The French insist on following protocol. They won’t tell you what it is, but if you don’t follow it, you will find yourself being treated with some distinct reserve. Not contempt exactly, but not far from it.

For instance, I had visited Paris many times and felt I had at least mastered the proper greeting. “Bon Jour”, “Bon Soir” or “Merci” on leaving a shop. It was finally explained to me by a Dane that it is considered rude not to add the title, “Mademoiselle, Madame, or Monsieur”. Once I understood this it was easy to see. Say “Bon jour” to the older woman behind the counter and you will get a slightly frosty, “Bonjour, Monsieur”. Add “Madame” to the “Bon jour” and you get the same greeting as before, but this time with a smile and a friendly singing tone of voice.

In the bakery each morning, the young ladies in pink shirts are a little less formal, as young people often are everywhere. They will simply say “Bon Jour”, often as they are making change to the person in front of you. In this case the greeting is not the ordinary “Good morning” we might expect in the U.S. under the same circumstances. After several mornings of waiting for the question of “What would you like?”, I realized it wasn’t coming and that the “Bon jour” meant “Good morning. May I help you?”

So it is easy to guess that this mis-step on the greeting on both sides usually puts both parties in an uncooperative mood. No wonder the French often think the Americans are arrogant and that the Americans often think the French are rude. The French are formal. Follow their simple rules and they will treat you very well. Ignore these simple (but unspoken) rules and they will snub you.

The French can also be a little unusual at times. In the last week I’ve seen the following scenes.

A line of 6 or 7 buses, all dark blue, carrying military personnel. Not silly, but perhaps a little unusual.

A caravan of 15 firetrucks, with sirens going and lights flashing.

A caravan of 6 ambulances, also lit and noisy.

A deployment of 6 motorcycle policemen in white helmets and gloves, lights flashing, advancing down the Boulevard St. Germaine, indicating to the traffic, including me on a bicycle, to “slow down, monsieur”.

A large parade of Kurds, some veiled, marching with signs. At least 1000 people marching down the street, in pursuit of their education rights.

A group of about 50 people with a woman leading them who had a microphone and amplifier, speaking with passion and leading them from floor to floor at FNAC, the large electronics store. I only understood the following day when I found FNAC closed that they were on strike against FNAC.

The French seem to take these displays as normal, much as the sun might rise each morning or set each evening. They hardly seem to take notice.

The most startling event I’ve seen began in the Marais where there are many nice small shops and lots of people on the streets. As I was riding my bicycle down the street, and stopping from time to time to take a photo, I noticed a few motorcycle policemen coming toward me. They seemed to be asking the opposing traffic to pull over. Then there were a few young men on roller blades wearing yellow t-shirts that said “Police” on them. As I looked up the street, I found a wall of young people coming down the street 10 or 12 abreast, all on roller blades. This tidal wave was moving fast and seemed endless. I escaped in time to watch the leaders fly by, competing with each other to be in front. It was like watching a storm break to see these flying figures and the chaos involved. I watched for about ten minutes as several thousand passed. The proficiency of the skaters declined as the rear advanced. Finally the skaters were obvious beginners, tentative, stumbling, and falling, but laughing nonetheless.

So, meeting a young French woman under these circumstances may be hazardous as she rockets down the street, trips and collides with you. She will pick herself up and laugh it off, moving out fast to catch her friends.

Meet the same woman the following evening in a restaurant as she waits on your table, and she will expect your jacket, pants, and shoes to be suitable (no jeans), and unless you greet her with the correct “Bon soir, mademoiselle”, you will be entitled to a chilly evening indeed.