WTF?!--What the French

by Olivier Magny

  Oui, oui, ça va, je crois. / Yes, thank you. I think I’m fine.

  Et vos skis, ça va? / Are your skis broken?

  Euh, oui, ça a l’air d’aller. / They seem to be fine.

  Ça va is used just as commonly in the interrogative as it is in the affirmative form. One typically responds to the other. Ça va encompasses two families of questions, which in French would be Est-ce que ça va? and Comment ça va? Literally: “Does it go?” and “How does it go?” In other words, “Are you okay?” and “How are you doing?”

  While extremely common, Ça va is far from being formal. When meeting someone for the first time or when you want to be polite, it’s safer to go with Comment allez-vous?, which means the same thing but uses the polite “you” form vous.

  Etymology being a cheeky thing, it teaches us that the phrase gained popularity in the French language in medieval times when the analysis of feces was an essential element to diagnose general health. Comment allez-vous? is ultimately but a mere reminiscence of the common medieval inquiry Comment allez-vous à la selle?

  In that, the English language shares with French a similar scatological origin for its most traditional and polite of greetings: “How do you do?”

  All things considered, sticking to the humble Ça va might really be the best thing to do.

  Useful tip: With the right tone of voice and a hand gesture, Ça va can also be used as a sign that your patience has been exhausted!

  Sound like a French person: “Eh bah ça va pour lui!” (Well, seems like he’s doing well for himself!)

  C’EST PAS POSSIBLE

  An old French saying asserts, Impossible n’est pas français—Impossible is not French. Combine effort, inspiration, faith, and panache with copious amounts of wine and you will find that most things in life are indeed possible.

  However, these days, as the reality it describes is losing its accuracy, the phrase itself is losing traction in everyday conversations. Cognitive dissonance alert! Sadly, in today’s France, most people have grown to internalize that “not possible” is ultimately far more likely than “possible.”

  France is clogged with an unfathomable number of rules, regulations, and bureaucratic nonsense, making everything that is not forbidden more or less mandatory. French freedom for you.

  In a country where approximately half of the adults either work for the government or live off government subsidies, it should come as no surprise that the constant interaction with bureaucratic rules permeates everyday living.*

  Any expat who has interacted with l’administration will be hard-pressed to keep her love of France intact. It’s a true test to that cute love affair! You do not know what wanting to bang your head against the wall, crying and screaming, means until you have dealt with the French bureaucracy. After you have waited for a few hours to be attended to by an agent, it is highly unlikely that you won’t be missing a form, a signature, a stamp, or a relevant identification document. Life is smooth sailing until you try to obtain a document from a French government paper pusher. That paper will cost you some life points!

  French people now know that there is probably a rule making what they are interested in, hoping, or trying to do if not illegal, then at least subject to authorization, a permit, taxation, or auditing. This makes the pursuit of any initiative somewhere between heroic and nonsensical (the line between the two being thin—always), and, in any case, exhausting.

  As a consequence, the default answer most French people will give to any suggestion, idea, or request you present them with will be: Non. Non, typically followed by, C’est pas possible. By C’est pas possible, what the French person means is:

  There is a rule against that. Sorry.

  I’m not aware of any clear, direct rule pertaining to that subject matter, but in all likelihood, given the complex web of rules that characterizes this place, there is a good enough chance that there is one, and if not, I would have to juggle and justify so many loopholes to satisfy your request that just thinking of the endeavor and its possible repercussions is killing me and ultimately absolutely not worth my time, risk, or effort.

  Most French people have grown to be fine with most things being pas possible. The phrase is now so prevalent that it is pervasive in situations where you would least expect it:

  French bouncers will typically turn down patrons they don’t want to see in their club with the phrase: “Désolé, ça va pas être possible!” (Sorry—can’t let you in!)

  A group of girls making fun of someone’s attire or general looks: “Sérieusement, c’est pas possible là!” (Seriously, is she kidding with that look?)

  A mother on the verge of a nervous breakdown: “C’est pas possible—j’en peux plus!” (I can’t take it anymore!)

  A man complaining about someone’s stupidity: “C’est pas possible d’être aussi con!” (It’s impossible to be that stupid!)

  A girl complaining about a colleague she can’t stand: “Non, mais lui, c’est juste pas possible!” (I can’t stand that guy!)

  Liberté, égalité, impossibilité.

  Useful tip: If I’ve written three books, you can be sure that anything’s possible!

  Sound like a French person: “C’est pas possible d’être aussi vulgaire que cette fille.” (This girl is as vulgar as they come.)

  BEAUTY

  The joke goes that God created France, the most beautiful country in the world with so much good in it, and ended up feeling guilty about it. He had to do something to make it fair. And so, he created the French people.

  France is indeed blessed with breathtaking beauty. From the charm of an Alsatian village to the epic coastline of Brittany, from the majestic Alps to the vine-covered garrigue of the Languedoc, beauty is so common in France that, after a while, it becomes easy to get used to it.

  While in many countries encountering beauty requires driving to a well-known highlight to find oneself amazed by a monument or a natural landmark, in France chances are the drive might be just as enjoyable. There is something soothing about getting mildly lost on the roads of France. The French countryside—le plus grand jardin du monde (the largest garden in the world)—is constant eye and soul candy. For generations, French peasants have been working this land, shaping it, clearing it, planting it, working it, caring for it. The French word paysan, from which peasant derives, attests to, that intricate link between the French people and their land. The paysan (who today would be—less poetically—referred to as the exploitant agricole) is the man who makes the pays (the country). The hard work and the humility of generations designed a country where natural beauty responds to charming architecture, where functionality somehow repeatedly managed to lead to grace and beauty.

  The fact that France is also home—in what is ultimately a relatively small country—to a mind-boggling variety of climates and topologies surely doesn’t hurt. Whether you’re drawn to beautiful beaches, mountains, hills, plains, lakes, rivers, cold water or warm water, dry weather or wet weather, arid vegetation or lush forests . . . if you’re interested in one particular type of beauty, chances are France has it somewhere. The natural beauty the country offers is an endearing complement to the architectural beauty of France, shaped by centuries of making beauty a cardinal element of a life well lived.

  As time has passed, however, the deeply rooted cultural and physical attachment the French feel to their soil, to their region of origin, and to their heritage may not be as prevalent in everyday life as it used to be. But to this day, that gift of Nature manifests itself through the variety of wines, cheeses, and cuisines that characterize France. Even more beauty, you impossible little devil of a country.

  France is home to many UNESCO World Heritage sites, but France has also created its own label to celebrate its own beauty. To that end, the organization Les Plus Beaux Villages de France is a terrific resource that brings together the
many breathtaking villages that sprinkle the French territory.

  Since by now you and I have developed a bit of a relationship, let me take the liberty of sharing some of my favorite beautiful places in France:

  NORTH: Cap Blanc-Nez, Baie de Somme, Vieux-Lille, Gerberoy, Parfondeval

  NEAR PARIS: The gardens of the Château de Versailles, Giverny, Forêt and Château de Fontainebleau, Château de Pierrefonds, Barbizon, Château de Chantilly, La Roche-Guyon, Provins, Château de Vaux-le-Vicomte . . . and Paris, of course

  WEST: The Étretat cliffs, Mont Saint-Michel, Presqu’île de Crozon, Baie de Morlaix, Pointe du Raz, Île de Bréhat, Ouessant, Cap Fréhel, Belle-Île-en-Mer, Le Bocage Normand, Saint-Malo, Honfleur, Locronan

  EAST: Cascades des Tufs, Lac de Chalain, Alsatian villages and towns (Kaysersberg, Riquewihr, Eguisheim, Colmar), Grotte d’Osselle, Lac des Rousses, Lac de Lispach, Cascades du Hérisson, Plateau des Mille Étangs

  ALPS: Mont Aiguille, Lac d’Allos, Mer de Glace, Lac d’Annecy, Grottes de la Balme, Parc du Mercantour, Mont Blanc, Lac du Pontet, Yvoire, La Grave

  CENTER: Volcans d’Auvergne, Méandre de Queuille, Apremont-sur-Allier, Gargilesse-Dampierre, Charroux

  SOUTH/SOUTHWEST: Cirque de Gavarnie, Orgues d’Ille-sur-Têt, Gorges du Tarn, Gorges de l’Ardèche, Marais du Vigueirat, Dune du Pilat, Lac du Salagou, Courant d’Huchet, Bassin d’Arcachon, Canal du Midi, Carcassonne, Brantôme, Cap Ferret, Saint-Étienne-de-Baïgorry, Collioure, Sare

  SOUTHEAST: Plateau de Valensole, Lac de Sainte-Croix, Ocres de Rustrel, Calanques de Cassis, Gassin, Sainte-Agnès, Lourmarin, Seillans, Roque-sur-Cèze

  CORSICA: The Bonifacio cliffs, Désert des Agriates, Îles Lavezzi, Porto-Vecchio, Piana, Sant’Antonino

  DOM/TOM (FRANCE OVERSEAS TERRITORIES): Bora Bora (Tahiti), Île des Pins (New Caledonia), Cascade de Grand-Galet (Réunion Island), Piton de la Fournaise (Réunion Island), Hell-Bourg (Réunion Island)

  Useful tip: Get off the freeway.

  Sound like a French person: “Les enfants, regardez comme c’est beau !” (Kids, looks how beautiful it is!)

  FABRICE LUCHINI

  In a few countries of the globe a man can earn a living reading poetry. Only in France, however, can a man turn a show that consists of reading poetry into a proper pop culture hit. That man is Fabrice Luchini.

  Very few people in France have a neutral opinion when it comes to “Luchini.” Some find him brilliant and others call him annoying, but most recognize that he can be entertaining and sometimes straight up hilarious.

  Who is Fabrice Luchini? All at once a self-taught expert in French literature, a former garçon coiffeur, a media darling, an actor, and a man who sits down in front of crowds to read and comment on excerpts of old books he admires.

  Luchini’s popularity stems from his many grandiose appearances on French television. In them, he speaks French in a way that very few still can. He manages to honor the language while quoting and referencing classic authors, talking about the delights and curses of the human condition, dropping in the occasional verlan word, and cracking jokes that make viewers think that, even though he’s both well-read and well-spoken, he’s one of them—ultimately a fellow human being.

  Luchini is one of a kind. He can quote entire poems by Molière, Baudelaire, or La Fontaine, and he can also quote Nietzsche or Beckett. In the next breath, he’ll try to seduce the hostess or break out in a famous tune in the middle of a diatribe.

  Over the years millions of French people have seen his shows, in which he appears onstage alone seated on a chair to read excerpts of les grands auteurs.

  Luchini strikes in them a chord: his performance is a lasting tribute to a world where beautiful words, precise syntax, silences, and suggestions mattered. Somewhere between nostalgia for more delicate and well-spoken times, exploration of the implacable nature of the human experience, and vigorous invitation to aim higher and cut through the BS of modern society, un spectacle de Luchini is a rare moment of elegance, intelligence, poetry, and playfulness—undoubtedly a must for any French speaker lucky enough to get to catch one. For all the rest, YouTube is not a bad place to start to get to know the man and (as one should) develop an opinion about him.

  Useful tip: If you speak a bit of French, look him up next time you’re headed to France. You might be able to catch one of his shows.

  Sound like a French person: “Luchini, il est énorme!” (Luchini’s outstanding!)

  NUDITY

  France does not have a puritanical tradition and so, culturally, nudity is fine.

  Since antiquity, European artists have represented the human body naked. Le nu (the nude) is an artistic genre in and of itself, covering periods and movements including Impressionism, Rococo, Neoclassicism, Romanticism, Baroque, and so on. The naked body, while private, is not taboo. For centuries, its representation by artists has been the source of aesthetic, mental, and spiritual gratifications that go far beyond mere eroticism. Naked Adam and Eve, naked children or cherubs, naked women, naked goddesses . . . every French museum, every French château is filled with paintings featuring naked human bodies. As such, most French people grow up exposed to these works of art.

  In fact, French people are never taught to turn their eyes away from nudity. Consequently, the sight of a reasonably healthy naked human, whether in a painting, a photograph, a movie, or in reality does not make French people particularly uncomfortable. A look at beaches on the French Riviera will immediately confirm this. Toplessness galore!

  While your average French teenager may giggle at the sight of a naked body, he typically quickly gets over it. All the more so as nudity, which is a proven sales booster, is everywhere in France. Trying to sell shampoo? Throw in a naked person using it. Trying to sell perfume? Throw in a naked person apparently smelling good. Trying to sell cosmetics? Throw in a naked person with a luminous complexion . . .

  For first-time visitors, walking French streets or watching French TV might feel like a rather risqué experience. French people do not necessarily notice that most of the windows of their pharmacies are covered with a rather incongruous number of ads presenting naked bodies—which could probably qualify as porn in the United States!

  Most French people struggle to understand why many Brits, seeing a bare breast on TV, act disturbed and uncomfortable. The fact that many Americans act almost disgusted when unexpectedly faced with a bit of skin is entirely bewildering to most French people, whose reaction typically oscillates between neutrality and discreet joy.

  Consequently, should you find yourself hitting a French changing room (such as at the swimming pool or gym), be prepared to see some skin . . . à la française, of course!

  Useful tip: The adjective risqué in French simply means “risky,” and does not come loaded with kinky connotations.

  Sound like a French person: “Et l’autre, il se balade à poil, tranquille.” (Look at that one, hanging out naked as if it’s nothing.)

  LE GOÛTER

  Compared with Americans, French people eat dinner late.

  Compared with Spaniards, they eat it early.

  With your typical French dinner starting between seven thirty and nine p.m., hunger kicks in at some point before dinner. This is traditionally dealt with in France with the loveliest of strategies: le goûter.

  Le goûter could be called a snack. But realistically, in the French unconscious, the goûter is far more than just a snack.

  First off, le goûter is not only something to eat; it’s a time of day: C’est l’heure du goûter—It’s snack time. A time of utter excitement, sometimes preceded by the heartbreaking words Ce n’est pas l’heure du goûter every time your parents turn you down when you ask them for something sweet in the middle of the day.

  Le goûter is every French kid’s favorite time of the day: four thirty p.m.—the bell rings. School is off for the da
y. Next step: feasting on something sweet. Now we’re talking. Parents, siblings, nannies, and grandparents—whoever is in charge of picking up the kids from school—can implement different strategies at that point:

  STRATEGY 1: On the way home, opening un paquet de gâteaux (a pack of cookies) and letting the famished child feast.

  STRATEGY 2: Stopping at the boulangerie en route home to pick up your favorite viennoiserie: croissant, pain au chocolat, pain au raisin, pâte à choux, pain au lait, brioche au sucre . . . tough decisions. While you’re at it, you’ll also typically get the baguette for dinner.

  STRATEGY 3: Bringing the goûter to the child, right outside the school’s gate.

  Needless to say, daily repetition of strategy 2 will turn any French kid into quite the connoisseur. Soon enough, pointing starts to happen: your typical six-year-old French kid doesn’t just want a croissant; he wants that croissant. Nope, not that one—yup, that’s the one—that’s the good one! Yeaahhh!

  Walk into a bakery at four thirty-five p.m. and throughout France you’ll witness the same exact ballet of children with their book bags and adults with a few coins.

  And systematically, after the goûter has been selected, and while the lady from the bakery hands you the goods, you’ll hear the accompanying grown-up ask the child, “Qu’est-ce qu’on dit?” (What do we say?). Too eager to get his hands on the croissant, the kid will please everyone with a “Merci”—the final condition for the treat. Except in families with good manners, where the mother will usually respond with a “Merciiiii . . . ?” or “Merci qui?,” to which the kid will utter, “Merci, madame.”

  Well worth the effort.

  Le goûter is an undying French tradition. It’s a central element to the French food culture. One reason French people don’t snack as much is because le goûter ritual exists. It is the unknown fourth wheel to the carriage of French eating.