Short Finals

I have had the pleasure now of attending several Paris air shows and indeed of having visited France on a number of occasions for both business and pleasure. The longer I am there though, the more it becomes a major effort to establish just why the French, and particulary those in Paris, seem to hold the rest of the world in such contempt.

Certainly the Paris Salon leaves many of its participants cold.

To fight against the bi-annual forces of gallic bureaucracy is an assignment that must surely flatten the spirit of even the most enthusiastic chalet organiser. So what’s the problem?

Primarily the French simply refuse to acknowledge that there is any other language on this planet other than their own. As English is the international language of aviation and is now even THE common link language spoken between people of different nationalities, you would think that somewhere along the line the penny would have dropped in ‘gay Paree’. Not so. This may seem a petty comment; but how do you exercise crowd control when you can’t communicate with the crowd? How do you exercise security at the entrance gates when nobody (except the French and some Europeans) can communicate with those trying to gain admission?

All this goes further than sheer patriotism and as inevitably every entrance gate, every security checkpoint, indeed everywhere where there is some form of marshalling becomes a scene of Keystone Cops-style mayhem, you really wonder why they can’t be a little more flexible in their thinking.

A classic instance of this obstinacy occurred during a press conference hosted by the USSR. The scene is a crowded press centre with about one hundred journalists in attendance. The senior representative from Tupolev is here to tell us about his latest aircraft developments and you have heard that there may be some very interesting news released regarding future Soviet propfans. Unfortunately, the Soviet spokesman only spoke Russian so a French interpreter was provided. After about ten minutes, with the interpreter relaying the Russian’s message in French, an official stepped in an asked if the audience would perhaps prefer the interpretation in English as it was by this stage obvious that a bare handful of the audience had any idea of what was being said. An almost unanimous sea of hands indicated to all and sundry that English was preferred. So what happens? The translation continues in French. Needless to say there was much angry hooting from the totally frustrated audience, most of whom promptly left for more productive quarters.

This is not unusual though, this mentality confronts you at every turn. Even the participating nations are bannered in Gallic. Australia becomes Australie while Great Britain emerges as Grande Bretagne. Sacred Blue!

Nor does this attitude dwell only with the lower-ranking petty bureaucrats who are ordinarily responsible for such actions. Press Day is a total waste of time as the Show is closed to all but the official Presidential party till 1 pm. This then wastes an entire day for the thousands of people who have travelled the world to report on aviation’s biggest event. At least this year President Mitterand did consent to spend a few moments viewing the major displays of nations other than his own. In previous years the official entourage would speed through the voluminous display halls from one French exhibit to the next, deliberately ignoring the efforts of their fellow Europeans, the USA and the Soviets. Following widespread criticism of this policy of abstinence, the French authorities relented this year and wisely decided to pay their guests the simple courtesy of at least acknowledging their contribution to an event that certainly serves to boost France’s economic fortunes.

Another Ripping Yarn is how every MP and VIP gets a police motorcycle escort. Picture this -you have a four-lane highway, traffic is progressing slowly in the inevitable crash that is unfortunately nowadays part and parcel of all major cities and along comes your local MP, out to get his cut lunch or perhaps visit Cherie, complete with police escort. What happens is that the police ride shotgun in front of the VIP’s car, blowing schoolboy whistles and thumping with heavily gloved fists on any car fenders that don’t move clear quick enough. The first time I witnessed this I thought I must be in the Gabon, Libreville or some other itinerant third world kindergarten. Ironically, ambulances and the like have to fight their way through sans an escort; but that’s life. Can you imagine that sort of thing happening in Australia?

I might also add that these escorted Super Hoons also speed down the narrow and congested alleyways of the show area causing grievous bodily harm to anyone who is unfortunate enough to be in the way. Richmond next year may not have the pizazz of the Champs Elysee but certainly, it will be a lot more civilised and friendly. I can hardly wait.