The Golden Hour; French Television; The Little Blue Paper

Sunday, August 3, 2014

     The sky this morning is cloudless and promises to remain so throughout the day.  I stop by the boulangerie, Beau in tow, to pick up a pain raisin and head to the soccer stadium, as always.  After Beau has had his exercise and we return home, I pack my knapsack and head off to Les Bains de Minerve.  It is 11:20 a.m., and I am guessing that as it's Sunday --the day French families traditionally get together for a long lunch-- the parc acquatique will be lightly trafficked.

     And I am correct.  It is nearing noon and there very few people at either the pool (which, inexplicably, has its cover on) or the area adjoining, which contains the jacuzzi and water massage.  Seating is scarce, though.  There are only five chaises longues in the area, but all are either occupied or have towels on them, the absentee "owners" hallmark.  Nevertheless, there's plenty of room for me to put down my beach towel in a spot behind which I can see the parking lot --but also La Montagne Noir's undulating peaks all around me.  

     All the other visitors except me are English.  "Mad Dogs And Englishmen"…Noel Coward was right!  The accents are cockney, the skins so pale, the reading matter paperback "thrillers" the Sunday Times had something positive to say about, the voices kept low.  Were it a French crowd, there would be much more chatter and everyone tanned the color of walnuts.

     Noon to 2:00 p.m. on Sunday may just be the "golden hour" at Les Bains. 

    Indeed, as I leave, the French are starting to show up:  Stocky men chatting cheerfully to their pals as they exit their cars, eyeing the women at the pool, their wives and children behind them, they're here to take a break from the heat after a long lunch, to give their children a chance to play among themselves while they take…la sieste.

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       French television is nothing to write home about, with few exceptions.  Telematin, the morning show on France 2 runs from 6:30 a.m. until 9:30 a.m. without repeating a single segment.  The presenters generally celebrate things French: books, design, music, what's in the newspapers and magazines.  To the credit of the young man who does the revue de presse segment, he has very catholic tastes: while he will of course, highlight articles from L'Express, Le Point, Capital and the other general interest national magazines, last week he reported on articles in Cosmopolitan and Le Chasseur Français.  In the former, an article about what older women (les cougars) seek in younger lovers, contrasted with older men, caught his eye.  (Conclusion: Women seek a connection with the youthful present; men, sex.)  The subject was treated with as much equanimity as if it had been an article on nuclear proliferation, an example of the classic French ability to submerge with analysis subjects we Americans would think hysterically funny.

     In Le Chasseur Français, it was an article about how French territory had been scarred by the bombardments and trench warfare that was brought to viewers' attention.  France before the First World War was a country in which one out of every two persons was a farmer or attached in some way to a farm, so the destruction of land in the country's east as a result of the First World War touches a chord.

     Another segment of Telematin celebrates unusual vacation places in France, for instance, a long weekend in a lighthouse shared by two young couples.  At 200 Euros per couple, the price is interessant, that is to say, attractive.

     As cheerfully eclectic as Telematin is, however, it never touches upon serious subjects, except those raised in novels.  Discussion of these is the domain of William Leymergie, the host and producer of Telematin.  A droll man, with a sizable gap between his two front teeth, Leymergie is the best thing about Telematin.  During the summer, when he is seen only in book review segments filmed from his holiday home, his replacements struggle; Leymergie is a comforting presence: baritonal voice, quick wit, not afraid to express a personal point of view, without him, the show lacks a center.

     I am relieved to learn that Fais Pas Çi, Fais Pas Ça, the hit situation comedy about two families, one right-wing, the other left, who are next door neighbors, is returning with more episodes next Wednesday.  The writers of the show are plugged into all the political crosscurrents in French politics but bring them down to the level of two suburban families living in Sèvres, a suburb of Paris.

     Otherwise, it's pretty thin gruel on the channels.  The French do their versions of Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot mysteries, but the English do them better.  Much of the television is documentaries about places like Macchu Picchu, which is fine, but with only 25 channels available I had hoped for more French movies.  Owners of second homes in France are restricted to that number of channels for reasons I cannot explain --I understand that permanent residents willing to pay more have more choice.

     Next year I'll install a universal DVD player.

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     I did not mention in my post about the pool that I had to bring a proof of my residency to the pool today.  On my last visit, when I registered as a resident of Carcassonne Agglo, I used my French bank card to prove residency.  However, I was asked to bring a more specific proof of my address, a water or electric bill.

     Since I have neither yet, I brought one of the closing documents for the house purchase with me.  I explained to the woman at the desk what had happened previously and showed her my hard plastic membership card.  She looked at the document I handed her carefully, and I wondered what would happen next.

     "Well, now you can have the blue ticket", she said.

     I remembered seeing the raffle-ticket book of dark blue coupons she now reached for, but I wondered what their purpose was.

     "You keep this in you wallet because it proves you are a resident of the Carcassonne Agglo" she said as she tore off a strip.

      "Do you mean I have to keep this for the year?"

      "You keep it in your wallet.  That way you'll have it with you."

       This little piece of paper attests to my being a resident of Carcassonne for purposes of the pool membership.  I already have a hard card that I could not have been given without demonstrating proof of that, but it's not enough.  I have to have the little blue paper.

       Bureaucratie is the French word for "bureaucracy".