Bonjour!

By TAD BARTIMUS

CANAL DU MIDI, France -- It's high summer in France: bikinis blossom on the beach at St. Tropez and lovers stroll in lingering twilight beneath the Eiffel Tower.

The only things missing from these postcard-perfect scenes are Americans.
Still fuming over French President Jacques Chirac's active opposition to the war in Iraq, Americans are taking out their ire by staying home or vacationing elsewhere. If there was ever a year when you don't have to worry about bumping into your cousin from Cleveland, this is it.

"I doubt I'll ever set foot in France again," a hawkish friend from Kansas e-mailed me. "I keep a framed picture on my office wall of my two great-uncles who died in France during World War I. We went over there twice and bailed the French out, and how do they return the favor? By refusing to help us. Forget the French. I'm done with 'em."

Other friends who are veterans echoed the same sentiment.

"France? You couldn't pay me to go there!" snorted one.

Well, somebody did pay me to go to France, and so here I am, conducting a writing workshop arranged by Americans, for Americans, on a canal barge owned by a woman raised in America. As we cruise between Bordeaux and Provence we practically have the canal to ourselves. Barge trip bookings are off as much as 70 percent and fancy restaurants catering to American tourists are empty. The question on every merchant's lips is no longer "Where are they?" but "Will they ever come back?"

At least one of them did, when the No. 1 Yank recently dropped in for a short visit. President George W. Bush was in Evian for the G-8 summit of industrialized nations, but he landed and slept over the border in Switzerland. His refusal to meet one-on-one with Chirac and their frosty photo op did nothing to diffuse Americans' anger at France for refusing to join U.S., British and other coalition forces in toppling Saddam Hussein.

The fallout from this diplomatic quarrel with our oldest ally, who gave us Lafayette and the Statue of Liberty, is causing economic pain in the country now disdainfully dismissed as part of "Old Europe" by Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld. Right-wing cable TV pundits have made France their favorite whipping boy and media-savvy Congressmen got lots of prime-time exposure by renaming French fries "Freedom fries" and dumping good French wine down the sink for the cameras. All things French are fair game in this boycotting frenzy.

Such economic protest by their best-spending tourists is hurting the pocketbooks of bakers in Normandy, designers in Paris and three-star chefs in Provence.

"All our eggs are in the American basket and now Bush and Chirac have made an omelet out of them," said a French canal pilot.

While I sipped a smooth Bordeaux and ate aged camembert on a fresh baguette, a half-dozen crew members of various European nationalities lamented their lack of work.

"Our bookings are down 70 percent this season," said one barge owner, a British citizen who asked that her name not be disclosed "because I don't want to get any hate mail from American fanatics who think George Bush walks on water."

A marketing expert who works for a Burgundy vintner estimates her company's overseas sales are off by at least 15 percent, and will drop further "because people in America aren't buying French wine." She said it wasn't just the U.S. boycott that's affecting her business.

"Giant airlines are going broke so they've quit buying our wines, and we aren't being carried in the duty free shops anymore because nobody's flying because of fears about terrorism and SARS. It's a mess; we just hope we can ride it out."
Compounding their tourism woes is the fall of the dollar against the European Union currency. Currently trading near $1.20, there are conflicting reports about whether or not the Bush administration hopes a weak dollar will make American products more attractive overseas.

Despite the weak dollar, there are bargains galore in France as hoteliers and tour brokers try to salvage expenses. Properties owned by Americans counting on their countrymen as clients are all negotiable: a week at a four-bedroom villa with a pool in Bordeaux is half the high season rate at $1,000, while a studio apartment in the heart of Paris is a steal at $700 a week.

As hotel and entertainment venues try to woo at least die-hard Francophiles back with fire sale prices, even the government -- increasingly feeling the ire of its citizens for Chirac's arrogance and insults toward the Bush administration -- is officially encouraging the unthinkable towards visitors. It's urging the French to say "BONJOUR!" with a smile.

© 2003 The Women Syndicate

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