Sometimes I think the French have it right, at least when they're not surrendering or making us look at Gerard Depardieu. I came to this conclusion after a recent delightful afternoon enjoying mouth orgasms from eating croissants filled with melted chocolate, from a French bakery in town.
This made me remember that I went to France years ago, on a camping road trip with friends and when asked to sum up what was so wonderful about that trip, it's not the culture, the fields of golden sunflowers against a cornflower blue sky or the turquoise views of the French Riviera that are foremost in my memories, it's the food. Basically if you enjoy quaffing down scads of baked goods so delicious you'll melt, you will be at home in France with its exquisite cakes and pastries and fresh baked breads. It's a wonder anyone in France has seen their own feet in decades.
Every day we were there, we would get up early, find the local bakery, stuff those still warm, almond croissants down our faces in blissful contentment while sipping strong, fragrant coffee and then, fuelled up on pastry and caffeine, drive all morning. Before lunchtime arrived and everything closed down for the afternoon siesta, we'd stop in some rural village somewhere, once again find the local bakery and buy a bunch of fresh baked baguettes, get a lump of good, local cheese and some wine and go sit in a field somewhere to eat, drink and fall asleep in the long grass.
Every day was like that. Eat, drive, eat some more, sleep, drive some more, find a place to pitch the tent, have a shower, go out and eat again, sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat. Heaven.
Compare with my current early morning start: Smash alarm clock off the wall while grunting, "6am already, WTF?" in disbelief. Drag shivering carcass out of bed and fall asleep on toilet while peeing. Brew lame, no-name brand coffee and while it's doing its thing, take a shower that runs hot then cold at will, making me screech obscenities to all the neighbours. Get dressed and drink lame no-name coffee. Maybe eat a Poptart or if I'm really adventurous that day, oatmeal. Stub toe on bookshelf. Swear. Check temperature outside. Curse Canada and ask why it can't move closer to the equator.
Not a croissant or sunflower in sight. Sometimes it's just not fair.