If Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest, well then, the French have mastered the art. Nine out of ten French businesses are closed on Sunday, and the tenth, well it might have the item you seek, but won’t sell it to you.

My first weekend housed in France, was an exercise in futility. I managed to get the internet in my apartment, but only strong enough to support audio and not video streaming. So I listened to college football, most importantly the USC vs Cal game at the ungodly hour of 2 AM.

Sunday I awoke and was able to putz around on email and the news sites to see the fallout from the days games. Shortly before lunch I went on my merry way walking to La Dèfense, a huge corporate and commercial center with the tallest buildings in France this side of the Eiffel Tower.

Soon I became hungry and figured that I would walk along the bus route to the center in hopes of finding somewhere to eat. But alas, this is Sunday, and nothing is open. I walked fully 2.5 miles before arriving at Le Défense fully famished and curious as to where all the people were.

The central plaza at La Défense is immense and has huge stores and an immense mall surrounded by office skyscrapers. And here it was a nice 63 degree Sunday, and no one except a few tourists, was around to enjoy it.

Why?

Well, nothing was open. The stores were all shuttered from the cafe on the terrace to the giant fnac, which is the French equivalent of a Best Buy. The area is quite stunning and has the massive Arc de la Défense which stands directly opposite from its more famous counterpart the Arc de Triomphe.

Looking around I took a few photos, and spotted opposite the shuttered fnac, a full mall and figured there had to be something with food open inside. What I discovered was a veritable commercial ghost town. High end shops were shuttered and only confused foreigners like myself were left to roam the halls baffled as to why one would close a shop when the workforce is off on the weekend.

As I climbed from one floor to the next I began to see more people and became curious and, slightly hopeful that perhaps there was some sustenance to be found atop the massive structure. Finally I reached the food court, to find my options to be exactly those one would expect on a major holiday in the States: Starbucks, McDonald’s, Pizza and Chinese food.

Every Sunday is treated like a major holiday!!!!

For someone without even an acquaintance within 100 miles, this was not a terribly great revelation. As I sat and ate my reheated chow mein I was having flashbacks to another time I sat alone eating Chinese food while everyone else was enjoying a holiday: Christmas in Detroit. Now I am not comparing the Seine to the Detroit River, but how these people can have a day that must be spent entirely within the home every seventh day is completely beyond this Yankee’s comprehension.

Of course even on Christmas certain stores remain open, and there were exceptions proving the rule every now and again. Toys R Us was open, and I even went into the French Home Depot just to look around out of sheer boredom. It was upsetting as I realized how expensive basic home furnishings are when the value of the dollar is this depressed.

I left La Défense still hungry since chow mein in France is as filling as it would be in Hartford. So I deduced that somewhere between the two Arcs had to reside some pastry shop or cafe.

I walked another 3 miles back into Paris proper, and saw one Irish pub open but decided against going into a place where they were playing video games rather than watching live events. I also saw the dismantling of a town market that I presumably had just missed, but not a single open boulangerie.

Finally, between transfers on the train heading back to my apartment, knees screaming at me from my extended journey, I found the one open pastry shop in Paris I was so pleased with my discovery I treated myself to a new treat I had never tried before: Pain Swiss. I have no idea what was in it, but the classic pain au chocolat has competition my friends.

My last bit of frustration though came as I decided to stop at a cell phone shop, miraculously open at 5 on a Sunday, to see if they had a USB connection for my camera. They did, I saw it in the window and tried to purchase it. The young Islamic fellow pulled out the cable for me i popped it in the camera, it fit, and I then asked: how much? Apparently it was not for sale, much to my dismay and confusion. The young man told me it was for sale however - at their sister store down the road.

So, knees in agony I decide to walk 6 more blocks to find this other mobile retailer. Eventually I find it and ask another young Muslim fellow if he has the connector his compatriot had indicated he would. Indubitably, he has no idea why I was sent to him though, as he does not have the connector at this location. And of course there goes the bus I have to take…

The only consolation came when I returned to the apartment to find the internet signal gone and that the cable would have indeed been rendered useless anyway.

Pictures to come… Mon dieu.