France: making pleasure into a delicacy
Before coming to France I had absorbed two negative ideas of the culture: that the people were often rude and arrogant. I was also told people didn't speak much English, and didn't try hard to either. The summation of this pointed to an insular culture, one that prided themselves on their national identity.
I didn't find them very rude, people were direct and bluntly honest, sometimes impatient. They were not always friendly but I didn't need them to be. People spoke limited English, especially in rural areas, and I didn't find it much of a problem either. I managed to get a hair trim - not the best, but not terrible either - using a few hand gestures. I loved the sound of the language and tried where I could to express that. And whilst I felt free to travel in their land I was always aware it was not mine. This is a not a culture that embraces you unless you become one of them. In my search for territory to buy a base in I decided France is not for me. It offers a lot but being the not very nationalistic, wandering type, I would do better in a country that can offer more of an embrace and openness. But one area I felt in deep rapport with was that of cheese. French cheese embraced me and I did the same.
I am a lover of cheese. It is my obsession and sometimes addiction, and I am happy with that vice. When I told people I was going to France, they all said I would be in trouble. They were of course right, I hoarded cheese and ate tons of it in this visit. But I also learnt over that month to be more exact about what I liked. Not only around cheese but about my tastes in general. The French do this very well - they make sensual experience into a delicacy.
The French get pleasure and they make an art of it. They seem to do it without over indulging either. I saw no obesity, quite the opposite, people were lean and healthy. Drinks were small, portions petite. They understand that pleasure is most optimized in little bits. Unlike America where pleasure is sold in bulk - as if getting more will make it more pleasurable - the French understand that pleasure only escalates when amplified. And that means getting very specific and putting that exactness in a small package. You also have to believe you can have it and then take the pleasure and make it last longer. The French ability to derive pleasure and think they are worth having it proved very true.
Pleasure can be made larger only in intensity and time.
They also understand that pleasure is often found in taboos. You get take your top off at the beach and it's okay. Parts of an animal that are usually debased are made into expensive treats. Toilets are always separated from the wash area, so boundaries are clearly marked and by marking them transgression is easier. Sexuality and attractiveness are brought into life without being overt or only for the young. The older French women in particular exude this. They seem to gain status with age. They look good without faking their age, their is a sexual beauty to them and a stance that is regal. Whatever arrogance French are judged for, underneath that is a very valuable belief in deserving the best experience. A belief I began incorporating,
Shopping for children and food was therefore deeply pleasurable. The weekly markets, no matter how rural you are, offer a bounty of deliciousness. They are big and people use them, in fact they use them as their main source of shopping. I followed the lines - in general in France where there is a line you have found something worth trying. Croissants are gone by mid morning so you have to go early. People eat a lot of bread and when everything is closed, which is fairly often by American standards (Sundays and Mondays and sometimes Wednesdays) you can always buy a baguette. The bounty includes fresh fish, very much whole chickens, meat stalls, a few cheese stalls at least, often selling very fresh cheese that is home made and cannot be found in the local cheese shop. I found the best produce to be the green beans, broccoli, carrots, onions and seasonally the tomatoes. Lettuces have to be sought out and kale is rare. France is expensive though so be prepared. But usually what you buy is well worth it.
We spent our first two weeks in the Beadouy house, near Thiviers. Its about two and a half hours east of Bordeaux, in the region of Dordogne. We got to experience a bit of rural life. The house was a large stone structure, roomy with a big garden and pool. We often stayed home the whole day, moving between spaces. They had a lovely set up for children so we could paint at a little table with chairs, read through a vast library of English books, but most of all we swam. The weather in July went from seething hot to very mild and rainy. We had a week of not being able to sleep easily at night due to the heat, to a week of being rained in. The little own of Thiviers served all our needs. It had a vibrant market on Sundays, a smaller one on Tuesdays, a sublime cheese shop and a decent coffee shop. The country side is not awe striking, but it is beautiful and deeply ancient. We spent the last two weeks near the town of Salles, about an hour from Bordeaux. This was nearer the coastline though we ended up spending our days at the nearby lake. The water was so clean and Ruya could swim as far as she wished. We found the seaside to be crowded and decided the lake trumped.
As often happens little routines develop that are close by and not at all the kind of thing you imagine when you think about eventful tourist experiences. But they always end up being the most memorable for me. At the Beadouy house we would often go down to the swings in the late afternoon, sit on the magic stairs and eat some dark chocolate, then swing, then go to the hammock. The two children would curl on either side of me, Aziz would breastfeed and Ruya would snuggle, and then we would sing the bee song. The song changed each day but it always involved honey and staring up at the tree above us, which swarmed with bees, and often included the hay stacks in the field around us. At the Salles house we would walk down our little pebble road until we got the a big field which had a fenced in area. Three horses lived there, large, pristine creatures, and we would feed them apples and stroke their noses. Then we would run home, little Aziz using all his might to catch up to Ruya Lilly who can almost outrun me.
French seem to love children. They certainly have lots of them. I saw many families of three or four children. The clothes and toys are incredibly well made, very little plastic and if that it's well done. Childhood is revered as important and the tools of a child are given due respect. In the Salles area almost every house had a trampoline and swing in the back yard. As much as the French do quality they also don't deviate much or appear outside of convention. It was easy to travel with little ones and when Ruya got into a feisty mood the French often liked it. It didn't put them off at all. Little children are not expected to be mini adults, their volatility is given room.
We leave France heading to a very different part of the world - Thailand. I think I will return, at least when the children are older to explore a city or two and take in the mature culture up for offer. For now though I need a bit of wildness. And I think I have had enough cheese in a month to manage two months of no cheese at all. I will take with me a deeper belief in my own deserving of pleasure, without the arrogance or insularity. Perhaps Thailand will offer something adjunct to that.
