Latest news with #ChampdeMars
The Guardian
2 days ago
- The Guardian
Take it from a former Parisian waitress: there are ways to avoid the unofficial ‘tourist tax' in cafes and bars
When an investigation into the tricks of Parisian waiters found that foreign tourists were being ripped off, all I could think was, 'Quelle surprise!' Anyone who has stared in shock at a bill for a citron pressé and an espresso near the Boulevard St Germain – as I did on one of my recent visits – will no doubt join me in a feeling of vindication. Undercover journalists for Le Parisien, posing as cafe punters around the Champ de Mars, have discovered that foreign tourists are being charged as much as 50% more than French customers, using a variety of tricks including only offering bottled water or more expensive drinks, being told service isn't included when it is, and swapping the wine ordered for the cheapest on the menu. As a former waitress in the French capital, I'm someone who has been on both sides of this conflict. Before I left home, at 18, to move there, my mother warned me of the 'tourist tax', having visited with my father in the mid-1980s and noted the suspicious fiver that seemed to appear on all their bills. As a result, I was slightly on guard whenever I was en terrasse, always making sure to ask for tap water and quibbling anything that didn't look right. Then I became a waitress myself. Despite dodgy French and a lack of experience, for some reason a small crêperie on the Left Bank hired me (actually, I know why: I agreed to go on a date with one of its former chefs). Working there was a baptism of fire, as I discovered the minute a table of French people ordered a perroquet, a kir and a menthe a l'eau. What were these strange, exotic drinks, and how the hell did I make them? The French customers were exacting in their requirements. The tourists, meanwhile, especially the Americans, were charmed by the quaintness and novelty of the place, friendly but slightly unnerved by the brisk, perfunctory service, and easily impressed and influenced. (This difference is borne out by recent TripAdvisor reviews – appalling on the French website, glowing on the English.) I never ripped off tourists. In fact, they used to greet me with relief because I not only spoke English but, being aware of the longstanding reputation for rudeness on the part of Parisian serving staff, would work hard to charm them – with one eye on the tip tray, naturally (French customers never tipped). What I did do, though, was a lot of upselling. 'Ordering two cups of Breton cider? Why not have the bottle?' – that sort of thing, which is par for the course in hospitality. I did, however, know waiting staff who had less honest tactics. And then, 10 years ago, a group of us diners were subject to an outrageous scam at a Left Bank brasserie. Enticed into a place on the promise of a deal on a cheap charcuterie board, much merriment was had until the bill came, whereupon we discovered that the board had trebled in price and we were being charged for a far more expensive bottle of picpoul than the one we had ordered. My quibble with the bill quickly descended into an argument with the waiter, who flatly denied that we had ever been promised the deal, saying, in possibly the most French manner possible: 'In Paris, you would pay more for oeufs mayonnaise.' This has since become a catchphrase in our house whenever the cost of anything is brought up. (Our other family catchphrase, done in an 'Allo 'Allo! accent, is deployed when we are eating parsnips, in honour of the ex-boyfriend who came for Sunday lunch: 'In France, we feed zees to the pigs!') Look, I love France and the French. I have French family and friends, and part of my heart will always be living in Paris, 18, chain-smoking at the bar with a book in my hand (the best thing about being a waitress in France is being allowed to read and not being told to smile). Ripping off tourists, however, is never on, even in this era of Instagram travel and overtourism. I'm not averse to a tourist tax, provided it's a legal one. My advice for not getting ripped off in Paris is as follows: avoid places with touts outside; say bonjour when you walk in, and please and thank you when ordering. Learn the French for tap water. Be aware that bread should be free. Look around you to observe the size of the drinks the locals are having, and if necessary point to them when ordering. If you're offered a side or a different type of wine, ask how much it is. Read the bill when it arrives and don't be afraid to question it. Ask if service is included or not and check the amount on the card machine before you pay. And – the ouefs mayonnaise rule – if an offer looks too good to be true, then it probably is. Rhiannon Lucy Cosslett is a Guardian columnist
The Guardian
2 days ago
- The Guardian
Take it from a former Parisian waitress: there are ways to avoid the unofficial ‘tourist tax' in cafes and bars
When an investigation into the tricks of Parisian waiters found that foreign tourists were being ripped off, all I could think was, 'Quelle surprise!' Anyone who has stared in shock at a bill for a citron pressé and an espresso near the Boulevard St Germain – as I did on one of my recent visits – will no doubt join me in a feeling of vindication. Undercover journalists for Le Parisien, posing as cafe punters around the Champ de Mars, have discovered that foreign tourists are being charged as much as 50% more than French customers, using a variety of tricks including only offering bottled water or more expensive drinks, being told service isn't included when it is, and swapping the wine ordered for the cheapest on the menu. As a former waitress in the French capital, I'm someone who has been on both sides of this conflict. Before I left home, at 18, to move there, my mother warned me of the 'tourist tax', having visited with my father in the mid-1980s and noted the suspicious fiver that seemed to appear on all their bills. As a result, I was slightly on guard whenever I was en terrasse, always making sure to ask for tap water and quibbling anything that didn't look right. Then I became a waitress myself. Despite dodgy French and a lack of experience, for some reason a small crêperie on the Left Bank hired me (actually, I know why: I agreed to go on a date with one of its former chefs). Working there was a baptism of fire, as I discovered the minute a table of French people ordered a perroquet, a kir and a menthe a l'eau. What were these strange, exotic drinks, and how the hell did I make them? The French customers were exacting in their requirements. The tourists, meanwhile, especially the Americans, were charmed by the quaintness and novelty of the place, friendly but slightly unnerved by the brisk, perfunctory service, and easily impressed and influenced. (This difference is borne out by recent TripAdvisor reviews – appalling on the French website, glowing on the English.) I never ripped off tourists. In fact, they used to greet me with relief because I not only spoke English but, being aware of the longstanding reputation for rudeness on the part of Parisian serving staff, would work hard to charm them – with one eye on the tip tray, naturally (French customers never tipped). What I did do, though, was a lot of upselling. 'Ordering two cups of Breton cider? Why not have the bottle?' – that sort of thing, which is par for the course in hospitality. I did, however, know waiting staff who had less honest tactics. And then, 10 years ago, a group of us diners were subject to an outrageous scam at a Left Bank brasserie. Enticed into a place on the promise of a deal on a cheap charcuterie board, much merriment was had until the bill came, whereupon we discovered that the board had trebled in price and we were being charged for a far more expensive bottle of picpoul than the one we had ordered. My quibble with the bill quickly descended into an argument with the waiter, who flatly denied that we had ever been promised the deal, saying, in possibly the most French manner possible: 'In Paris, you would pay more for oeufs mayonnaise.' This has since become a catchphrase in our house whenever the cost of anything is brought up. (Our other family catchphrase, done in an 'Allo 'Allo! accent, is deployed when we are eating parsnips, in honour of the ex-boyfriend who came for Sunday lunch: 'In France, we feed zees to the pigs!') Look, I love France and the French. I have French family and friends, and part of my heart will always be living in Paris, 18, chain-smoking at the bar with a book in my hand (the best thing about being a waitress in France is being allowed to read and not being told to smile). Ripping off tourists, however, is never on, even in this era of Instagram travel and overtourism. I'm not averse to a tourist tax, provided it's a legal one. My advice for not getting ripped off in Paris is as follows: avoid places with touts outside; say bonjour when you walk in, and please and thank you when ordering. Learn the French for tap water. Be aware that bread should be free. Look around you to observe the size of the drinks the locals are having, and if necessary point to them when ordering. If you're offered a side or a different type of wine, ask how much it is. Read the bill when it arrives and don't be afraid to question it. Ask if service is included or not and check the amount on the card machine before you pay. And – the ouefs mayonnaise rule – if an offer looks too good to be true, then it probably is. Rhiannon Lucy Cosslett is a Guardian columnist
LeMonde
2 days ago
- Sport
- LeMonde
Paris 2024 volunteers recall the thrill of being part of history 'from the inside'
If you thought that being a volunteer for the Paris 2024 Games ended with the Paralympic closing ceremony on September 8, think again. "It stays with us for the rest of our lives," said Amandine Guillaume, 36, a team member assisting athletes in judo and wrestling, who has carefully kept her volunteer gear. One year later, it is impossible not to notice an Olympic-ring-branded bag in a supermarket, a dark blue and turquoise striped shirt on a running trail or a colorful bucket hat on the beach. In the streets of the capital, in Bordeaux, Lille and even outside France, volunteers are instantly recognizable. "– Which division? – Champ de Mars, logistics team." Much like war veterans, volunteers greet each other with a nod or a smile. On their chests, a collection of pins bears witness to their service: "Field hockey, Australia vs. South Africa, I was there." This protocol flair is not just for show. The event left a lasting impression on these unsung heroes at the heart of the action. "It felt like we were living sports history from the inside. The atmosphere was incredible," said Guillaume. As a physical education teacher, she especially recalled a long conversation with the father of judoka Teddy Riner, who was anxious before his son's individual final. The discreet yet joyful presence of these 45,000 volunteers – one third of whom are members of sports clubs – quickly made them favorites among the public and athletes alike. "A year after the Olympics, I really want to thank the volunteers. They took such good care of us," said Riner, a five-time Olympic judo gold medalist. Stationed at competition venues, the athletes' village, media center, training sites and even at train stations and airports, volunteers played an essential role in the event's success. A giant picnic at La Villette Just like the athletes, some volunteers felt a letdown once the flame was extinguished. "We call it JO-stalgia [a pun on 'nostalgia' and 'JO,' the initials in French for the Olympic Games]," said Amandine Guillaume, who hopes to volunteer again "for Los Angeles [in 2028] or even sooner, for the Winter Games [in Milan-Cortina in 2026]." To fill the void left by Paris 2024 and to keep the magic alive, some volunteers even formed associations. Anne Barthaux, who worked in protocol at Roissy airport during the Olympics and then as a press team leader at the Stade de France during the Paralympics, helped develop a volunteer group in Bordeaux. "Every month, we get together. We talk about the Games, we go out to restaurants in our uniforms and little by little, real friendships are formed." A similar energy inspired Katy Grignon, 52, a sales professional in the food industry, who helped create the Paris 2024 Volunteers Association. "Today, we've completed 60 volunteer missions. In March, for example, I worked at the French boxing championships!" Positive momentum for sport This positive momentum benefits sports in France, whose model relies heavily on volunteering, a resource that has been declining for several years. "I continued volunteering, even in sports, which wasn't my area before," said Yvette Gilbert, 70, a former media library director. To celebrate the first anniversary of the Paris Games, nearly 400 volunteers planned to gather "wearing their uniform" on Saturday, July 26, at La Villette for a giant picnic. "I'm bringing pins to trade, just like in the good old days," said Thierry Goulet on the Facebook group Volontaires Paris 2024. This is a way to keep the Olympic spirit alive, but also to continue wearing the outfits designed by sporting goods manufacturer Decathlon as part of its partnership with Paris 2024. "The pants are practical and they make my students smile during PE class, so I still wear them regularly," said Guillaume, who gave the rest of her kit to her daughters. The Paris 2024 flame looks set to shine on for a long time to come.
