between Americans traveling in Paris:

People are often frightened of Parisians, but an American in Paris will find no harsher critic than another American. France isn't even my country, but there I was, deciding that these people needed to be sent back home, preferably in chains. In disliking them, I was forced to recognize my own pretension, and that made me hate them even more.

Yes, we too, can be place in that pretentious lot. We hated that couple and wanted them to leave our restaurant and patronize the nearest McDonald's. This impression of disgust was formed way before they actually started to get extremely rude.

Ugly American man: Garcon! Could you get us some butter to go with this bread?

Waiter: Butter? (He knew how to handle this sort)

U.A.M: Yeah, some butter for my bread.

Waiter: Sorry. No.

We were half-embarrassed, half-delighted by the conversation. But the ugly American man just became incensed by the waiter's "incompetence." Then, he became the ugly American man who takes out his anger on his wife.

"Is this what French onion soup is supposed to taste like?"

"They call this steak medium rare? I should go back to the kitchen and teach that French "chef" how to cook a steak."

I swear that those were his exact words.

We're not perfect travelers. I know. We're the type, accustomed to living in California, that look around to see who is smoking when we smell the slightest hint of smoke. We had a tendency to eat earlier than the rest of the Europeans. We couldn't help it. And, no matter how hard we tried, we couldn't completely avoid dressing like Americans.

But at least we respect French cooking.

Comments

[Jeff Yarbrough]

I think that the French forget about World War 2. We saved there asses from the Germans!!! The French are lucky to have their own country and lanquage. They are blinded to the dangers of the world hiding behind the worlds might. (U.S.A) I wonder what will happen when they call for America to save they're old worn out country again?