southern france

I try to maintain a straight face. My whole inner body giggles in gratitude at the seriousness of my concerned host. I have just come from Nepal where the electricity goes out for hours literally every single day. And it could happen in the morning, evening or mid afternoon. Unless you have a generator, you just don’t have electricity for a few hours. No Nepali bats an eyelid (well there may be at times and exasperated sigh from a city dweller, but that’s the extent of the reaction).

For the past 3 months I have looked after a 250 year old rural stone house in Southern France perched above a vineyard and a little village. This has included caring for 9 chickens, a little dog and 3 cats. I’ve had fleeting interactions with locals, based mainly on purchasing the delicious locally grown produce at adorable markets in quaint nearby towns. These limited interactions have been intentional so I could focus on writing.

So in the fleeting moments of observation I’ve had, I’ve come up with these random set of reflections from my time in France. Enjoy!

One of the first things I noticed arriving in Southern France is that they are comfortable with sex.

Outside every single Pharmacy (even in the most petit town) is a condom machine. Displayed out and proud. It boasts various sizes that you can purchase any time of day or night.

Lingerie shops are very overt and in your face here. I don’t know if the Western world has changed  a massive amount in the last 12 months since I’ve lived in Asia, but the lingerie shops with all their  girdles, belts and lace ups are in full display in main streets here. From what I recall, lingerie shops in Australia and the UK, have this all on offer, but you have to go into the shop to see it.

They don’t ‘bleep’ out the swear words in songs on popular radio stations. In the UK and Australia, they ‘bleep’ out the ‘f’ word and others. I heard such words loud and clear on French radio many times.

I went into a cafe in Bordeaux recently. It was a typical French cafe simply and tastefully decorated in greens, shades of brown and maroon lined the tables, curvaceous booths, subtly lit with a well appointed bar and high ceilings.

‘Toilette sivoulplait?’ My French knows no heights.

‘To the right at the very back.’ The waiter responded to me in English. I’m not obvious at all, am I?

Walking to the back corner I saw a door proudly boasting a sign ‘Toilettes’. As I entered I searched for a women’s door or section. A guy came out of an unlabelled door, causing me to quickly back away and look down the opposite side of the dim room.  Four perfectly lit pictures adorned the wall shining on the incredibly stark and beautiful black and white images of mostly naked women.

These images are like nothing I had ever seen, and certainly not in an any cafe I’ve ever been. This cafe is on an incredibly busy square in a big city, containing locals, students and business people (and perhaps the odd tourist or two this time of year).

I know the images would be asked to be taken down immediately in Australia, definitely the UK and I would guess at many other places around the world. Perhaps a law suit or two would ensue.

I was shocked, but also curious. My immediate thought was, ‘I must have gone into the men’s section. And is this what men have in their sections in toilets around the world?’

At the end of the wall of photographs, somewhat hidden, somewhat not, through a well appointed mirror, were 2 mens’ urinals, but still no sign of a woman specific toilet. I reversed my steps back out the door to see if I missed anything. No. No other toilets or signs to other toilets anywhere.

But back to sex, and the photographs.

I was a little surprised to see how the subjects in the photos were portrayed. The first photograph a woman lent back naked on a bed, cigarette in one hand resting against a breast allowing the second breast with nipple to be proudly displayed. The woman rested her head back against satin sheets with her neck tilted and beckoning. The second showed the face and torso of a naked women on her side. Her neck was bound with two ropes, one rope leading out to her left and the other down her torso and across her breast. She was also roped up around her middle where the photo ends.

The third, half of a fully naked woman’s body is submerged in a water tank. She is facing us with her nose just above the level of the water. Leather straps form a ‘V’ to under her breasts and three ropes tied to her torso, belly and leg to hold her so that some of her body rests above the water. The fourth was a front on seated naked women, one arm stretched out leaning against a chair with erect nipples and a full bush.

Aside from the feminist critiques including the overt sexualisation on women in public spaces and women seen and used solely for the purposes of sex, it led me to the conclusion that people are generally very down with sex in France.

‘Women around here are obsessed with having small figures. They constantly talk about it. It’s one of the reasons I’m invisible here. I’m old of course, but it’s not just that, it is because I carry a bit of weight that I’m invisible.’ A local English woman informed me.

And it’s not just about women’s weight that petit matters. Whenever I took my Belgium Griffon companion out for a walk, I got this reaction everywhere I went:

‘Oooohhh, a cute little dog.’

‘Bonjour petit chien!’

Then, in the markets I noticed this. Petit pumpkins! This is a whole other level of adorable.

The markets in Southern France ooze taste. The ranges of locally grown vegetables, mushrooms and olives are out of this world good. The crispness, array of full flavours in each vegetable I tried made me cry with happiness.

I’ve also come to understand that all Baguettes are not equal. Finding out the subtle differences between Boulangeries was an extremely challenging, but worthwhile pursuit.

French are obsessed with meat, but I found it interesting that fresh oysters are the delicacy of choice for the festive / noel season.

It is strange to me that despite the hundreds of wars for over a thousand years between the British and the French, to me they are a lot alike. The flags contain the same colours for a start. The peoples look very similar. Both countries colonised many places, killed thousands of people and imposed their rule and way of life. Of course there are some differences in humour (British humour is a bit more subtle), tastes in food (Brits are ‘Roast Beef’ and French are ‘Frogs’), but like many Brits, there are the same differences in rural and city peoples, socio economic statuses and understandings of the world outside their homes. They are equally proud of their country and what it has to offer.

Interestingly, about 45% of English words have a French origin, this in itself demonstrates to me how similar English and French peoples are. I found this to be an incredibly useful bit information to know, and if someone spoke slowly to me in french I could pick up most of what was being said. One of the most memorable conversations I had was with an elderly gentlemen. He noticed me photographing a small stylised garden in a square in the very pretty old town of Bergerac.

‘Je creatples fre tsas tfste aple’

I smiled. ‘No parla Francey, desole.’

He then spoke deliberately and slowly for about a minute… which included these words…’Jardin bonito… moderna…pheh. Comprendre?’

I laughed and nodded. ‘Comprendre.’

Essentially he told me he didn’t like the weird modern interpretations of gardens. A garden is nice just as a garden, but he didn’t understand why anyone would put a closet or chest of draws in it. 🙂

Again, similarities between generations of English and French people abound. I dare say there are more similarities between similar ages across the continents than between generations within their countries.

2 hours lunch, every single day!

Seriously, anything spoken in French is pleasing to the ear. The French language oozes sensuality from every syllable. The most annoying radio ads in English are like the poems of Tennyson swirling round my head on French radio. I’ll miss this.