A couple of weeks ago I was in France promoting The Night Gardener, which has just been published there in a Seuil edition. I spent several days in Paris doing press and then took the train to Lyon, where I was a participant in a noir literary festival. Throughout I was accompanied by my publisher, Robert Peppin, a smart, funny guy, and a friend. The trip was a success on the business front. Every couple of years, a writer needs to go to the countries where he is published, re-plant the flag, and say, "I'm still here." In Europe there is little in the way of bookstore appearances but the press schedule is intense. I worked hard and I had fun.

In Paris I stayed at the Hotel Bel Ami off the Boulevard Saint-Germain in the Left Bank. Many of my interviews were done there and at the Café de Flore up the street. That particular café is a famous spot for intellectuals and artists like Sartre and Orson Welles, who used to hang there. I am not an intellectual but they let me in.

In Lyon I stayed at the Hotel Carlton with its floor to ceiling windows, balconies, and a gated elevator with a bench seat. My friend, UK novelist Mark Billingham, stayed there as well and we had a few drinks and, as usual, some laughs. The literary festival was a longish but pleasant walk away and I was on several panels that, not surprisingly, centered on politics. Joe Lansdale, an affable fellow, extremely talented writer, and tenth degree black belt joined me on several of the panels, as did novelist Jake Lamar, an American who has been living in Paris for about sixteen years. The French are not "against" Americans as you have been told by politicians and talk show hosts. I met Marxists, moderates, and right-wingers during my stay. Their opinions are as varied as ours are here. Also, the men are not wimps. When I got back to D.C., I heard some idiot on the radio making fun of French males and basically questioning their manhood. But most of the guys I saw on the street there looked plenty tough to me. As for the title of this entry, it's true, especially in Lyon. I saw many young couples making out in cafes, against walls, and on steps leading down to the Rhone River. Maybe because spring was in the air. Whatever the reason, it was nice.

Here's my rundown with a French twist:

Movies
At the Hotel Bel Ami there was a bar, and in it they played movies. I became intrigued by a film called Touchez Pas au Grisbi, which translates to Don't Touch the Loot. I watched it twice over the course of the week (no subtitles, and my French is rudimentary) and vowed to find it when I returned to the States. Directed by Jacques Becker, who should be more famous than he is, this is a tough film noir/gangster melodrama with an excellent lead performance by Jean Gabin, who I can only describe as the French John Wayne, with fine support from Rene Dary and Lino Ventura, an ex-boxer who made his debut here and went on to a long acting career. The sexuality is frank, the babes are beautiful (especially a young Jeanne Moreau), and the denouement is surprisingly tender. Pierre Montazel's black and white cinematography, showcasing night-time Paris circa 1954, is stunning. This film has recently been released by Criterion, with subtitles for your viewing pleasure. In the end, it is a eulogy to honor, loyalty, and a certain way of living one's life. Highly recommended.

One night in Paris I was alone and went to a movie, Lou Reed's Berlin, directed by Julian Schnabel. If you like Lou and his dark masterpiece, Berlin, then you should check this out. The band is tight, the songs rock harder than they did on the original, and the gospel-style and traditional backup singers (including standout Antony, of Antony and the Johnsons) add dramatically to the mix.

Restaurants
There were many, and honestly, all of them were good. But two stood out. In Lyon, it was Abel (25 rue Guynemer) small and rustic, with the kind of rich, traditional cuisine (creamy sauces, airy pastries) that defines French cooking. My last dinner in Paris was at Le Train Bleu, built atop the Gare de Lyon (Paris train station) in 1900. This is a magnificent restaurant, with a striking bar, many dining and sitting rooms, murals, sculptures, paintings, all by noted artists, done in the "Belle Epoque" design. The waiters are attentive and carry their trays above their heads. This place has to be experienced to be believed, and the food rocks, too. I had a dozen oysters, a filet with a thick Bernaise sauce, green beans, a couple of glasses of Chateau Labadoc (a Medoc from 2002) and an ice cream desert on which the waiter poured hot fudge from a pitcher. That night I slept like a baby.

Movie Posters
At the lit/noir festival I found the original French one-sheets for two of the most influential films of my youth, The Wild Bunch and The Dirty Dozen. The Wild Bunch (La Horde Savage) poster has the Ferracci art depicting Holden, Oates, Johnson, and Borgnine, seen from behind as they walk to their destinies. The Dirty Dozen (12 Salopards, which means 12 Bastards) has Lee Marvin flanked by Jim Brown and Charles Bronson, all of them holding submachine guns, grenades clipped to Marvin's belt. The posters now hang in my house and this find alone was worth the trip to France. Thank you, Monsieur Peppin.

Trip Book
For this trip I chose Fields of Fire, by James Webb. I have heard many people call this the great Vietnam War novel, and it did not disappoint. Not exactly literary like Tim O'Brian's The Things They Carried (a book I like very much), this is more in the tradition of James Jones's The Thin Red Line or Mailer's The Naked and the Dead. A grunt's eye view of the war, written by a decorated veteran of combat, Fields of Fire can be appreciated by a casual reader or a college lit professor, which is quite an achievement. Mr. Webb, who served as Secretary of the Navy under Ronald Reagan, is now the junior Democratic Senator from Virginia. His son is currently serving in Iraq.

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