Plouc.

Yes, it is winter. Yes, it is very cold at the moment in Paris. The topic of conversation chez les Joly this weekend was, however, beach umbrellas. When I heard, "and he had the audacity to come down to the beach with a beach umbrella!" I sat down at the table grinning, knowing that I was going to get a good helping of French-ness in one conversation. I asked to recommencer - to start again, because I wanted to hear the whole thing.

Apparently, someone the Joly family is very close to appeared on the beach in St. Aygulf with an umbrella this summer. The horror. I sat in my chair smiling with amusement, straining to figure out what could be horrible about it. So, I flat out asked. "Ouh la la, Emilie!" they responded in surprise.

Didn't I see that: an umbrella at the beach is plouc? (middle-low class). Isn't it clear to me by now that the French are not practical people (they are aesthetic and philosophical people); therefore, the practical in France are the most plouc of all. (They slipped in that it is different in my country, because my people value pragmatism, which made me feel a great deal better).

They went on with their tale: and sometimes people will even bring a glacière (cooler) to the beach with them! This was said with eyebrows raised very high. (Again came my request to explain the problem with a cooler at the beach). "Il faut pas bouffer à la plage!" (You mustn't eat on the beach!) "On mange pas en public." (We do not eat in public). This one is a rule to take seriously in France. Eating in public spaces that are not designated for this activity = high doses of shame.

They brought up the subject of folding chairs on the beach. As you can imagine, also a no-no.

Xavier specified: This sort of person (the one who has an umbrella, a folding chair and a cooler at the beach) "veut reproduire sa maison partout. Le syndrome du campeur" (...wants to reproduce his house everywhere he goes. It is the camper syndrome).

The traditional, well-educated French person: "vient le matin, il nage et il s'en va. Et puis, il revient le soir" (comes to the beach in the morning, he swims and then he leaves. Then, he comes back again in the evening).

I am so plouc.

Széchenyi bathing.

Chris and I headed to the Széchenyi baths in Városliget (City Park) today. These baths are the largest set of baths in Europe (15 different pools, multiple saunas - crazy). The baths are pools of all sorts of temperatures and are made up of all sorts of chemical properties (they stem from thermal springs). The feeling you get is clashing, because you are surrounded by Neo-baroque architecture and trashy Hungarians, Frenchies, and all sorts of other folks (some not trashy) all at the same time. It is like a public swimming pool and then, not at all. Like a doctor's office and an insane asylum and then like a beauty retreat. Upon entering the baths, we made some banal inquiry to one of the security guards. His response: "They [the baths] are dangerous, but funny and good." We were delighted.



Here, Chris enters the baths, wading in water to wash the outside world off his feet and to enter and be healed (the baths are subsidized for Hungarians by the government because of their healing powers). These are the minerals, elements, things in the waters:





Let the healing begin:








This is not an insane asylum, this is a high-speed whirlpool that spins you around through the force of the people who churn the water and the water itself. Chris said he felt like one of those lures (fake rabbits) that greyhounds run after on a racetrack.


That's right: 212 degrees Fahrenheight in these saunas:




Followed by an ice cold pool. Chris again (because his references are so dead-on): "This was like a body reset button."












To be sure he was properly treated, Chris drank up to five liters of the sulphur water before leaving. As expected, his many ailments have all fled.

"Prolo"

At the dinner table last night.

(Xavier's mother is visiting this weekend from the Loire Valley. The following conversation was, of course, in French, but I am writing it here in English to be clear for all).

Xavier: "You know, Mom, ever since business school, my friends have primarily been 'prolos'."

(prolo: proletariat)

Paule: "Oh, yes?" (A bit surprised)

Xavier: "Yeah." (And then he expanded by specifying they were much nicer than 'aristos.')

(aristo: aristocrat)

Emilie: "What exactly is the difference between an aristo and a prolo?"

The response hovered around three things: the way they eat, the way they talk, their taste in things.

Every time these distinctions arise, it seems I fall distinctly in the 'prolo' category. In fact, I think 'prolo' is the very definition of an American.

Bits and pieces from Baugé

Conversation about popcorn. Xavier’s mother comments that I must increasingly be able to discern middle class things – me: “No actually, we were sitting in a movie theater the other night and Xavier told me that popcorn is extremely middle class.” She exclaims: “Oh yes! Absolutely. Entirely middle class. Même plouc! (Even low class!) Eating anything in a theater is middle class.” Vincent (Xavier’s dad) agrees with a solemn nod of his head and adds that there are categories of middle class: low middle, middle middle and high middle.

The middle class discussion has been an ongoing thing since I first met Xavier. Class distinctions are almost non-existent in the US in comparison to how deep they run and are made in France. We are not talking about money here. Not at all. In fact, according to Xavier and his mother, sometimes the most middle class people are those with money. So, I thought I got it – you know, manners or being well-educated or something to that effect. But when you examine the list of middle-class things (appointed by Xavier and his family), I am at a total loss. This is just a sampling of the random (to me, at least) assortment of things deemed middle class…

MIDDLE CLASS THINGS:*:

- le 14 juillet (to be fair, a historically just categorization)
- le Tour de France
- saying “quelque part” instead of saying "d'une certaine façon"
- le mec (the guy) who drives in the left lane but never really overtakes anyone
- engraving a name on a silver drinking cup (first of all, who drinks from silver cups?)
- in the same vein - a gourmette (a bracelet with a name engraved - usually for men)
- M&M’s (X: “What are you eating? Remind me never to eat those again”)
- cutting a clementine without a knife. Xavier’s sister: “…I suppose there are some people in France who don’t use a knife..”
- les brasseries
- white socks (apart from sports)
- the smell of certain people
- “christmas tree earrings” (dangly earrings)
- further, wearing glasses and earrings at the same time
- camping cars
- to rent a house in the south of France
- certain types of dogs, including huskies
- a station wagon without kids
- a matching leather chair and couch
- blonde highlights
- commencing the tour of your house with the garage
- bread
- watching tv and eating dinner at 8pm every night with the news
- french people trying to imitate americans (naming your french children american names and still, of course, pronouncing the names with a french accent: jennifer (jenyfair), kevin (keveen)

*This list will assuredly be updated from time to time.