I was told that …the English believe in queuing up; they apologise when you step on their toes; they are polite and reserved. The French, on the other hand, are rude and arrogant. They think their country is the best in the world. In fact, France would be fine if it wasn’t for the French. Oh, and, they eat a lot of garlic. And snails.

I wonder how many people, reading the above lines, will have thought: ‘but it is true!’
Part of my job is fighting stereotypes. (I don’t mean my job here; my real job.) In fact, I often have a harder time with the grown ups than with the kids. The grown ups’ prejudices are subtler, or expressed in a pretend humorous way, just like sexist jokes aimed at women who really can’t have a sense of humour if they don’t laugh heartily.
Only today in the space of an hour I heard: ‘Garlic sauce, how disgusting; that should be your type of thing.’ And ‘You won’t mind me being rude to you, being French you are used to rudeness, aren’t you.’ On a bad day, I choose to ignore those comments; on a good, vitamin-pumped day, I flare up, and flatten them with a few chosen words.

So, far from me the idea of perpetuating stereotypes; on the other hand, and I am aware that it is a fine line, I am fascinated with how different nationalities express their interest, enthusiasm, sadness or disappointment. When I moved to England I felt myself adapting to the ways of the place. When in San Francisco, the same thing happens; I tune in to the (fairly different) ways of greeting friends, expressing enthusiasm or gratitude, dealing with shop assistants and strangers on public transportation.

Yesterday instead of doing my work I read an interesting piece in The Times about how the Russians perceive western politeness. The whole thing is not available online, therefore here are a few morceaux choisis:

Russia wants no more complaints from tourists who have been to Moscow and complained of the lack of smiling enthusiasm on the part of their guides. As a result, border guards have been ordered to smile.
“There is outcry on the streets of Moscow: 'The insincerity of it', they gasp; I know they're faking; why would they like me? Why would their lying make me feel good?'
It seems that Russians shudder at the insincerity of what we call good manners.
All those grovelling pleases and thank yous and sorrys and smiles; the social niceties that ease our day disturb the Russian soul with their downright falseness. ‘Would you be kind enough to pass the salt, please?’ left [the journalist’s Russian husband] pacing the room in exasperation. ‘It's only the salt, for god's sake, what do you say if you want a real favour?’
As Alexander subsequently smiled his way through my parents' little Cotswold village, he complained that he felt like the village idiot. In Russia, compulsive smiling is a sign of craziness. He watched in amazement as we swallowed bland food in other people's houses and I murmured ‘mm, delicious’…[…] The first time I entertained my Russian mother in law she told me that my soup could do with more flavouring. 'What, do you want your guests to lie?' Alexander asked when I ranted about it later. And that's just what our smiling politeness is to Russians: a pack of lies. […] Similarly, if, translating literally from the English I riddled my Russian conversation with smiles and pleases, his friends used to think he was shacked up with a mad woman. I taught myself brutal honesty and a Russian shrug.”

I have nothing to add; I shall therefore retire to the quiet sanctity of my bedroom and try to ignore my belligerent upstairs neighbour's yells of martial delight. I take it England must have won the football match against some foreigners. Phew; the pride of a whole nation is now restored. How I'd miss the pretty little flags.


PS I'm pleased to report that I contained myself and did not disgrace the dentist's chair on Monday.