After that title I’m not sure how to approach this; should I go for the little Englander, Daily Mail reader stereotype (and make my parents proud) or express wonder that the nation which produces such a high percentage of the world’s luxury fragrances has a problem with the concept of déodorant?
I was in France on Saturday, ostensibly to meet fellow bloggers at the Pink Knickers/Pick Nickers Picnic, although as a previous commenter has pointed out, that was probably just an excuse to continue my Gay Pride March Summer ’05 Tour. I’ve only ever actually met one blogger before, and that was such a wonderful experience that to meet a whole group was somewhat overwhelming – Robin from perfect.co.uk was there, as was petite anglaise and Tadpole, who was of course charming, in a small child, standing on my fingers kind of way. Similarly I got to meet an Aussie Lass and Ms. Mac and plenty of others. I also got to play degrees of blog separation with Antipo Déesse in that “oh, you know the author of La Vie en Rouge, she’s friends with my friend…(who probably knows Kevin Bacon)”, kind of way. I know that Vivi from Dispatches From France was there too, but I unfortunately didn’t get a chance to speak to her. Oh, there were loads of people there, probably more than on my entire blogroll, I’m not listing then all, because, well, I’m lazy basically. Everyone I met was outgoing and friendly and, perhaps most importantly, had all brought delicious food: whoever was responsible for the white chocolate brownies has my undying respect.
Anyway, where were we? Oh, yes, the French and unpleasant body odours. It was a hot day, not ridiculously so – somewhere between 30 and 35°C – but hot enough to make men sweat and ladies (to quote my mother) “glow”. In the Metro, the temperature seemed to rise by another ten degrees and humidity must have been 100%. During the four or five stops that I travelled, I think I lost about a kilo due to perspiration. Travelling on those non-air-conditioned ovens from one side of the city to the other would surely lead to death by dehydration. Sitting in the foyer of a cinema waiting to finally watch Garden State, where it was also ridiculously hot, the ticket salesman was asked if the theatre itself was air-conditioned, “Of course”, he replied “just like here in the foyer”. Disturbingly, he meant it seriously. In the event it wasn’t so bad, although maybe I was just distracted by Natalie Portman.
Note to French cinema attendees: fanning oneself with a ticket stub, which was approximately 2”x2” square won’t keep you cool, similarly, not washing for three or four days at the height of summer isn’t going to help you not smell. Yes I was sweating too, but thanks to soap, water and the products of Issey Miyake (which I now notice says “Issey Miyake, Paris” on the containers), I didn’t smell badly. Unless you dislike that whole citroney freshness thing – and bearing in mind Napoleon’s message to Josephine as he returned from Egypt, “Ne te lave pas, j’arrive!” perhaps there is something in your national conscience. Certainly suffering needlessly in the heat seems to be part of it. On the return journey, the train was, of course, not air-conditioned. I consumed three litres of mineral water in as many hours in the sealed carriages. The SNCF personnel who were checking tickets were soaked, not just under their arms, their entire shirts were wet. At the border, not only did the Budesgrenzschutz get on board, but also German train staff. The first thing they did was examine the control panel at the end of the carriage. Within seconds a blast of cool air emanated from vents positioned next to every seat. I will never complain about lack of a/c in Germany again. Well okay, I will, but not until it gets back near 100°F, when I’ll moan that a fan is not the same as an a/c unit. No it isn’t! And the lack of screen doors.
After all that whingeing, it might seem as if I didn’t have a good time, which is as far from being the case as it is possible to be. I might even go back. In winter.
German Phrase For Today: “Klimaanlage” – Air-conditioning (unit).
Song playing as this was published: Red Hot Chili Peppers “Fortune Faded”
Yes, I remember this from Paris in summer 2003. Horrendous!
OK, it isn’t really hot unless your car dashboard has melted (lost several cars that way) and your not really French unless you stink to high heaven. Just the way of the world I suppose.
820: Hot enough to melt your car dashboard sounds more like bad product design (or having your car set on fire). As for France, yes it was beautiful and people (especially in the Metro) were obviously uncomfortable with the heat. I never used to believe those statistics that claimed Britain, with a similar population size, used three times more soap. I’m becoming more convinced though. On the other hand, and continuing sterotyping, France probably spends three times more on ridiculously good food - or at least the former mayor of Paris did
Ah, yes, yes, the picnic was great, it was a hot day and the French smell, we know all that. What we really want to know is what you thought of Garden State?
I remmember noticing that a marketing boast on a deoderant in a Intermarche - Veet I think - went like this,
“Lasts for 4 days”, which might explain a lot.