The humidity is low. The shade is cool. An outdoor table beckons. There is an accordion playing somewhere in the distance.
“Wine?” I ask.
“Oui, bien sûr, Monsieur,” he answers.
Technically, I am simply helping local businesses by buying (well. . . drinking) locally-made products. Whatever I need to do to justify it to myself is fine, but ultimately, I am day drinking.
One of the more “difficult” parts of this new lifestyle I am embracing is realizing that I am not on vacation.
I don’t need to try and shove as many activities as possible into my 7 days of annual frantic leave whirlwind tour of Europe. I’ve got loads of time.
Here in France, most of the people around me sitting at outdoor tables appear to be. . . locals, not crazed tourists trying to guzzle down some French Rose as fast as possible.
These locals eat cheese, dip bread, drink wine, linger for hours, and smoke remarkablely thin cigarettes, all like they are on vacation. But they aren’t on vacation. This is simply a part of their culture.
A famous tip that all the Guidebooks about France give is that you will NEVER get your check. . . until you ask for it. . . numerous times.
This is a concept so alien to Americans that we don’t really believe it.
“Come on, I need to eat and run cause I have a tour bus to catch, and they want to turn these tables,” I think.
The French couldn’t care less about my schedule, about those tables, or about that dog pooping next to me.
Efficiency is so ingrained into my DNA that I will, at some point out of frustration, stand up while gesturing wildly like I am scribbling in the air (the international symbol for I want to sign SOMETHING, ANYTHING, MY DEATH WARRANT) in hope that I can give them all of the Monopoly money known as Euros in my pocket. They laugh and mock my pathetic attempt to pay them (cue eyeroll while contemptuously puffing on an insanely petite cigarette). I give up and throw money (with 20% tip no less) at them. They kick it back at me with a sneer.
Who said you can’t enjoy your afternoons lounging outside while engaged in soulful discussions with friends, strangers, anyone about something important, not important, unintelligible while drinking wine and nibbling cheese?
Not me . . . I’m in love.
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