I know I haven't been prolific on this thing at all. In fact, since I last posted, several important events have happened in my life. I ran another marathon. I moved to France. I spent 3 seasons on a women's soccer team. Xavier proposed. And we got married. 3 years ago. Plus now I have the world's cutest dog.
As a lot of my friends and family know, France has been a... let's say "varied" adjustment. I didn't speak French when I got here, but now I do. I didn't have a job, but I now have that as well. And for a long while, everything was a blur of counterintuitive and often frustrating experiences. The gears of bureaucracy grind at a maddeningly slow pace. In fact, everything in France seemed to take forever during that first year. If you need something repaired in your apartment, best hope it's not about to imminently destroy everything you own, because nobody is in any great rush to come and sort it out. We've had a leak in our closet for approximately two years and it seems it won't be fixed before we move out. Applying for the simplest things can take ages. A year and a half for a health card. 6 months in advance if I need to go to the prefecture to renew my residence card. Transferring information to the electric company. Buying property. Booking an appointment with a doctor. They can easily take weeks or months. Ironically, about the only thing that isn't painful is subscribing to a phone plan, which, as an American, always blows my mind. So to put yourself in my place, imagine everything you do is like working with your phone or cable provider. That is my life.
The truth is that the French are just not always in a rush to do anything. I had to let go of my ideas of time and accept that things just take a lot of it. Irritating bureaucratic things, but also beautiful and fun things: weddings, vacations, birthdays, parties, meals, and even pre-dinner snacks and drinks that they refer to as "apéro."
Other than time, I had to learn a lot about the many, many contradictions that make up the French mentality. It turned out that they were as conflicted as my own culture, but I wasn't used to it yet. In the beginning, I was so confused about their casual acceptance of their politicians' girlfriends and mistresses. Things like that destroy careers in the US, but here, they're just met with a shrug. One might imagine that they are nonchalant about all their relationships, the true embodiment of all our European tropes... taking a drag from a cigarette, a sip of wine, and saying "bah, c'est la vie." However, it took a short time for me to find that the French are, in fact, deeply familial. There are a million and one little family events that you find yourself caring, or at least pretending to care, about. All the dinners and anniversaries and birthdays and baptisms for people I've barely even talked to... but it's because they're my family, or they're family of a friend, which is also quite often a thing here.
Their culture is full of little dichotomies like this that I found difficult to understand at first. They don't wave flags or post patriotic images, but watch what happens when it's World Cup time. They don't have to get to work "on time" and God help you if you try to interrupt their breaks or lunches, but somehow they don't miss deadlines. They have some of the best healthcare and access to rights in the world, but studies show that they are deeply dissatisfied. They tell you that France is the greatest country in the world and that they have the best quality of life anywhere, but they complain about their country, as well as every other minute aspect of their lives, constantly. No, I'm not exaggerating. Complaining is their national sport. I mean, literally, it even trumps football, which many people might mistakenly think is their national sport. Their national football team actually refused to play during the World Cup due to some grievances involving the coach and each other. Grievances? Another word is complaints. Yes, during the biggest sporting event in the world, they decided their complaints were too great to overcome, and just refused to get on the pitch. It was, by and large, the most French thing one could do. In front of the world. But don't get them wrong... the average French person was very critical of this decision.
Oh, and the criticism. I probably shouldn't go too far with that because you would never finish reading, but that was probably the hardest thing to adjust to. A friend of mine posted an article about the French and their feelings toward a football player. He was booed whilst entering the stadium for a match, which seemed a bit harsh since he was at one point revered as a hero. But the journalist's reflection on this was spot on... he said that the French would boo a children's play if they thought it wasn't up to snuff. Yes, they are perfectionists, sometimes in the most excruciating ways. Nothing is good enough! Even if it is excellent, they will find at least one detail that they didn't like, that could have been better. The flipside is that a lot of things they produce are excellent. They dress impeccably. They work incredibly hard, much harder than the rest of the world gives them credit for. They have very good taste. They expect the best, but that doesn't just apply to others -- they themselves could always do better. And if you haven't had a genuine French meal in all its neurotically perfect glory, it is my belief that you haven't truly lived.
I could say more, but I'll stop.
Because this post isn't really about French culture. It's about Annecy. Or rather, one tiny beach in one tiny city not that far from Annecy.
I spent the past very long weekend with some girlfriends in this area of the French Alps. To give you an idea, this is it on a map.
I don't really know why, but my expectations were mild. Living in Paris does that to you I suppose. You know there will be nice things about the trip, but your mind also goes to the inconveniences. Oh, it's the hottest summer we've had in years. Oh, getting around will be hard without a car. Oh, what if the house isn't very nice? Or we have a crazy neighbor (referring to our ski trip in March). Oh, and there will also be French people to complain and be neurotic and just generally annoy the bejeezus out of you.
But what I found was unexpected. Tucked away not 200 meters (yes, I do metric now) from our rental house, was a beach on the lakefront. I should probably mention first that the woman who rented the place to us had already surprised us with her friendliness. We always forget that French people are normal and helpful and kind and fun/funny outside of Paris, and that first interaction usually comes as a surprise. She suggested the place to us, and perplexed us a little with her reaction to our questions about activities nearby. She didn't seem to think we would need them. When we went to the beach, it was clear why.
You had to pay to go in (2.50, but you'd be surprised by how many people would be deterred by this), but there were trees for shade, a food stand nearby, steps that led you into a lake, a diving board, and different kinds of pools for all ages. It was well-worth the money. We spent day after day on that beach, each one more perfect than the last. Having grown up on beaches, I spent a lot of time reflecting on why I liked this one so much. It wasn't any bigger, and not even necessarily more beautiful. After all, it's hard to compete with the Pacific Ocean at sunset. But then on Sunday, it hit me all at once: I liked it because it was so French. Because all those cultural quirks I find so annoying in Paris have the ability to be pleasant and beautiful when they're turned on their side.
The families and family time. Everywhere we looked, there were people with children, and I started to see the other aspect of family being important for family's sake. Sometimes they're up and about playing and swimming and jumping in the water (seriously, that diving board was never left alone) but my observation was how good the French are at just being with each other. They don't necessarily have to be doing an activity, though they love that too. Often they just talk, they sit and eat, or they do nothing at all, and don't seem to be in any hurry to change that, because that is the point -- to be together, quietly or loudly, as long as possible. It is deeply refreshing, because their lack of pressure to go somewhere or do something because just being seems like a waste... that feeling, it seeps into your soul. That feeling that relationships can and should be cultivated without distraction or movement... that feeling is powerful, and makes you want to love the people you're with more.
Lack of fucks given about body image. This was possibly the only time in my life that I started to feel my insecurities about my "bikini-ready" (or not really, because I love my beer) body melt away. My dear friend made an interesting declaration... every body is a bikini body -- you will always look better in two pieces than in one. People may disagree or simply prefer to wear one, but I appreciated the spirit behind it. No matter where you stand, I will say that the French live up to their reputation about minimal clothing on the beach. Boobs everywhere. Young lady boobs, old lady boobs, man boobs. It probably sounds weird to you if you're American, because we simply don't accept that. However, when it's everywhere and it's normal and nobody is yelling at each other to put them away, a weird thing happens... it suddenly becomes not a big deal. No, really. The disparity between that kind of freedom and American culture was shocking to me. We're always saying we should cover up because there are children and it might badly influence or confuse some poor adolescent boy. And of course, because nobody wants to see THAT! But often, what we really mean is that women whose bodies are less young or fit or beautiful should cover up, because there are far fewer objections to hot women's bodies being thrown all over the place in film or TV, in advertizing, or in music. Or porn. Which is everywhere if you have the Internet. We don't seem to be in a big rush to ask them to cover up to preserve those poor innocent boy brains. I would say it has something more to do with the idea of "everybody wants to see those hot women, but nobody wants to see Grandma in a bikini." But I will posit something from my observations... maybe it's a healthy thing to see women as they are. For men, for children, for me. Because all those women I saw this weekend are just like me, or fatter, or thinner, or older, or younger, or you name it, but don't feel that they should be ashamed of it. Before I start to sound sexist, the same principle applies to men... they do love their teeny tiny suits, and I found myself just thinking that they should wear what they are comfortable in, because it had nothing to do with me. Their lack of shame started to chip away at my own shame. With every set of bare boobs I saw attached to a woman sitting and sharing a glass of wine with a man who was not making a big deal out of it and was just treating her like a person, I questioned why this was such a big deal in my own culture. I saw boys of all ages walk by women of all ages, and strangely, they didn't turn into perverts. And I didn't see evidence that their ideas about sexuality shattered in presence of grandma boobs. In fact, they didn't even stare, or do a double-take. They were too busy talking, or having a sandwich, or jumping off the diving board. It occured to me that, maybe when they're older and start to love someone with boobs in the future, they might not have an outrageous fantasy that they don't sag, that we don't get rounder, that we don't have weird inexplicable shapes and blotches everywhere... because, clearly, all women do. Go on the beach and see for yourself. Maybe that wouldn't be such an indecent thing to have back home.
And let's talk about apéro. Most people are familiar with apértif, but if you aren't, it is essentially pre-dinner drinks and snacks, and it is a huge part of the French dining experience. If you have dinner at someone's house or share a big meal during a holiday or special occasion, you can expect to spend a long time on apéro. Sometimes hours. In some cases, that's most of the meal. Getting to the meal is not the point of apéro... sharing the time is. Keep in mind that you can expect to have a large meal after, but the name of the game is quality rather than quantity, and usually you've spent so much time eating at the table that you find yourself hungry again once you get to dinner. Since this beach was in France, bringing your own food for a picnic was expected, rather than buying it at the snack bar, and alcohol is most certainly allowed. How can you have apéro without wine, after all? So as the sun started to go down and the air started to cool, people went and pulled out their supplies for this evening ritual. In these moments, you see groups of people huddled together, laughing and/or playing with the children, not at all concerned with dinnertime or someone being bored or even bedtime. Everyone is snacking happily, passing drinks around, and watching the sun go down. It goes on and on because in the summer it takes a long time for the sun to set, but you don't watch the time, or even think about it. It's in these moments that the French shine to me, because they are so convivial, so loud and spirited yet without disturbing each other or hushing each other. They're so connected and satisfied with this moment, with their food and drink, with their surroundings, with each other. They're so alive. Alive in ways that I have trouble feeling outside of these moments, when their cultural oddities all collide at once. And all of it happening by the clean, green-blue water of the lake as the sun sets over the mountains. That is perfection.
Despite my frustrations and anger from living in Paris, from being an outsider, from language, family, stress, job, responsibilities, it is these moments of vitality that make it all fade away. It is these moments I feel I've been looking for all my life, that I've spent my adulthood wandering around the planet to find. As much as I sometimes hate it, it is these moments that being here feels like home. These moments that make me love myself. That make me love the people with me. That make me love France.
What an appropriate feeling to have on Bastille Day. Vive la France, bitches.
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