"I will toast with you," said another man. "To the great De Gaulle!"
Said the woman: "Monsieur, you are confusing tall-ness with greatness."
"Perhaps you should change your nationality," a man sitting alone at a corner table called to the woman.
"I am French!" the woman cried. "I would not change my nationality for anyone."
"Well spoken!" said a man with his head half resting in his beer. "Neither would I."
"What nationality are you?" the woman asked.
When the arguments were at their dissonant peak, a friend and I ducked into the night. "You think they're all upset," my friend said. "That shows what you know about the French. Listen to them yammering at each other. They've never been happier."
No edition of the Tour de France is complete without a scandal, and the 1966 cause c�l�bre took place smack in the middle of the Anquetil-Poulidor feud, momentarily making a grateful nation forget that its two heroes were rapidly blowing the race by their childish vendetta. One evening at 6:30 Poulidor was getting a rubdown in his room at the Hotel de Normandie in Bordeaux when two doctors and a policeman banged on the door. Before Poulidor could struggle into his pants, the awesome trio was standing in front of him demanding a specimen for laboratory analysis. "You realize, gentlemen, that it is not easy to give such a specimen when one is under emotional shock," Poulidor said. Several minutes later the doctors departed, carrying two bottles.
Word went from hotel to hotel, where the different teams were quartered, as quickly as by pneumatique. Zut, alors! The medics were testing Poulidor! Well, hadn't they pulled something like that every year? Yes, but this year was different! Something would have to be done!