More than a dozen fires burn in the hills and valleys behind our house. No, it's not the striking students, truckers and union organizers. As Luke put it, "In Paris they're burning cars, here they're burning leaves." For the past three weeks, the acrid smell of burning leaves, weeds, and other garden refuse has overwhelmed the jasmine, mimosa and thyme.
It's not so bad up on our hill, but in the valleys, the smoke is smothering. October 1st marked the start of the season when people are allowed to set bonfires to burn what they want to dispose of but don't want to pay the steep costs to have hauled away. So we've had smoke, but not the fires aroused elsewhere in France by the proposed law to change the national retirement age from 60 to 62.
We've felt small ripple effects -- a few petrol stations out of gasoline and packs of gendarmes outside of Luke's school -- but for the most part things are calm compared to the riots in Paris, Marseilles (where they're blocking access to the port's oil terminals) and Lyon. The French people I've asked about the strikes express an initial sense of shame for the chaos caused by the strike participants. But then they mention the tax breaks for the super-rich and the corporations who do business here but pay little tax. And they talk about traditions and how most people they know value leisure time over money. They'd choose an extra week's holiday over an extra week's pay.
One columnist said the strikers fight for a "birthright of privileges." From where I sit, those privileges include long walks along the coast or in the forest, Sunday lunches that start at 11 and run into the evening, and leisurely games of boules. La douce vie, indeed. But the word douce means both sweet and soft in English. I've talked to Americans, Brits, Italians and Germans, all ex-pats, and most scorn the "soft" French who don't want to work an extra 2 years for the good of their country.
I don't have much sympathy for the high school students joining the protests (let's see -- go to school or run wild in the streets?), but I have a soft spot for the French yearning to keep their beautiful lifestyle intact. After all, their douce vie is what lures us all here. Although I'll be glad when they stop burning cars -- and leaves.
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