Raped Carrots and Oven Instruction Manuals

Today I am staying near my apartment for two reasons: 1.) That's what I usually do anyway, and 2.) There is a city-wide transportation strike today. A strike, or protest, is called a Manif in French, short for manifestation. And they're everywhere - as Lisa said, it's a strike culture.

The work manif, cousin of course to our word manifest, has less of its roots in actual protest, as our word does. Rather, its roots mean, "To show clearly and plainly." I think there's something simple and poetic about that.

I have heard this said of the Parisians: That they are by and large a lazy group. They don't like "exercise," and prefer instead to smoke cigarettes and eat butter. But so much as look at them wrong, and they'll revolt. They will show clearly and plainly that they are displeased. I'm starting to see that there's some truth to this.

For example, in addition to the transportation manif today, there have been several manifs at the intersection just below my apartment. These are to protest the French treatment of Sans Papiers (literally, "Without papers," or illegals immigrants in our terms). My neighborhood is a huge immigrant neighborhood, thank God, which is why everywhere you go there's delicious couscous restaurants and amazing fabric.

But the French government is none too kind to sans papiers, just as ours in none to kind. (Hutto children's prison, anyone?) And apparently, not more than a couple of weeks ago, a Chinese woman was accosted by the immigrant enforcement in her apartment on Blvd. de la Villette (the street off of which my street runs) and in her fear, she threw herself out of the window and died.

So there have been several protests in that area now. Immigrant rights manifs tie in with the theme of the past two movies I've watched. The first, called "This is England," just came out in French theaters last week, and its amazing. Sort of recalls American History X in its intensity, content and incredible pre-teen acting. The other, "Dirty Pretty Things," is older, and just as good.

Interestingly, I am a sans papiers here, as I do not have and have not taken steps to obtain a visa. But for me, if worst comes to worst and I'm actually deported, which I probably won't be seeing as I'm white, then I will be deported to fair Austin, Texas. It's not as though I'm seeking asylum from anything.

The next proximate manif near our house is for my new favorite restaurant, the Rotisserie de Saint Marthe. Now, when I first saw the flyer for this manif, I thought perhaps that manif could also be short for manifesto, which could also be a sort of instruction manual, and that the flyer was really a set of instructions on how to keep your rotisserie oven working.

Not so, friends, not so. The Rotisserie Saint Marthe is a co-op restaurant near my house owned by several progressive associations, who take turns cooking on different evenings. The proceeds of each meal go to the respective association.

We ate there last sunday, and it was amazing. All of us crammed into a little space, eating homemade soup, couscous, and gingerbread. Talking to our tablemates. And the whole meal, everything included, was 8 euro. On top of that, the people were the first Parisians I'd seen in a group who weren't wearing all black and looking fashionably glum.

The associations are now facing eviction, as the owner wants to raise rents. Hence the upcoming manif, to protest their eviction.

Something of interest to note is that the tenant's rights here in Paris are unbelievable. As in Canada, it is illegal to evict any residential tenant during the six months of winter, as doing so would be tantamount to a death sentence (particularly in Canada). Even aside from that, the eviction process can take up to three years.

So the only control landlords really have is before the renter moves in, which actually makes it harder to find a place here than it might otherwise be. And in the case of the Rotisserie Sainte Marthe, tenants rights mean I'll have plenty of opportunities to eat there until the eviction occurs, if it ever does.

Hell, I might make it my first French manif.

As a quick interjection, in keeping with the theme of misunderstood linguistics, there is a street in Paris called the Quai de la Rapee. I thought it had something to do with violated citizens. So imagine my surprise when I came across some delicious carrots rapee. And I wondered, "raped carrots?"

No, friends, no. Rapee means shredded. The carrots were shredded. Although I still can't figure out why they're so delicious. I figured at first that they just don't rape a carrot in the States the way they do here. But now the mystery has returned.

So anyway, back to the present. Here I am, stranded for the day, which makes it a perfect day to pretend I might have gotten out of bed at 7am and spent the day photographing the metros in motion or something. But I can't, alas, because of the manif. I was made plain to me that I was to stay in bed until 11:30 am and then write all morning.

So I'm off to go running. It's my own personal protest against all the butter and cheese - see prior blog entry. And, well, viva la raza!