Thursday, June 02, 2005

Not quite the France I had in mind

It's our last day in France. And unlike in Switzerland, where the tugging of heartstrings was so eminent, I have to say that I can't wait to leave France.

I think in my time here, besides being severly handicapped by my non-existent knowledge of the language and their refusal to speak in English, I saw what is a very deep-rooted problem here. There is a deep degree of racism here and an adament refusal to accept anything that is new or foreign. Francophiles can be likened to those Hight Street Anglophiles in Britain, with their hawhaw accents and gait. The real difference lies in the fact that these Anglophiles are one or two big aristocrats in a street of two hundred. But here in France, the whole country seems to be full of people of the same kind. Francophilics in every street.

Yesterday was, I have to say, just about the most harrowing day of my entire life. We went to Collioure, this seaside town about half an hour away from Perpignan by rail. The Mediterranean sea is so clear, and everywhere we walked there was the salty scent of sea spray, an endless expanse of clear water and blue skies. People in bikinis and bare chests were strolling around, the fresh seafood and swaying palm fronds were so surreal. That one day was ALMOST enough to change my bad impression of France.

ALMOST. Until the time came for us to leave.

You see, we had planned to take the 2045 train back to Perpignan, instead of the 1836 one. That gave us enough time to enjoy our woodfire pizza dinner and ice-cream in divine slow bliss. Butwhen we got to the station, there wasn't a soul in sight. None, it was so silent you could hear a pin drop. We had to yell for the guy living above the station, and he told us to check the schedules pasted in front. See, the French trains were going on strike the next day (which is today), but we didn't know it was going to affect the previous day's schedules. Nothing was said when we bought our tickets earlier in the day, not even a word of caution about this. Not even the 9pm summer sunset was going to save us from this helplessness. We very simply put, were stuck.

We waited for the 2149 train with this Morrocan PHD student studying at the university of Perpignan. He was stuck too, with a bicycle and no train to get onto. Standing for one and a half hours, he filled us in about all the problems a foreigner faces in France, because of all the racism and pride. Imagine a PHD student like him being told to go work in agriculture instead of the hotel business by some high-strung French supervisor. He speaks 5 languages, has a Master's in tourism, and this shit gets thrown to him just because he isn't French. And the French public workers are protesting about a 35 hour work week. Apparently, getting to work at 10 and leaving at 4pm is too much for them.

And the Morrocan guy told us about the situation in Perpignan, which we had been totally clueless about right up to that moment. The night before we arrived in Perpignan, 2 Arabs and 1 Morrocan were killed by the Gypsies. There have been riots and fires set in the street, and large gatherings of the mob. We didn't know anything about this at all! So blissfully ignorant to the violence going on. Walking in the alleys this morning, we saw scores of smashed shop windows, and posters of the slain in the middle-eastern parts of town. It was scary. When we arrived, there were tons of policemen in every corner of the street, in huge patrol cars and vans. Meng even chuckled that we were going to be so safe because obviously there was a policestation near our hotel. HOW VERY WRONG. These policemen have been deployed from as far away as Marseille to come deal with this huge racial clash. There is so much talk of retaliation and revenge, and many more fanatics coming to Perpignan to ride on the wave of violence.

So anyway, back to the Collioure story. It was getting so dark and there was still no train in sight. We were prepared to blow 60Euros to get a cab back to Perpignan. Staying a night in Collioure was out of the question cos the train strike was the very next day. There were no cabs in sight, and I was fretting. We ended up getting a ride back from 2 very kind old ladies, who sent us to our hotel doorstep. And that was an amazing miracle. I think someone up there loves us very much, I was praying so feverishly. I don't think I have ever felt this lost and this helpless ever before. I think the fear can't be described in words, and everything was exacerated by the fact that it was so dark there. Not a streetlight in sight along the way. Darkness does strange things to your guts. I just thank God we're all ok. A sigh of relief isn't enough to describe how I felt when it was all over.

Sigh. I think just spending 9 days in France has been enough to make me sick and tired of everything here. The people are totally unlike the Swiss or the Germans, who try their best to speak in English so that you understand them. Here, it's the real McCoy or nothing. And the streets are filled with dogshit. Dried ones from eons ago, fresh poo with flies buzzing atop the grand lump of crap, flattened ones crushed under the soles of unfortunate souls in stride, and even watery ones that spill mystery green muck to the side. Trust me, I've seen all sorts of doggie poo here. And to think I was so amused by the small black dog poo bags they have beside dustbins in Swiss parks. Here, I have come to appreciate the immense power of those tiny bags. Here in France, we can't even keep our eyes on the map to navigate as we walk. We have to constantly be on dog poo alert everywhere we walk. And the unmistakable stench of ammonia and urea can't be missed. I get headaches sometimes.

I guess I can't help but be disappointed by the France that I see. The people aren't warm and hospitable like thte Swiss. They aren't close-knit and kind like the middle-easterners. The streets aren't filled with nice chateaus, fountains, and manicured lawns. The place doesn't smell of hot croissants and afternoon tea. (ammonia and cammomile couldn't be more different, really)

So really, I can't wait to get out of France. Enough is enough. The weary traveller sets in.


Laid bare at 10:34 pm
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