Greeting the French way

Moissac (France) - August  

            In August, I travelled to France where I would be staying for a month with a friend of my aunt’s. Dominique lived in a quaint village about an hour from Toulouse.

            The first evening, my host told her son Luc to let me accompany him to his friend’s house. He was a good-looking 21 year old with dark hair and an extremely sullen demeanour. He didn’t seem overly enamoured with his mother’s suggestion (or rather order), although it was difficult to judge; he didn’t seem particularly enamoured with anything. I had the impression he was still going through the grunting adolescent phase, although the grunt is more of a ‘bah’ in French. The short car journey to his friend’s house was undertaken in complete silence. I found it difficult to strike up a conversation in a foreign language and Luc didn't say a word.


The kissing rigmarole

When we arrived at his friend’s one bedroom flat, there were about ten people already there ranging from 16 to 22 years old. Then began the palaver of having to kiss every person there on each cheek. This can be an excruciatingly embarrassing ritual, particularly when the people you are greeting are strangers. Firstly, it is quite possible that you both turn your heads the same way and thus risk bumping noses or, worse, kissing on the lips. Perhaps there is a set way you should turn? I’m not sure. Secondly, as I discovered during my travels in France, the number of kisses varies between two and four according to the region. So once again you can end up bumping heads if you pull away at the wrong time.

After this rigmarole was over, we all sat down in a circle on the floor in the small lounge.  For the rest of the evening I sat on the floor bored out of my brain. Not once did anybody make any attempt to talk to me. In fact, the whole atmosphere felt rather hostile. 


An unexpected discovery

After about two hours, out of sheer boredom, I asked if I could use the bathroom. Everyone shot each other furtive glances and I wondered if I had made some dreadful faux pas. Should you not use the toilet in somebody’s house in France? Nevertheless, the host directed me to the bathroom. I walked in and it was then that things began to become a little clearer. There, sitting next to the toilet, was a plant under a bright fluorescent light. I am no expert in such matters but I had a pretty good guess of what it was. I found it rather amusing now I understood the group’s horror at my request to use the bathroom. Did this also explain their unfriendly nature towards me? Was my presence preventing them from spending the evening how they had intended? Taking my place once more on the lounge floor, I decided it was easiest not to mention my discovery. Every pair of eyes was on me but when it became clear that I wasn’t going to say anything, I could see them all visibly relax. Still, the atmosphere remained cold and I was relieved when Luc finally drove me home and I could escape.