Did Paris take one massive Prozac?

I've been going to Paris off and on, more off by choice, since 1984. Each of my encounters has gotten progressively worse. Sure, I've found many areas of the city to be incredibly beautiful, the museums amazing, and the food pretty awesome. It was always the people who made each visit to Paris, whether as a turista or on business, more hideous than the next. They always managed to raise contempt and nastiness to the level of high art - the only nastier people I've dealt with are the customer-facing employees of the hideousness that is USAirways.

So it was with some serious trepidation that I boarded a flight to Paris last Tuesday. I had to go over for an NBTA-sponsored conference and was facilitating one of the sessions. I figured this was going to be three days of unpleasantness. Landing at Charles de Gaulle, which is the ugliest airport on the planet bar none, I was ready for the usual serving of contempt at Customs. Instead, I got a non-mechanical, dare I say sincere "Bon jour" and a smile as my passport was stamped. Hmm...so as I was on the Air France bus into the city, I started to think about how I would play this. I decided before rolling out the English, I'd roll out the Spanish, indicating that it was possible for Americans to speak more than just anglais. So when I checked into my character-less convention-serving hotel just off the Champs-Elysees, I broke into Spanish. Turns out the front desk agent was from Spain and we were off the races. Upgraded to Club Level and given a room with a wicked view of the Eifel Tower.
The tree-lined street below the Eifel Tower going to the left is the Champs-Elysees

After a shower to get rid of the infamous Boeing Funk, met up with a couple of colleagues and we marched down the Champs-Elysees to the Arc d'Triomphe, which was about a mile from the hotel. Along the way, stopped at a patissiere where I bought a bacon quiche and an eclair which defied description. And again, as I tried to order in what little French one of my colleagues had tutored me on, the lady at the patissiere could not have been more, and here it is, pleasant. At this point, my head is exploding.

This pretty much characterized my experiences with Parisiens for the rest of the stay. The waiters at the various restaurants we ate at were friendly, as we worked three languages - French, Spanish and English. Had some great meals - went to one place where we grilled our own meats tableside:

Had time to get to Poilane, an amazing bread bakery. I brought home a sourdough that was the size of a spare tire. I'm not kidding. Here's a view of the street where Poilane is located:

Had an amazing meal Friday night at a place called Georges. Had to have the Duck a l'orange. Suffice to say I was not disappointed:

This duck was perfection. Cooked rare but with the skin crispy but not greasy. And the celery puree underneath was really subtle. One thing I didn't get was a picture of my appetizer on Thursday night - bone marrow on toast. Plate full of three bones, brimming with marrow and a spoon for getting to the amazingly tasty marrow. It was a carnivorous heaven.

I could not believe what I'd found this time around in Paris. As I ran one morning down the Champs-Eylsees to the Arc d'Triomphe, I got the occasional wave from people on the sidewalks. People seemed actually pleasant, although I do not recommend crossing the Champs-Elysees. Remember the scene from "Dodgeball" when Patches takes the team out to dodge traffic ("If you can dodge traffic, you can dodge a ball!") and it doesn't go so well for Gordon, well, that's what it's like crossing the Champs, even at 630AM. On my last run Saturday morning before getting on the plane, I wondered what had happened. Had massive amounts of Prozac been injected into the water system of Paris? Had the French President Nicolas Sarkozy's affinity for America rubbed off?

I don't care what it was or is. All I know is that this was a good trip. I'm even tempted to come back a time or two now. Who knew?!