La France, pays des luxes

France is definitely a culture that values luxury. They they take their meals, vacation, and any other leisure time seriously. Once a week I join my collegues for lunch in the school cafeteria. The sectional for teachers is separated from the rest of the dining area, and we're allowed to hop in line in front of the students. The food is served in separate dishes for each "course," and almost everyone eats one dish at a time, first the entree, then salad, cheese, fruit and dessert. Some teachers also sip on a small glass of table wine (something that would never happen in the States), and after eating, everyone chats and drinks coffee to finish the full hour alloted to the meal.

Last week, when I sat down, the professor next to me was shuffling some papers around and complaining to everyone at the table. "What is this?" She asked angrily, "What kind of institution is this?" I asked her what was was wrong and she explained that the secretary had put out an outline for a meeting later that day, "On the table! During the meal! That's scandelous!" Another prof. chimed in that they should boycott the meeting since the administration had the nerve to trespass on their lunch hour and dining space.

It's impossible to buy anything (unless you're at a restaurant) between the hours of 12 and 2 pm. Everyone is eating lunch for two hours. It's also difficult to buy anything, with the exception of fresh bread, on a Sunday. Much is closed on Monday too, but boulengeries are always open limited hours to furnish French meals with fresh baked goods. They don't eat stale baguettes here.

Yesterday I drove to Paris, and I had to stop in Poitiers (where I lived last fall), to change my license plates. I left the car at the garage for an hour and wandered around. I stopped for a snack and took my time mapping out my route to Paris, trying not to miss my former navigator/boyfriend too much as I did it. When I finally felt comfortable with the trip, I checked my phone and realized that I couldn't make it back to the garage before noon.

The thought of delaying my trip two hours lit a fire under my ass and I started walking as fast as I could towards my car. I knew that most things close for lunch, how could I have lost track of time? I was cursing myself and lugging my bag with all my valuables that I didn't want to leave in the car, plus the atlas, plus a litre of water I was too cheap to dump, and all the while praying that this garage was an exception. And heaven smiled down on me, because when I arrived breathless, my car was ready, and the cashier showed no sign of closing. I know if I had chosen a private or local garage, it wouldn't even have been open on a Monday. I went with the chain that doesn't offer close for lunch. Maybe meals are sacred here, but I'm glad that some businesses opt for less leisure when it comes to their hours.