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Money - old money - oozes from every brick in Neuilly-sur-Seine, the richest town in France.
In this svelte suburb on Paris' western rim, grand apartments look out on streets lined with black late-model Mercedes and silvery Porsches hunched like greyhounds defecating in the gutter.
The shops sell hand-made chocolates and hand-made garments. In the local greengrocer, you do not pick up the mango or orange you desire. Like a Roman empress, you point at it, and the helpful little man will pick it up for you.
Old ladies, starched with Sunday sermons, walk miniature dogs that wear Louis Vuitton coats. Their sons are something big in banking and their daughters dabble in PR. Their grandchildren are groomed from birth for the "grandes ecoles", the educational playground and professional springboard for the elite.
Like the gnus of the Serengeti, the people of Neuilly pursue a circular migration, spending their winter holiday at gatherings in the Alps and summer on the Atlantic coast at La Baule. Change is not part of the bourgeois tribal tradition.
President Nicolas Sarkozy, who for 19 years was Mayor of Neuilly, has had his own spokesman, David Martinon, appointed as candidate for the ruling Union for a Popular Majority for the municipal elections next March.
So it is remarkable to learn that Neuilly has become a hotbed of revolt against the established order.
Indeed, the crime is almost one of lese-majeste, for local wrath is directed at none other than Sarkozy, the town's favoured son.
Martinon, 36, should be a shoo-in as the next mayor. As an alumnus of the Ecole Nationale d'Administration, he has the right CV and, with Sarkozy's blessing, should easily inherit UMP voters. In 2001, Sarkozy won 76.9 per cent of the municipal vote.
But Martinon is struggling against a grass-roots movement opposed to his being "parachuted" into a town where he has no knowledge of local issues and where his energies as mayor will be sapped by accompanying Sarkozy around the world.
At a ceremony attended by Sarkozy to install Martinon as the UMP champion, dissidents chanted "Martinon, non, non, non" and demanded the party stage a primary vote with Arnaud Teulle, the local UMP chief. Protesters have dogged Martinon during TV interviews and street campaigning, where he is often flanked by Sarkozy's son to give local credibility.
"When I hear Nicolas Sarkozy say that he is against hereditary power and cronyism and for beliefs rather than labels, I get the impression that everything's upside-down when it comes to Neuilly," says Jean-Christophe Fromantin, a popular local businessman running as an alternative conservative candidate.
France is unique among established democracies in allowing politicians to hold several offices at the same time. Being a mayor is one of the sought-after jobs by national figures.
The main reason: an appointed, unelected minister gains legitimacy by holding an elected office somewhere. Former Prime Minister Dominique de Villepin was never elected to anything, and this lack of gravitas scored badly against him. And the office of mayor provides a useful safety net for those kicked out of national office.
This explains why, of the 33 ministers in Sarkozy's Cabinet, almost two-thirds are bidding to become a mayor or deputy mayor in March. It's as if Finance Minister Michael Cullen was being set up to be the next mayor of Auckland.
But this "parachuting" into safe seats is now facing a backlash.
Justice Minister Rachida Dati is encountering the same popular revolt as Martinon in Paris' seventh arrondissement, or district.
The seventh, with its grand avenues and embassies, is almost as nobby as Neuilly, and Dati - a Sarkozy protege of North African background - is having a hard time winning over locals. Her supporters say a racist, whispering campaign is to blame, but critics say that this is a crass attempt to gag them. They say Dati is too highly strung, has not performed well as a minister and knows nothing about local issues such as parking problems, lighting, crime and schooling.
But another strike against her was a photo shoot in Paris-Match in which she posed in black fishnet stockings and stiletto-heeled boots - the equivalent, for the sober people of the seventh, of dressing as a lapdancer.
"We don't understand at all why this lady has shown up in our arrondissement," says Marie-France Suivre, a UMP activist who has collected several hundred signatures for a petition protesting that Dati was nominated through arm-twisting, not democracy.
