William Barrett
NEW INNOCENTS ABROAD
The American's inevitable fate abroad, from Henry James
to Henry Miller, seems to be chiefly to bear witness to his own
countrymen. In the summer of 1949, the greatest tourist season
Europe had yet known, even the American most determined to
forget his own baffling nationality could- hardly have escaped this
fate. For his countrymen were everywhere: the casual acquaintances
of shipboard would turn up in remote villages on the Continent, on
the road in the same railway compartment or bus, at the returning
boat or plane, so that you always seemed to be running into the
same people, as if all were traveling together in one great family
from which you couldn't have escaped even if you tried. The War had
closed the door on Europe, after which in the first uncertain years
of the peace the misery of the Black Market and living conditions
on the Continent had discouraged travel; but by '49 the Marshall
Plan had at last restored a tiny economic stability, the rates of ex–
change were practicable to travelers of modest means, and the war
scare had subsided. So the restraining dykes were unlocked, and the
pent-up flood burst forth over the Continent that has known so many
migrations and invasions. "The American invasion of colonial Eur–
ope," the Communist press sneered, " ... you are lucky if you can
hear French spoken in the streets of Paris." The jibe had its small
grain of truth, for the flood of tourists at times seemed to push the
natives into the background.
All roads still lead to Paris, at least for the tourist, since there
the holiday atmosphere he carries with him can become explosive. Its
reputation as a city of sin still provides Paris with one of its minor in–
dustries. This aspect of the city was discovered for Americans by their
troops after the first World War in the era of
kinky-dinky parly-vaa,
