In a Foreign Land

No one can speak so contemptuously of the American tourist as the French (or pocket his money so eagerly). Last week Paris' Le Monde, often critical of the U.S., printed an article which began:

"He has the fresh complexion, the clean-shaven face, the clear eyes and confident walk of a free man who has solid currency in his billfold. Sure of the superiority of his ... way of life, he professes condescending sympathy for the natives . . .

"Since he has no gift for languages, he goes on appearance only. He finds that these people know nothing about comfort or sanitary conditions, that they are lazy, and because of this, poor . . .

"Since he enjoys ideal democracy at home (at least, as seen from abroad), he is burning to teach it to others. He distributes good and bad grades with the same lack of discernment. Since nothing resembles anything at home, the cooking seems indigestible, the beds uncomfortable, the trains not on time, the civil servants unconscientious . . . The best local wines inspire distrust in him. The worst of rot-guts fills him with joy if it reminds him of what he drinks at home.

"On the other hand, he likes the country. He has more or less consciously the feeling that if a really efficient and methodical race--his own--improved the place, it would be a good country to live in. But while waiting, the native population will just have to be put up with, for what it is. The native population finds him rather irritating. A large number of them . . . wish he would go back home, since everything there is so fine ..."

"No," concluded Le Monde's writer. "I'm not thinking of an American tourist in France, but of the French tourist in Spain."

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