Epilogue 02 October 2008 by Theresa
Now that our adventure is over, here are some of my final random thoughts on France and the French.
Diet and Weight:
Its not just the French Women who are skinny, the men are too. They all look like runway models. Thin boned, narrow hips, classic features with pouty lips. French women are naturally beautiful, with deep set eyes, skin that tans easily, and long flowing brown or auburn hair. There aren’t many blondes.
In the recent best-seller, “French Women Don’t Get Fat”, the author, Mireile Guiliano claims French women are skinny because they eat small portions of good food.
I think its more than that. For one thing, its body type. On our last day in Paris, Kevin and I were sitting at an outdoor cafe when four French women walked by in a line, linking arms and talking. And as they walked by, it struck me how they looked like gazelles. Tall and thin in skinny jeans and high heals. I don’t know who ancestors of the French are: Gauls? Franks? But I do know they are different from mine.
Most North Americans come from German, Polish, Belgium ancestors. And we are thick boned and wide hipped. Built for having babies. While the French women look like the gazelles, I look like a Clydesdale. And there is no way a Clydesdale can look like a gazelle no matter how skinny it is.
The other reason they are so skinny is because they smoke. All the time. Like crazy. They don’t snack. They smoke instead. Every woman you see walking by either has a cigarette in her hand or a cell phone.
Other books and research talk about the so called Mediterranean diet of red wine, fresh local produce, fish, bread, etc. being good for your heart.
Mike told us there were only six cows in all of the Rhone Valley. They don’t seem to eat much dairy products except for some cheese at the end of a meal.
But this smoking and diet comes with a price: I never saw so many older adults, age fifty and up, with osteoporosis. Severe spine bending hunched over osteoporosis. It was shocking.
Fashion:
Because they are so skinny, anything looks good on them. Their thighs are about as thick as their ankles, so they choose to wear skinny jeans, skinny pants, or leggings.
In Black. Everything in black, or maybe grey if they feel adventurous. A hint of red now and then for scandal.
They never wear tennis shoes. Only expensive leather flats or high heals. And everyone, including the men, usually have a thick scarf wrapped a few times around their neck.
Men frequently have masculine leather shoulder bags with long straps so they can put it across their chest.
I saw many women wearing loose cuffed shorts that fell about mid thigh, with black tights and boots.
Their dresses and skirts are flowing and short, above the knee, but always with black tights or leggings. Never any nude or light coloured pantyhose.
Occasionally I saw moccasins with tights. Those old fashioned ankle kind with fringe we used to wear in the 60’s.
The men also favour black skinny pants and dark jeans. Not cowboy jeans with belts. Dress jeans. With long sleeved shirts and sweaters. Never t-shirts.
Big sunglasses like movie stars. But few wear regular glasses. Either they all have perfect vision or contacts.
Dolce and Gabbana belts. Large tote like bags for purses for the women. Small thin bags for the men, or if they are businessmen
Bathrooms:
They are called Water Closets or toilets.
In North America, our toilets are pretty much standardised. When you walk into a public toilet or a shopping mall or restaurant, you know you are going to get the kind with the metal flushing knob on the left of the tank. (electronic ones at airports are the exception)
In France, you never know what you are going to get. The hole in the floor squat and aim toilet is mainly reserved for free public toilets in smaller towns.
Standard tank toilets can have a pedal on the floor you push, a string from the ceiling you pull, a knob at the top of the tank you pull, or a knob on the tank you push. My favourite is the combination two button variety. The small button for “number one” produces a small amount of water for the flush, and the large button for “number two” that produces, you guessed it, more water and power for those really big messes.
Toilet paper comes in a rainbow of colour. Red, pink, blue yellow. I think coloured paper was banned here in North America ages ago because the dye leached into rivers and streams and was toxic to fish. Not so in France.
Hotels don’t provide wash clothes. So if you like to use them to wash your face or in the shower, you have to bring your own.
Not all hotels provide tissue in a box either. So be prepared to use scratchy toilet paper instead.
Their toilet paper maybe be scratchy, but their paper napkins ins restaurants are thick and soft. The French have their priorities.
Dogs:
They take their dogs everywhere, and they are welcome everywhere. In restaurants, in stores, on subways. And they don’t always clean up after them, so you have to walk with you head down to avoid the poop on the side walk.
Street cleaners come by often, a guy with a hose walks ahead of a truck, spraying all the poop into the central gutter, and a big street cleaner comes along behind to spray, wash and suck it up.
Random Thoughts About Everything Else:
According to Wikipedia, The Paris Metro (subway) system is the second busiest subway in Europe, after Moscow. It carries 4.5 million passengers a day, has a total length of 133 miles, has sixteen lines, 300 stations and 384 stops. The first line opened in 1900!
Kevin and I rode it daily while we were in Paris, and no where did I see a homeless person, nor trash overflowing, nor smell urine in the corners. It was neat, tidy, efficient with art nouveau architecture. And what struck me as strange was the lack of security personal or police to make sure it stayed that way.
Our visit to Versailles was marred by a collection of “art” installed in every room by an American Artist, Jeff Koons. It was hideous, and I don’t know why such a beautiful palace like Versailles would choose to show his works. I refused to take pictures of them, they were so out of place. For example, you’d walk into this heavily ornate gothic room of gold and red with painted masterpieces on the ceiling, and there, in the middle of room sat a giant red shiny balloon dog. In another beautiful room was a statue of Michael Jackson reclining on his side holding Bubbles, his chimpanzee. Another had a giant red lobster hanging from the ceiling.
The arrows on signs take some getting used to in Europe. When we in North America wish to indicate something is straight ahead, we paint an arrow pointed straight up on the sign. Europeans use an arrow pointed straight down. I was forever looking for stairs leading down. When they do mean “go down” they will point the arrow down at an angle to the right or to the left, depending on where the sign is hanging.
The little folding sac made of nylon I bought at the Hudson’s Bay Company was the best thing I ever brought with me. It would fit folded in my purse until we needed it to stuff coats or water bottles into it. Or bread or cheese.
I wish I had a bought a portable clothesline. They usually wasn’t a shower curtain bar at most hotels to hang stuff on. They seem to favour glass doors.
The Museum Pass, which comes in three, four or six day varieties, saved us time. We never had to stand in a ticket line. Never had to make that decision at the door, “is it worth the 10 Euros to go in?” We had the pass, it covers many museums. We just went in.
In the 1990’s, Paris was plagued by a series of bombings from Separatists. The home made bombs would be hidden in the metal trash bins that line the streets. The authorities solved that problem by replacing all the trash cans with clear plastic garbage bags that hang from holders.
Gasoline here in Ottawa now costs $1.05 a liter. In France, it was about $1.50 Euros a liter, or $2.22 Canadian. That works out to about $7.90 US per gallon! My goodness, they pay a lot for gasoline.
