La Bonne Vacance

What a great holiday! Despite 50% poorish weather, an unexpected visit to le medecin (doctor) and a wrenched ankle (damn you, wedges!) - not to mention a painful exchange rate - it was a truly bonne vacance.

When Les Tumperkins go en vacance, we like to immerse - and philosophise. And there's always much to observe and to ponder in La France. We love France. It has to be said (and there is a sense in which this has to be wrung from me) they are just so bloody good at everything. It's hardly surprising they're so very pleased with themselves. They deserve to be.

Monsieur Tumperkin and I tend to wile away the evenings en vacance, once les enfants are in bed, drinking wine and exchanging our thoughts. (We are particularly into our discussions about the French because Monsieur Tumperkin is reading Citizens by Simon Schama. He has been reading passages aloud and expressing astonishment at my better than passable knowledge about the French Revolution. All of which, incidentally, has been gleaned from romance novels). The thing that struck us on this holiday in particular, is that professionalism is a French national attribute. The French professionalise everything to a quite astonishing degree.

It really is quite heartening to go somewhere where the supermarkets haven't killed every small and independent shop. Every small hamlet in France seems to have its own boulangerie, charcuterie and epicerie. And usually a fromagerie and artisan patissier/ chocolatier too. Not to mention a Cave du Vins.

Even the pharmacies are different. In France they don't seem to have an equivalent to our high street chemist shops that sell everything from sandwiches to sticking plasters. They are much more selective than that. The French pharmacie - in my limited experience - is a gleaming shrine to health with beautifully balanced pyramids of expensive boxed products and the assistants all turned out in brilliant white tailored coat dresses, and all using those incredibly elegant, formal French manners. (Bonjour, Madame. Comment puis-je vous aider?). So unlike the sullen school-leavers and mumsy matrons of the British chemist shop.

And god, those manners! They are so very alien to us. The British are generally mannerly but in an entirely different way. French manners are a bit like American manners. The kind that are good and well taught and yet forceful. Businesslike. The sort of good manners that feel frightfully rude to us Brits sometime.

One of the highlights of our holiday was a visit to Puy du Fou which is this magnificent historical theme park. There are no rides. Instead it's got all these venues/sets where they put on amazing spectacular outdoor plays. Les Grands Spectacles! We managed to see three of the shows when we went - we had hoped to do four but were a bit late for the muskateer one. But we did see The Battle of Donjon, The Vikings and The Gladiators. (There isn't any French revolution related stuff in case you're wondering....)

This visit was great for many reasons. First it was just really well done. Submerged vessels that rise up, fire stunts and equine acrobatics, chariot racing etc. Spectacular stuff. We didn't follow most of the narrative, but it was all very stirring with lots of impassioned speeches about Freedom and Equality etc. Secondly, it really tickled the funny bones of Monsieur and Madame Tumperkin. The said impassioned speeches - so typically French! - and the music which was of mini-series-like sonorousness. Not to mention the general theme of the French being just fantastic. Unashamed patriotism bordering on rabid when, in the Battle of Donjon, the English soldiers came on with black rimmed eyes and blood dripping from their mouths - their greeting of boos defiantly met with spitting and scowling. Much fun.

Thirdly, there was the crowd. Very into it, they were. There was lots of troops of scouts and guides, all wearing incredibly old fashioned uniforms - boys in shorts, long socks and those proper scout hats and the girls with dashing little scarfs round their necks and berets! Fab. We had a whole regiment of guides behind us during the gladiator show and they were fantastic. They had an enormous and collective crush on the hero of the piece, a Gaul-centurion who was trying to save his Christian girlfriend from gladiators and lions and an evil Roman despot. He was all in white and when the chariot race happened, they were all shouting (passionately hoarse they were) "Allez la blanc! Allez la blanc!". They cheered all his speeches and blew him kisses and when the show ended and the crowd was applauding, the hero turned to them and blew kisses to them and bowed - and they all screamed with delight. Tres charmant.

This is a very typical Tumperkinesque reaction to any kind of grand spectacle: plain enjoyment/ sly amusement/ helpless admiration.

It would never happen here. No such theme park could exist in Britain. Because the British - and this is a great thing. I count it a virtue - it is the thing that makes my heart swell with pride - we just don't care that much. And we are too scrupulously fair to depict a long-ago enemy with blood dripping from his mouth so as to elicit squeals from girl guides.

So yes, we are back, appreciative of our French holiday but still very content in our amateur British souls.