The French Travel Showcase came to town on Saint Patrick’s Day, not an ideal day for concentrating on things French: somehow the peculiar poisonous color of the river kept coming to mind, and even some of the most avid Gallophiles–the kind who were wont to burst out practically unsolicited, “Oh, I just love France”–were wearing green ties and blouses and sweaters.
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
Around us, in a meeting room in the basement of the Holiday Inn on East Ohio, exhibitors stood behind tables covered with maps and brochures and pamphlets. The travel agents moved among them, lugging reams of advertising in plastic shopping bags emblazoned “France” and “Printemps–Le Plus Parisien des Grands Magasins” and “Memorial de la Bataille de Normandie.” They circulated purposefully in what seemed like a sort of ritualized mating dance: “Do you do groups or individuals?” the exhibitor would ask. “Mainly individuals, and you?” the agent would respond. “Oh, we do everything.”
“It looks like Ireland,” said Francois Vertadier, who was manning the table and wearing a bright green tie. His name, I thought, seemed to mean something like “greener.”
“That trip from Paris to Champagne is not much,” said a travel agent with a crewcut and a green bow tie.
They stopped playing at 6:28. At 6:30 the wall panels separating the lounge from the buffet area were moved and the guests flooded in. I walked in behind a large man wearing a pastel green jacket and a bright green plastic hard hat that was several sizes too small.
The second couldn’t believe it either. “Dyeing the river green . . . shamrocks on the sidewalk . . . and the parade . . .”
