I have been here in the south of France for more than a week now and yet haven’t written a thing. Why might this be? Because despite the fact that I am in one of the most glorious places on the planet (well I think so anyway) and despite the gorgeous weather we’ve been having I find myself unable to relax and BE on holidays. I’ll admit I spent most of my first week here stressed about having to find work shortly AND the fact that my French is appalling.
I’ve moved on from that now though and am genuinely enjoying my days lazing in the sun and wandering around the open air markets or discovering quaint little shops in narrow cobbled-stone lanes. The coffee is strong, the lunches are long and luxurious, and the people are all friendly – I’m sure I amuse them with my French.
It never ceases to amaze me how some stereotypes can actually be observed. Like for instance, Canadian travellers emblazoning their possessions with the red and white maple leaf so as not to be confused with their southern (and western) neighbours. Or the Dutch dominating the roads and footpaths with their bicycles adorned, of course, with flowers and often a canine (or human) companion. And here in France I have been no less struck with stereotypes. Every second person walking down the road really is carrying a baguette and more often than not, wearing a striped blue and white t-shirt. Here in the south however they appear to be bereft or berets, or maybe they only come out in the winter.
I am happy to say that after a week of sunning myself, I have managed to achieve an ever so slight tan. Certainly nothing compared to the dedicated efforts of those who live in southern Europe but for a North Queenslander like myself, it’s something to be proud of. See, contrary to popular belief, born and bred North Queenslanders, like myself, are raised to fear the sun … along with swimming outside the stinger nets and walking in tall grass. As a result, most of us are so pale that we wouldn’t look out of place in a vampires’ lair. In fact, prior to this trips, I can’t remember the last time I ventures outside between the hours of 8 and 5 without a wide brimmed hat, a long sleeve shirt and a slather of sun screen. Here though in Toulon, the south of France, where the sun is much weaker and the air doesn’t feel like a moist blanket, I can bathe in the sunshine without looking like a raw tomato, glistening with sweat. Now, I could just get used to swimming in a pool that DOESN’T feel like warm soup then everything would be perfect.
Life is belle! Vive la France!
