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By Root 962 0

visitors should be mindful of the etiquette code at la poste, just as it exists at a busy pâtisserie. Clients expect to move through the line quickly, and clerks expect clients to be prepared. Before you join the line—there will almost always be one, no matter what the hour—make sure you have euros handy so you don’t earn glares as you dig for coins in your bag. It never pays, even if you feel frustrated, to lose your temper. Be as deferential as you possibly can. If you’re mailing a box or a small package, none of the customers will want to be behind you as a package, of any size, is perceived as being time-consuming—don’t take offense if the clerks take other customers first and come back to you. If all of this sounds a bit like the Soup Nazi episode on Seinfeld, it isn’t meant to, though sometimes you might wonder.

When I lived in Paris as a student, I once tried to mail a box of books home, and I was chastised for not tying the string properly around one of the boxes designated for shipping books by boat. The clerk would not accept it until I had retied it to her satisfaction. It seemed, in those days, that each visit to the PTT was an exercise in humility, as the clerks were always the victors. But in fairness, in the years since, I’ve had nothing but uneventful, even pleasant, exchanges at la poste. And by the way, you can still place calls at the téléphonique part of some post offices today, which I think is a far better option than using a cell phone or a phone booth on a busy street. You wait your turn for a private (and quiet) cabine, and after you’re finished an attendant informs you of the sum you owe.

If, like me, you have a yen for stamps and old-fashioned letter writing, you may enjoy the Musée de la Poste, at 34 boulevard de Vaugirard in the fifteenth arrondissement (museedelaposte.fr). This little-known museum exhibits a wonderful collection of French stamps, letter boxes, postal uniforms, and virtually everything connected to the history of written communication in France.

BARBARA WILDE, a passionate gardener and cook who lives in France, is the founder of a wonderful company called L’Atelier Vert (frenchgardening.com), which is a “green studio” of great French gardening items for both garden and home. The L’Atelier Web site is filled with gardening information, tips, recipes, and some travel insights, as well as authentic garden-related products from all over France. “We started this company,” she notes, “with a commitment to offering only French-made products, and we hope to keep it that way. Don’t look here for ‘French-look’ garden urns made in China.” Wilde gets three cheers from me for that mission! Also the author of Growing Roses Organically (Rodale, 2002), she is currently working on a cookbook featuring recipes she created at her mas (farmhouse) in Provence.

Wilde writes a great Paris Postcard feature on her site, in which she shares “the frustrations, humor, and sometimes almost heartbreaking beauty of daily life from the perspective of an American expatriate living in Paris.” This one is among the best tales of a postal adventure anywhere that I’ve ever read.

THE MINUTE I see any combination of golden yellow and navy blue, I think of La Poste. Those are the colors of the French post office, where I seem to be spending more and more of my life. Those of you who picture me whiling away a rainy winter afternoon with friends in a cozy Parisian café or discussing Franco-American relations in a smoky brasserie? Uh-uh. Like as not (and like it or not), I’m probably either at the post office or getting ready to go to the post office.

If neither of those options applies, I’m probably sticking close to home (-office) during the peak hours of postal delivery, in the hope that I won’t miss the drop-off of a package, a registered letter for Denis, or, God forbid, an item sent by Chronoposte, the “express delivery” arm of La Poste. Trying to outguess the French postal service on their delivery times is next to impossible. While the regular mailman delivers registered letters (and he comes twice