Sometimes, when a doctor or nurse asks if I smoke, I feel like saying, “Only when I’m in France.” You travelers know the feeling. To enjoy the most that an outdoor café has to offer can sometimes mean a fair dose of second-hand smoke.
Today, I am observing a man who looks a lot like Kenny Stabler would have if he had lived five years longer. Many will remember Kenny as the unconventional and successful quarterback for the Raiders back in the 1970s. This man obviously likes cigarettes. When I first sat down he was enjoying one to a degree that I hadn’t seen before. Right now he is taking an extended pull on one, lasting for three of my normal respirations. Then, ignoring the need to take a breath of fresh air, he lets the smoke slowly escape for what seems like a short eternity. I am wondering how he has lived so long. Then I notice the other five people at his table. One is obviously his wife, another certainly his daughter. Then a son-in-law and two almost-adult grandchildren. All of them are talking.
I am momentarily distracted by a group of ten or eleven year-olds at an outdoor table. They are wearing the same sports uniform, and one has managed to move an obviously stinky foot just inches away from the face of an unsuspecting team mate. The offense is quickly discovered and happy bedlam breaks out among the boys. It is winter break and all the schools are closed.
I turn back to my smoker who is having a pleasant conversation with the other two generations he has encouraged to come into this world. His little white pup is now in his lap and everyone is talking and laughing. He sips just a little red wine. It is rare to see people gulping here. Back in Wine Country USA, we often witness young people tossing back fine wine like tequila shooters. It can be a distressing sight.
I can tell by the nervous hands that my smoker wants another cigarette, but he valiantly resists for quite a while. He glances at his wife more than once (she obviously has told him to quit), but leaves the pack in his pocket. After a few more tiny sips of wine, he finally gives in. Then I watch once more as he takes almost supernatural drags on the cigarette.
I finished my meal and walked to a nearby bench to soak in a little sunlight and to see if my smoker and his family looked different from another perspective. I had spent more than an hour in the restaurant, but only now was their meal of mussels and frites set down before them. All the previous time was foreplay. I sometimes wonder how the French can possibly have longer life expectancies than Americans (men average 82 years here, 79 in the US). After all they have some very bad habits. Maybe it has something to do with the pup in lap, a two hour lunch with family and, of course, the wine.
Still searching for the fountain of youth here on the Côte d’Azur. I don’t think it’s here, but the hunt is a lot of fun.
