T H E C L I N T O N C R I S I S Have you Yanks gone crazy? By Jurek Martin A British Journalist decries the media-whipped frenzy over President Clinton's private life (01/28/98) A full list of articles - - - - - - - - - - T A B L E_T A L K Explore California's Highway 1 with Wanderlust readers in Table Talk R E C E N T L Y Passages By Ralph McCarthy Four views of the expat's life in Japan (01/28/98) Paradise found By Tracy Johnston An unspoiled oasis in the Egyptian desert (01/27/98) Neglected Classics By Pete Hamill Erico Verissimo's extraordinary "Mexico" deserves to be republished (01/26/98) Mondo Weirdo By Tim Wall Bad trip: The pilots locked themselves out of the cockpit! (01/23/98) Passages By Christopher Hunt Waiting for Fidel (01/22/98) - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Your virtual travel agency - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Browse the Passages archives		America, grow up!+| page 2 of 2 A few days later, as I sped home to Paris on the TGV high-speed train from Milan, I made my way to the bar car through a forest of fluttering Le Mondes, Le Figaros and Libérations, each overflowing with the latest on what the French are calling "Water Braguette" -- the Waterpanty Affair. Snowy mountains glowed beyond the windows. A pair of Frenchmen stood at the bar car's counter, wolfing mozzarella and tomato salads. "The food coming back to Paris from Italy is always better," said one. "Yes, Alain, I hate to admit it," agreed the other, "but it's true." An Italian woman propped nearby laughed and nudged her partner. "Did you hear that -- Frenchmen admitting that our food is better than theirs! I never thought I'd live to see the day!" "We love your food," purred Alain, the Frenchman, in heavily accented Italian. "We love many things Italian, and have much in common with you." "Like what?" said the woman, startled that a Frenchman could eavesdrop on a conversation in Italian. "Well," clucked Alain, "we are Europeans, we are not American!" He tapped his newspaper, wrinkling the wire photo of a grinning Monica Lewinsky. "Absurde! Ridicule! May we offer you coffee? We certainly won't tell your husbands ..." Egad, I thought, I had better return to my seat. Fortress Europe is pulling up the drawbridge. In Paris the following morning I found ice rimming the babbling gutters. Bundled locals chugged under clouds of steam. The winter sun struggled to top the tin-and-tile roofs. I threaded my way to a cafe near the Saint Paul metro. Smoke curled from a dozen brands of cigarette -- half of them American. I sipped a grand crème and munched on a croissant. Mixed in among the pastries in a basket on the bar's counter were several Double Pecan Brownies. Despite the cigs and gooey snacks, this was clearly not America. And judging by the newspapers in the cafe, and the expressions of disgust that met my innocent queries, Waterpanty was having a deleterious effect on Franco-American relations. Apparently here, as in Italy, the scandal had mesmerized the nation, fueling highbrow and cafe chit-chat for almost a week. The consensus was the same: This could never happen here. But the tone was more acerbic in France. Historian Pierre Chaunu, interviewed in Le Figaro, evoked Renaissance King Henri IV as the proud forebear of generations of French womanizer-princes. "Frenchmen generally don't carry on their affairs in their offices," he added, "they do things with a little more skill and panache." Under the title "Very Happy to be French" in Le Parisien, parliamentarians from across the political spectrum disparaged of the sordid histoire. "It's frightening to see the fate of the world hanging from the American president's underpants," commented a Communist Party deputy. Right-wing nationalist Christine Boutin, apparently voicing the sentiments of many French women, sniffed: "So the guy likes women, does he? That's just a sign of good health!" On the center-left, Georges Sarre quipped, "They want to condemn Clinton for having asked his mistress to keep quiet ... It's rare, isn't it, for lovers to ask each other to send out press releases." Other commentators evoked McCarthyism, the Inquisition, Totalitarianism, Collective Madness and Hypocrisy. From my office across town near Père-Lachaise cemetery I called novelist Tatiana de Rosnay, author of "Mariés, Pères de Famille" ("French Husbands"), a collection of short stories about marital infidelity. "We are amused and annoyed in equal measure," she said. "'Clintonian,' a neologism, means sexual, in a positive way, as in, 'He feasted his eyes on me with a Clintonian look.' That's amusing, it's true. You Americans fascinate us with your violence and your diversity as a nation, but we often have the feeling that you never grow up." Hmmm, I thought, that's a bit severe. After all, it isn't the American people in the dock, and how many adolescent Puritans are there in America these days? "Remember Mazarine," added de Rosnay, summing up in two words the unbridgeable Franco-American divide over the morals of politicians. "When the news was finally leaked that President François Mitterand had an illegitimate daughter, Mazarine Pingeot, his popularity soared. At Mitterand's funeral, Mazarine stood by his two legitimate sons; Mazarine's mother, Anne Pingeot, stood in the same row as Mitterand's wife, Danielle." Shaken by this icy return to my beloved, adopted city, I went for a walk down the Boulevard de Ménilmontant and confirmed that the local McDonald's was packed, as usual. Then I strolled through Père-Lachaise cemetery and found the usual Jim Morrison groupies shivering by his grave, singing, "Come on, lie my fahrye" with Clintonian gusto. As I had suspected all along, the French, like the Italians, were secretly pleased to see America squirm a bit over Waterpanty, Sexygate-Pantyville. In other words, all was well in Europe. SALON | Jan. 29, 1998 David Downie is Wanderlust's Paris correspondent. Are the Italians and the French more cynical, more depraved or just more sophisticated than us? Share your thoughts in Table Talk.