A Postcard From Dijon

I've already sent these.  How would you like one of your own?

Dear Readers,
Wish you were here.  Today a young guy rode by me on his bike.  He was wearing the head of a donkey.  It took a second for me to realize that something was strange, then for just a tick I thought I was in a street performance of Shakespeare’s Midnight Summer Night's Dream.  But then his friend rode up behind him wearing a helmet camera.  Wouldn’t you love to know that story?

That’s why I love to travel places where I can go à pied.  On foot you’re so much closer to all the quirkiness of the world.

One way I refuse to adapt to this country, though – I have made a habit of NOT giving correct change.  This characteristic of the French is not quirkiness.  It’s just plain irritating to stand in line behind three people who all insist on counting out every centime.  And no thank you, Madame.  I don’t need your help digging through my coin purse to see if I have that one final euro that makes the count perfect.  Just take my 20€ bill for the baguette and let’s all move on.

On Sunday we tried to go to the Musée Gorsline in Bussy-le-Grand.  American artist Douglas Gorsline moved to France for inspiration.  The museum isn’t much bigger than a three-car garage in a small village in the middle of nowhere.  Except we didn’t get to see it.  The sign said knock on the door across the street and someone would come let us in to the studio-museum.  We never got anyone to answer our knock.  That’s sort of how things are over here.  C’est la vie.  You have to learn to just go with the flow.  Reserve expectations for things like success at open-heart surgery, not day to day events or plumbing (see all past comments about French toilets and my hot water problem).

Word for the day: éthylotests

France has always been very strict about drinking and driving.  On July 1 the country began requiring that all cars carry two breathalyzer tests in the glove compartment.  Two, remember.  Not one.  If you’ve spent the night drinking alcohol (duh . . . you’re in France), then you’re required to administer the test to yourself and abstain from driving if the response says you’re over the limit.  On Sunday night before the big Euro2012 final I saw a line stretching down the sidewalk at the Tabac shop (pretty much what it sounds like).  I guess they thought they might have a sip or two during the match and needed to be prepared for after.  The regulation is still debated.  Many see it as yet another impôt (tax) or a good ol’ fashioned vache à lait (cash cow) for the state.

Went to see Wes Anderson’s Moonrise Kingdom Monday night at one of the theaters that shows movies in English.  I’m slowly adjusting to the fact that they don’t sell any food of any kind at the cinema.  Sometimes they might have a vending machine. The important thing is, though, that you see that film.  Bruce Willis, Bill Murray, Frances McDormand, Edward Norton.  How can you go wrong?

So that’s what happened over the weekend.

Here is what I see as I walk

 

Postcards.  Snippets of impressions.  No room ever for the whole story, but enough to give you a taste of life in another part of the world.  With internet, smart phones, Skype, and every other instantaneous form of communication (did you know that I can call from a land line in France back home to another land line for FREE?) the fine art of letter writing dies a little more.  No more glossy souvenirs arriving through the post box, dreams of the future that you hang up over your desk while you await the day when you will get there yourself.

However, I want to slow down that sad literary decline.  If you like postcards, raise your hand.  Or, more practically, go to the comments box as usual and tell us about your postcard/thank you card/letter writing habit or history (you know, those things where you have to supply your own message).  Then if you want your own postcard from France, find my e-mail address on my profile page and send me a message by July 8 with “postcard” in the subject line.  Include your full name and address in the e-mail and I’ll send you a bit of vacation nostalgia.  Maybe one day you’ll return the favor.

HAPPY JULY 4TH!!!!!