There is no one way of doing business in Europe. You can’t characterize by region. Every country and every city is different and our client visits in Paris prove they don’t want to do business like the Brits, unlike the US, bifurcated from the Belgians.

Calling on a client for a visit is often not worth their time, unless you have something new to say. Checking in, how is the service, anything more we can do, does not suffice. While Parisians love their cafes and their lunches, they do not spend a lot of time socializing after work, they work and they go home. They do not head out to the Pub and “get to know each other.” This is not an observation, this is the message from our French customers who are often exasperated at themselves.

While the French do not play to type, Paris does. The romance of the city is borne of Robert Doisneau photographs of lovers on a bench, women in cafes. And you can’t walk a corner without this scene playing out. The city was going through a spot of Spring-like weather and you can’t not be taken in by the Eiffel Tower peering its head outside the window of a meeting or walking the Champs Elysee at night .

But once you get beyond that you realize that the French, of 35-hour work week fame, actually are putting in long hours to compete. Maybe it’s because we were meeting with International companies, many with a US mindset, but either way, they went back to the office after our drinks ended well past 7 o’clock.

And while they are characterized as not being terribly US-friendly, the streets with names from every president since Wilson, are reminders of the war and the US presence. Our meeting at the Publicis Group began with a tour of the lobby and the Eisenhower gallery, a tribute to the 34^th US President who used the building as his headquarters during the war while in Paris.

Two un-pleasantries that I might address, were I President of France for a day, after spending some time with Mrs. President of France: Everyone in France has a dog and everyone’s dog has a digestive tract and everyone’s dog takes a crap on the sidewalk and there is absolutely no inclination or requirement to clean it up. Everyone in the country is bumping into one another because they are looking at their feet trying to avoid the minefield of doggy doo. Even New Yorkers curb their dogs.

And second, a small reminder that smoking is bad for you? A message that does not penetrate the beautiful minds of the students as they walk the grounds of the Sorbonne. The women are stunning as they sit on the steps and stoops drinking their Cappuccino, reading their Jung and smoking their lungs away.

The French were a surprise, Paris was not.

The flight to Copenhagen is only an hour thirty, but I fly from one season to the next. I left the British Autumn and entered the Denmark Winter.

The town has a vaguely East German feel, circa 1975. The sky is slate grey, the whipping wind made empty bags and burger wrappers dance and the street construction was relentless. On my way to my first meeting I stop at a small coffee shop for a sandwich. The entire space can’t be more than 500 square feet, with a big counter and room for six tables and a couch. It’s in the basement of a building, a few steps down from the main road. A man in his 40’s is behind the counter, an Iranian who made me egg salad on a bagel and a coffee with the care of an artist.

I am the only one in the place. The Conversation:

“Why Denmark?”

“Because Tehran was not a good place to be a young person 20 years ago.”

“Do you like it here?”

“No place is perfect right?”

“Have you ever been to America?”

“No, but I want to go very badly. I want to go to New York. I want to see Broadway. It’s beautiful, yes?”

“It is.”

"The construction (the road and building repairs outside his restaurant) hurts my business. And so I ask for a change in rent. And they say: ‘too bad’. And I am surprised. I expect different from a place that calls itself a modern democratic society.”

I am impressed by his English and his manner. But mostly by his expectations of what a democratic society is. He wants to be treated fairly. He feels like the construction is the owner’s way of taking advantage of him. He wants to trust the government.

At 8:00 at night I finish my meetings and head to see Tivoli Gardens, the big attraction, especially under the Christmas lights. I walk through the shopping district with a piece of cheese-less pizza and a Carlsberg, it is much prettier at night, but the temperature is dipping.

A block from Tivoli I stop at a Pub for a pint and to warm up, the gardens are open until 11. There is a guitar player singing “The Boxer” by Simon and Garfunkel. Just him, a guitar and a harmonica and it’s perfect. The bar is warm and friendly, everyone is talking and laughing, I forgot, it’s Friday night.

During a break he tells me he is Swedish, but plays all American songs. The pub smells of stale beer and during a series of Springsteen songs I am transported back to Ann Arbor listening to the songs of my youth, surrounded by drunkards singing and swaying together. Hours, beers, and a long rendition of Whiskey in a Jar and Proud Mary later I walk past the now closed Tivoli and to my hotel room, which reminds me of a hostel from my Euro-rail days.

It is good to be in the company and kindness of strangers. Different language, same songs , just people.