Battle of the sun-loungers
For me, the word 'sun-lounger' conjures up an automatic association with German tourists and their habit of rising at first light with their towels, and the gloriously un-PC Carling Black Label ad where a rolled-up towel is used as a 'bouncing bomb' to outwit Fritz as he sneaks out at dawn to the hotel pool. Makes one proud to be British.
I admire German efficiency, and I've found myself much in need of it since the artificial beach on the Ile of Q. in the Seine has become our second home. So this morning at precisely 10.13 hours, humming the Dambusters theme tune, I emerged from our apartment with the children, sun-creamed, swimming-costumed and lunch-box laden. Only one expletive-ridden trip back was needed, to fetch the blasted Carte Q. Plage.
Getting a sun-lounger was imperative, because my daughter needed somewhere to nap, or else the whole of the Ile of Q. would know about it. Getting a sun-lounger with shade was equally important. So was getting a sun-lounger next to the paddling pool where I could keep an eye on my son. On such minutae, days at the beach stand or fall.
The sun-loungers I had in my sights were under an awning, with a sign saying 'Espace reservée pour enfants de moins de 6 ans avec un adult responsable' (I know what you're thinking, I should get out more). We were one of the first to arrive, and we got our sun-lounger, fair and square. All was well, or so you would think.
I tried to ignore the the anger slowly rising within me as families began arriving, some with babies, all sweltering in the sun and forced to sit on the ground around us. There was no room left under the awning because two of the loungers had towels. The towels belonged to three child-free examples of what, since the rioting last autumn, have become known as 'disenfranchised French youth'. They were off enjoying themselves in the big pool, and had not been seen for at least an hour.
Perhaps it's obvious from the tone of this post why France and I don't get on. I cannot bear unfairness and selfishness. If there's a rule, backed up by a sign, and this rule is fair, then it should be respected. A couple of grandparents with a two-year old arrived, and looked longingly at the shade. At that point I knew I would have to say something or my entire day would be ruined.
The shouting lasted about 15 minutes, and attracted a crowd of onlookers (gawping being a national pastime). I, from the comfort of my sun-lounger (which I think confused a few people, why is the foreign biddy yelling when she already has a place?), blood ringing in my ears, sentence conjugation only just managing to keep up with the stream of invective, told the three aggressive, smart-arse teenagers what I thought of them. Eventually four security guards arrived and ordered them away, but not before they had tried to physically intimidate a man with his bewildered children. Their arrogance and indifference to the rules, even when printed on a large sign right next to them, was breathtaking.
Some might call it petty, but I call it a small victory. I'm going back tomorrow.
I admire German efficiency, and I've found myself much in need of it since the artificial beach on the Ile of Q. in the Seine has become our second home. So this morning at precisely 10.13 hours, humming the Dambusters theme tune, I emerged from our apartment with the children, sun-creamed, swimming-costumed and lunch-box laden. Only one expletive-ridden trip back was needed, to fetch the blasted Carte Q. Plage.
Getting a sun-lounger was imperative, because my daughter needed somewhere to nap, or else the whole of the Ile of Q. would know about it. Getting a sun-lounger with shade was equally important. So was getting a sun-lounger next to the paddling pool where I could keep an eye on my son. On such minutae, days at the beach stand or fall.
The sun-loungers I had in my sights were under an awning, with a sign saying 'Espace reservée pour enfants de moins de 6 ans avec un adult responsable' (I know what you're thinking, I should get out more). We were one of the first to arrive, and we got our sun-lounger, fair and square. All was well, or so you would think.
I tried to ignore the the anger slowly rising within me as families began arriving, some with babies, all sweltering in the sun and forced to sit on the ground around us. There was no room left under the awning because two of the loungers had towels. The towels belonged to three child-free examples of what, since the rioting last autumn, have become known as 'disenfranchised French youth'. They were off enjoying themselves in the big pool, and had not been seen for at least an hour.
Perhaps it's obvious from the tone of this post why France and I don't get on. I cannot bear unfairness and selfishness. If there's a rule, backed up by a sign, and this rule is fair, then it should be respected. A couple of grandparents with a two-year old arrived, and looked longingly at the shade. At that point I knew I would have to say something or my entire day would be ruined.
The shouting lasted about 15 minutes, and attracted a crowd of onlookers (gawping being a national pastime). I, from the comfort of my sun-lounger (which I think confused a few people, why is the foreign biddy yelling when she already has a place?), blood ringing in my ears, sentence conjugation only just managing to keep up with the stream of invective, told the three aggressive, smart-arse teenagers what I thought of them. Eventually four security guards arrived and ordered them away, but not before they had tried to physically intimidate a man with his bewildered children. Their arrogance and indifference to the rules, even when printed on a large sign right next to them, was breathtaking.
Some might call it petty, but I call it a small victory. I'm going back tomorrow.
posted by francesca tereshkova | 2:21 PM
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