Adam and Eve’s defiant, irresistible urge to take a bite out of that particular apple led to one very unfortunate result. I’m not talking about sex. I’m a healthy male human. I do not consider sex unfortunate. I’m not talking about children. Although we have none, I thoroughly enjoy spending time with my niece and nephew and their children…in carefully controlled increments. No. The unfortunate result of the bite of that apple was the consensus-driven predilections for humans to wear clothing. And with clothing comes laundry. So while France may be viewed as Paradise by Americans looking for relief from the Hell that has been created in the Colonies, it falls to me to report that it is still necessary to do laundry in Paradise. And run the vacuum cleaner. And wash windows. And, I have recently discovered, learn how to wipe the induction cooktop clean.
Pets shed in France. Birds poop on your car. Entitled assholes steal your parking space and cut in line at the checkout.
In other words, much of the day-to-day annoyances that plague your day-to-day if you are still living in the USofA will likely find their counterparts in France. And be forewarned, living in France comes with particular annoyances all their own. I can’t speak to what’s annoying in Paris or other major metropolitan areas. We don’t live near a city that hosts cruise ships or has had its housing market distorted by Airbnb. No, we live in a quiet rural village of 1,500 souls who know each other, at least by sight, and get along reasonably well with each other. We live surrounded by the largest vineyard in the world, seven times the area of Napa, three times that of Bordeaux. Small, compact villages connected by well-maintained two-lane blacktops, surrounded by seas of carefully manicured vines, the largest vineyard in the world. What could possibly be annoying about that?
To my way of thinking, not much. What’s that, you ask? You list annoyances that can subtract from the enjoyment of a pleasant, fulfilling retirement in the rural south of France, then claim that they don’t really matter? Well, they don’t. Not to get all Zen about it, but living a satisfying life involves understanding the rhythms of the life that surrounds you. Household chores are necessary and, when done effectively and efficiently, can be fulfilling in and of themselves. That’s the simple part. More importantly, the culture that surrounds you has a rhythm to it that needs to be observed and understood. Shopping at the village butcher is a perfect example.
When our old butcher retired and sold his business to a young local, his younger wife stayed on to run the front of the shop as she had been doing for many, many years. Smart move for all concerned. Nadine was a fixture who would represent continuity to the community, she knew the work inside out, and she could put in her hours and leave her work at the end of the day without taking her work home with her.
Nadine is an important nexus for local news and information. There’s always a conversation along with the service. Four patrons may be in line, ready to buy the makings of their dinners, but there’s conversation. It’s not that Nadine doesn’t know that you’re waiting for her. It’s not that she doesn’t care. But everyone gets their turn to hold a conversation with Nadine. When it’s your turn, Nadine will give you her full attention. Full attention. If the conversations that precede you include catching up with grandkids or the best way to use a particular cut of meat, so be it. You wait your turn. Patiently. You might have news to impart or questions to ask too. Some might call the waiting annoying. Those that do aren’t attuned to the rhythm of village life.
And the rhythm of the seasons in our rural setting keeps us on your toes.
As soon as a renewing spring threatens, groups of (mostly) men dressed in Spandex take to our narrow two-lane blacktops that are just twisty enough to make passing interesting. And the law gives them the right to the full lane. Their speed (and their Spandex) could be annoying if you let them be. But it’s spring and I’m retired, so what’s the rush?
We don’t live in a town of any great interest to tourists, but the region as a whole is saturated with places of interest that beckon travelers and owners of second homes in summer. Added to the tarmac mix that includes the bicyclists are the drivers of caravans and lost drivers of rentals. Well maintained, twistie tarmac is made for vehicular enjoyment by an old motorcyclist like me. But it’s summer and I’m retired, so what’s the rush?
And if the bikes and the strangers depending on GPS slow you down, just wait until vendange (the grape harvest) from late August through September arrives. It will be necessary to add time lost for following slow-moving agricultural machinery to any trip of significant length. But it’s autumn and I’m retired, so what’s the rush?
No. The answer to such annoyances is not simply to exercise patience. Patience implies the forbearance of an unpleasant circumstance. Taking time out to immerse yourself fully in the rhythm of the moment may feel unnecessarily slow paced by the standards that you are used to, hustling and bustling Colonial that you are. But it’s France and you’re retired, so what’s the rush?
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