"Bises" and Bees

The view from our balcony: fireworks for Bastille Day, "Le quatorze juillet"

I knew Bastille Day was the great national holiday of France, but I had no idea that I’d end up kissing so many people that evening. Likewise, I knew that the French traditionally greet each other with an exchange of pecks on each cheek, the scene playing out like this: the newcomer enters the door, is greeted by my own hostess, also the hostess of this Bastille Day party. They approach me in the kitchen, where I am busy chopping celery, they lean in, and we exchange a kiss on the cheek—left side first—we say our names, then kiss the other cheek. They smile, and sometimes say “Enchanté” before walking away to perform the ritual on all the other guests in the room. Luckily, I expected this particular habit, and I think I was quite graceful about it, though I’m always amused by watching the chain reaction of kisses each time someone new enters the room.

I’ve come leaps and bounds since my first encounter with the European kiss/greeting: upon having my personal bubble unexpectedly invaded by a kindly old lady, I panicked, dodged her incoming kiss, and somehow managed to entangle myself in her glasses. As I frantically tried to free my spectacles from hers, my earring got stuck in her hair, followed by a rather awkward series of apologies, and giggles on my part. It was a learning experience, shall we say. Now I’m a pro at giving and receiving these friendly little “bises,” which the French view as much less physically intrusive than the traditional Californian greeting, the hug.

This shelf in the SNA office holds beekeeping books and publications,
including the "Beekeeper's Bible" in the middle of the second-to-top shelf

I’ve also made lots of progress with the good ol’ bees since my last post. Four conversations later, I have learned more about beekeeping than I ever thought existed. I met a representative of the Syndicat National d’Apiculture, one of the three beekeepers’ unions in France. The SNA is heading a public awareness campaign titled “L’Abeille: Partenaire de la Biodiversité,” and also publishes a monthly newsletter called “L’Abeille de France.” (Abeille is “bee” in French, in case you didn’t figure that out.)

Mr. President showing me the two hives in le Parc Monceau.
The bees were so friendly,  he picked up some bees without wearing gloves!

The SNA gentleman introduced me to a set of hives located in one of Paris’ numerous public parks, le Parc Monceau. The two hives are located on top of a decorated grotto of sorts. We stepped over the low fence which bore a sign forbidding the public from entering: “Danger!” (In English, too!) Climbing a small set of stairs up this decorative hill in the middle of the park, we found the two hives, which were affixed to a low plinth. After I spied a few shards of broken glass, I asked my guide if vandalism was a problem at the hives. He said that it’s not a big concern, but that small children sometimes stray too close to a hive, and, unaware that bees are very protective of their hive, accidentally get stung.

Yes, this shirt is actually sold in a real, live, upscale Paris boutique, Zadig & Voltaire.
Apparently Nebraska is Paris' favorite state. Go, Cornhuskers!

As acting President of the Syndicat National d’Apiculture, my interviewee, is one of the most influential representatives for many of the beekeepers in France. The beekeeping vote has a lot of clout in this country, mostly due to the agriculturally strong southern France. Somewhat due to France’s leftist leanings, I believe, professional beekeepers receive government subsidies, have a great deal of legal protection, and are skilled in the art of unionizing (according to a wonderful reference I’ve found, the apiculteur Dr. Sanford at Florida University).

The most beautiful chocolate confection I've laid eyes on: a dark-chocolate bee, for only 39 Euros!

For the first part of the interview, we were joined by a video journalist who is in the process of filming a special segment on the city’s many beehives. Later I discovered that he is quite a busy man: he meets with two or three people every single week who want to talk with him, as I am doing. Many of them are associated with the media, but none of them have been from students from the USA—it looks like I’m the first in that category! Tomorrow, I will meet the SNA President again, for a tour of the beehives on top of France’s only 24-hour post office, next to the Musée du Louvre. I hope these bees are as nice as the ones in the Parc Monceau, because I still don’t have a bee suit!

A nine-man band playing in the subway: what a treat for us passers-by.
Thanks to subway acoustics, I could still enjoy them while waiting for my train on the platform a hundred meters away :)

After the interview, he brought me to the “Au Rucher” boutique, an SNA-affiliated storefront which sells anything and everything a beekeeper might need, from protective suits to honey, to honey extractors (a steal for only 780 Euros!). We talked a bit with the gentlemen in the shop, and before I left, they presented me with a jar of honey from the SCA’s hives in a Parisian park, the Bois de Vincennes. Yum! Immediately upon returning home, I wrenched open the jar, and ate a spoonful of the golden honey. I was struck by the unexpected minty taste, and by the low viscosity.

One of these is for me!

This morning, while sipping coffee with my fourth interviewee, I found out what caused the minty taste. Much of Parisian honey is given its character by the lime, acacia, and sophora trees that are so common along the streets of Paris. He and his beekeeper friend are the foremost producers of honey in Paris. Fortunately for me, he speaks very fluent English. I met him at the Sunday morning marché at the Place des Fêtes, a glorious place full of stalls manned by venders from every type of produce and artisan food imaginable. I find the stall I’m looking for, the table heaped with every kind of bee product imaginable. Letting his partner take over the stall, the kindly beekeeper removed his vendor hat and took me out for a morning coffee. An hour and a half later I emerged from the coffee shop, enlightened about all things Apis, from politics to the fine art of capturing swarms. (Apis is the genus of a popular honeybee, Apis mellifera.) In our conversation, I discovered the complex irony of France’s apicultural situation involving the enormous wheat lobby, money, agrochemical corporations, money, politicians, money, the success of urban apiculture, money, and the people without whom agriculture would be nonexistent: beekeepers. The interplay between these issues will probably form the backbone of my research paper. It’s lucky for me that it’s so complex, since I’ll have to write for 25 pages! I’d better get crackin’…

Now that's a lot of honey! (and pollen, and propolis, and soap, and wax, and candles....)

Today's bonus picture, taken last week when I joined in on a capoeira training session with a group based here in Paris.
(Capoeira Sul da Bahia- France, under Mestre Railson, for all you capoeiristas out there. For those same folks, please join me in marvelling at how many pretty berimbaus there are in this shot.)