I had the opportunity to take a training course in Paris recently.  Every time I told somebody about this, I got the same reaction, always along the lines of, “Lucky you”,  “How exciting!” or  “Can’t you take me with you?”

I suppose it’s because even in cold, wet November, Paris conjures up romantic images – of  shopping in bright lights along the Champs Elysees, of a walk along the Seine, of sipping coffee at a pavement cafe.  For myself, I was certainly looking forward to a nice dinner in a smart restaurant.

The reality was very different.  I might as well have been working in Birmingham or Reading.  After having been squashed into a budget airline seat, I was collected and driven round the peripherique (Paris’ equivalent of the M25) for an hour in the dark and deposited at a hotel on a business park.  The hotel was part of a large international chain and its layout, furniture and swimming pool were exact replicas of its siblings in the UK.  In the morning, I walked round the corner to the client’s premises.  If the traffic hadn’t been driving on the right side of the road, I could easily have been back home.

Inevitably, during the next day, there was no time to step outside to take a break.  Not that there would have been much fresh air to enjoy.  There wasn’t anywhere to stroll – only small patches of manicured grass and a few forced trees that broke up the squares of office blocks.

At lunchtime, a colleague made fun of me when I asked when the sandwiches would be arriving, reminding me that we were in France and could expect a sit-down meal.  I was the one proved right.

My meal that evening in the hotel was a disappointment too.  It arrived a full two hours after I had ordered it as the staff were dealing with a large party.  It was clear that they didn’t need to care too much about business travellers who were stranded captive and had few options for eating out.

My meal the following evening at the airport before my departure was even worse.  The only restaurant available at my terminal at Charles de Gaulle was little more than a canteen, with even less ambience.

I’m writing this not only as an indictment of how far customer service levels have slipped in France in the universal drive to bring down unit costs in the hospitality industry.  In recent blogposts I’ve been pointing out how important sensory awareness is for the stimulation of new ideas, for the effectiveness of our communications and for our enjoyment of life itself.  Yet it is as if every aspect of our business life – the uncomfortable long journeys, the standardised chrome and grey boxes we work and sleep in, our sobre attire -  is now designed with the express purpose to prevent any engagement with our environment.  As our senses are dulled, we dissociate from our experience, lose energy and become dreary, less vital people.

Contrast this to the bright stimulation of a nursery or primary school environment where we entrust our youngest.  We have learned that children work best when they are enjoying themselves and having fun.  Are adults’ needs really so different?

Image:  CC Julie Anne Workman

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