French Envy

by Bruce Schimmel

From the pilot seat of the unpowered glider, all I could see was the deep blue of a cloudless sky. Tethered to a powerful winch at the end on the runway, the glider, with me inside, was being slung upward at some 70 mph. And though I could imagine lavender fields and vineyards of Southern France receding behind me, at this steep pitch all I could see was endless azure.

At that moment — aha! — I understood the French paradox of getting the most from the least — and being richer and smarter for it. That having less might get you to where you want to go faster.

Certainly, in this case, cheaper. At $7 a gallon for gas, necessity had made the French very inventive. Instead of hauling gliders up with gas-guzzling towplanes — common in America — the French use high-speed winches to catapult aircraft to a safe altitude.

This slingshot technique uses a minimum of energy. But it requires maximum skill. Which, at this moment, I was trying to acquire.

Not awash in cheap energy, as America once was, the French have been forced to be inventive in other, if more conventional, means of transport. France now has a system of sleek highways, handsome bikeways, efficient mass transit and very high-speed rail that makes our own crumbling infrastructure look like the Third World.

And while America squandered billions abroad under the pretense of exporting democracy, the French strengthened theirs at home, with enviable systems of medical care and food security.

But back to my flight. At a thousand feet, I dropped the towline and scanned the sky for updrafts — rising winds that can sustain gliders for hours. But at this relatively low altitude, taming updrafts isn't easy. In America, they haul you to 3,000 feet, which gives you the luxury of time. At 1,000, you've got only a minute to locate lift, before having to glide back — less than triumphantly — to the field below. Which was my fate today. .

What's especially interesting is how the French government has rigged even a niche sport like soaring to benefit everyone.

Glider pilots make excellent power plane pilots; even U.S. fighter pilots will often start out on gliders. So the French government primes the pipeline by paying soaring clubs some $370 (250 Euros) for each new licensed pilot they produce.

As French fighter pilots left spiral trails of white smoke, practicing barrel rolls over nearby mountains, a couple of 15-year-olds had just completed their solo flights to join a soaring club with members from all walks of life. With less to go around, France has a culture of sharing. And though its middle class may be strapped in the face of a worldwide depression, the gap between the rich and poor here is narrow, especially compared to America.

From manicured parks to plentiful public bathrooms, the French practice the principle that the common good should be enjoyed in common. A democracy of sorts is practiced even in its fanciest restaurants, which offer modest menus — so that office workers can share the joy of a two-hour lunch.

So while it might seem a paradox that the French, with less, should accomplish so much and benefit so many, perhaps the real question that we Americans might ask ourselves is this: How is it that so many in this land of plenty have so little?

(bruce@schimmel.com)