Well, not in so many words. But when he was in Raleigh recently, the former speaker of the House spoke approvingly of the election of conservative Nicolas Sarkozy over Socialist Segolene Royal as president of France on a platform that included encouraging the French to work longer hours.

Newt didn't actually break into "La Marseillaise," the French national anthem. But he saw the French election as an omen of the defeat of New York Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton next year in our own presidential election.

This is quite a turnaround from several years ago, when anything French was suspect in conservative circles. Remember "freedom fries" instead of french fries?

Sarkozy has not had time yet to transform French society. I'm happy to report that Parisians are still doing what they do best: living the good life. Still buying daily loaves of fresh bread, still sipping wine at cafes and still eating like royalty.

Sex and an occasional revolution aside, France is a conservative society -- wedded to old customs, traditional foods and historic buildings. Cafes boast that they haven't changed their menu or decor since the 1920s.

Like so many other Americans who visit France, my wife and I marveled at the French ability to savor life. Too often, dinner at my house is a 20-minute affair on a tray in front of the television, not the leisurely two-hour celebration of food, family and friends that seems to be part of the French DNA.

Sarkozy is probably right that the French should work harder. But who do you think is happier -- the harried American or the Frenchman who knows how to relax?

So for two weeks, my wife and I tried to fit into the French lifestyle. We settled into a book-lined Left Bank apartment on a quiet street on the border of the 6th and 7th arrondissements -- a roomy, sunlit artist's garret filled with paintings by the owner. No more expensive than Wrightsville Beach.

Just a few blocks away were the Seine, the Louvre, the Musee d'Orsay and dozens of restaurants, butcher shops, cheese shops, pastry stores and bakers. American writer Ernest Hemingway, German composer Richard Wagner and French playwright Racine had once lived on the next street over. The University of Paris was next door.

One night, former tennis star John McEnroe and novelist John Grisham showed up (in different groups) at a neighborhood cafe, Brasserie Lipp (circa 1880).

The only bad experience was when I broke my leg, falling down the steps outside our Paris apartment. There was no wine involved. I swear.

I've always found the French to be polite. Paris is a big city, so they are not Southern friendly. But we met a lot of nice people who went out of their way to be helpful and who patiently worked through the language barrier.

I was muttering out loud in a rest room on why I couldn't get the spigot to work, when I received this advice.

"Perhaps, it is because you are in the wrong bathroom," a woman said.