a relative world

When one of my aunts lost a luggage in the plane & had to call the airline almost every hour, I was in a tug-o-war of cultural differences. It was a familiar picture of easily grumbling about almost everything - because in France, you are not special. All it took was a visit from my aunts to remind me how truly spoiled we are back home regardless of how inefficient some services may be & how things work even without a concrete set of rules.

If exercising your consumer's rights in the Philippines sometimes render a satisfying service, you might get different reactions in France - depending whether the company gives their employees a training in customer service, the mood of the person you're dealing with - especially the mood - and the time of business. But customer service almost does not exist in France. When it is likewise true that calling every hour is not really necessary to speed up the request, we wouldn't know if it did push the process faster. I understood my aunt's worry of not retrieving her luggage & the airline's logistics in locating & delivering lost luggage - but I also understood that there will be no lost luggage delivered right away as insisted. The airline must have lost a couple of bags already & I wanted to tell my aunt that for the airline, hers is no more special than the others.

In meeting my aunts in the hotel, the first thing I noticed was their huge luggage - without the one that got lost - and in my head, I was already imagining dragging them to places - from Paris, we still have Lourdes & Marseille by train. Knowing that France's hotels normally does not have porters, it didn't bother me until now. Not only that the reception was unwelcoming in the hotel we're staying in, we had to squeeze ourselves & the luggages in a tiny elevator & then finding a small room for three. The hotel already charges more than 100€ for 2 people. Hotels in France are just literally a place to sleep - I will never know the service in those luxurious ones but I bet a smile from the reception comes with a price. They are not even close to Philippine hotels in terms of rooms & services - you are so welcome & well taken cared of that you can just spend your day in the hotel.

I still clearly remember cursing under breaths when I always had to walk to get to places - to the metro station was even like a kilometer walk - so you can imagine my 60+ year old aunts walking around Paris. I did want to make it easier for them but not only that I don't really know Paris, there is no way around the hike from one place to another - even with a metro ride in between - and the heavy gray weather of Paris made it harder. Even when we reached home & I drove them to Marseille & Monaco, I explained that it is not allowed to just stop in the middle of the street, or say, in front of the place they want to go to like in the Philippines. Whatever you're complaining about the Philippine jeepneys & tricycles, I miss them. I miss having the option of hailing a pedicab in a remote area if I get tired of walking. They are a luxury.

They of course encountered some special random acts of kindness in France. It somehow still exists - the porter in the train station Paris Montparnasse who nicely carried all the luggages without the supposed extra charge - but was balanced by our calvary in the train station of Toulouse. The porters there didn't want to work & we had to drag our bags to two long flights of stairs under the curiousity of other travellers. The taxi driver in Lourdes who my aunts embarassed with compliments & the very good service in IBIS hotel. Sometimes, just sometimes, you will feel that France makes you feel special.

After awhile, you learn & get used to it while being constantly reminded that the Philippines is special. A lifestyle so unconsciously spoiled by a culture of customer service - we are so spoiled that it made us feel special - it is a culture. But not in France. My aunts did enjoy their stay & I do hope they will come back to visit hopefully with lesser luggage.

Winter is becoming very long, as long as the last time I updated my blog, and we are really fed up of the cold. Our region does bathe us with a lot of sunshine & grants us the bluest skies during winter but behind the sun & the blue sky, there is le mistral.

The locals in the south of France would tell you that one day you will hate the wind. And I did. Especially for the past few days when it was blowing at around 110km/h. Just imagine a signal #2 storm back home in the Philippines, only with no rain but a big bright sun. Only the mistral is a non-stop photo shoot that sometimes lasts for more than a week at the height of winter, a roaring mother earth knocking impatiently on your windows & doors.

Tramontane in the south-west of France, mistral in the Provençe & Côte d'Azur, is a cold & violent northwesterly wind along the south of France. An accumulation of air in the Alps, gushing the Rhône Valley at a speed of up to 160km/h until it reaches the Mediterranean Sea. More frequent during winter & spring, it occurs less often during summer. Mistral comes from the French Provençal word, maestral & in Latin, magister meaning "master."

The mistral is very significant in my region. Weather forecast can classify the mistral in 4 colors, red being "very violent." It is truly vicious especially during winter. It can make one irritable & often giving headaches when you stay out too long, having an impression that your head is "full of air." It is also believed that it can make people crazy since it can last for more than a week.

Marseille is particularly the mistral's main road to the sea. In our little barrio, situated right by the Blue Coast & 40km west of Marseille, you can visibly experience the power of the mistral. There is a place where the wind violently passes the most, like a principal canal, located just in the center town. You will see old people with bowed heads, bodies arched, walking hand in hand resisting the wind to get to their destination. I do exactly the same, struggling to get to the next lamp post & hold on for my dear body weight. After 4 years of living here, I have discovered new paths to avoid this evil canal. Yesterday, I had to brave the mistral to fix our cat's bridge since I didn't want to leave him out for the night. The big trash cans in the parking just beside our building flew right in the middle. I imagine them swirling around. The sea with a white surface. The mistral that makes me mumble curses in my 20 meter walk to the boulangerie.

Why the mistral occurs more in the winter is like sprinkling salt on a fresh wound. Chapped lips, red & wounded noses. It is why the south of France is abundant of sunshine & blue skies - the mistral is blowing away the rain clouds that comes from le vent de la mer, the sea breeze. During summer, we have occasional mistral winds that cools a too hot day. But cooling by swimming in the sea is out of the question. The mistral chills the sea water's temperature up to 15 degrees. I practically developed a notion of the wind's speed because of the mistral.

The mistral is part of knowing the south of France, a significant but silent role. Behind the sun, there is a violent wind. Behind the wind, there are grouchy Provençals.

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