Paris
I went back to Paris to accomplish the more serious business of eating and drinking until my plane left to take me back to the U.S. In August, Paris transforms itself. The French all leave on their annual four- to six-week holidays. The absence of Frenchmen contrasted sharply with the surge in the American presence.
It seemed like the entire population of New Jersey had come to see the Eiffel Tower. They had brought with them a large portion of Sony's Camcorder output for the past few years. This called for guerilla tourism on my part, avoiding the Champs Élysées and concentrating instead on seedy cafes on the Left Bank. Before leaving, however, there was one bit of business I wanted to accomplish.
On my last day in Paris, I called Gerard Poirot and arranged to visit his office, located in the shadows of what used to be the Bastille. Poirot is an evangelist for videotex. One of the original marketing managers for the French Minitel system, he is active in efforts to spread this underrated technology into the U.S.
When you get a telephone, France Telecom gives you the choice of a phonebook or a computer terminal. As a result, over 3 million people have, free of charge, one of the squat brown Minitel terminals in their home. Of these 3 million terminals, France Telecom estimates 80 percent are actually used. Even if the number is inflated, this was still, until very recently, the largest single network in the world.
The core of Minitel is directory assistance, however. Poirot had a formidable memory, rattling over a dozen phone numbers off the tip of his tongue. When his memory failed, however, he reached over to his Minitel terminal and tapped the two digits to connect him to directory assistance. He typed in the last name and the city, and the fax, voice, and audiotext numbers all appeared on the screen. (Audiotext is the French word for phone-based services like stock reports or voice mail.) Gerard picked the menu item for the voice line, and the number was automatically dialed for him.
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