August: The month that time forgot!

"FERMETURE ANNUELLE". It's as much a part of the landscape in France as the Tour d'Eiffel. Every year around May there is one question on the lips of every française, "Where do you take your vacances?" The exodus begins in July, and by mid August Paris is a ghost town. English becomes the predominant language heard on the street as tourists wander from the Louvre to Notre Dame. The streets are otherwise quiet, and there is an air of calm that is quite relaxing as parisians take their neurosis with them and head south for sunny weather and ocean breezes. The average française has six weeks of paid vacation a year, and they often take it all at once. "Juilletistes" prefer their holiday in July, getting a jump on the crowds that will inevitably invade the Cote d'Azur in August. The "Aoutiens" (ooh-she-ens) are strict traditionalists, vacationing the entire month of August as their ancestors have historically done since the Industrial Revolution when factories would shut their doors for summertime. It's a tradition difficult for my american capitalist mind to wrap around - we strive to keep our factories productive 12 months a year, our supermarkets open seven days a week, our C-stores distributing 24/7. Imagine shutting down General Motors for the month of August and all employees taking a paid vacation! Today it is the small businesses that close for weeks at a time. It is important to prepare for August if you are to remain at home - much like a survivalist prepares for nuclear war. I am careful to have my hair cut and colored before my coiffeur takes off for Spain or Corsica. I make sure to have any shoe repairs, dry cleaning, or alterations taken care of no later than July 15th. It is important to stock up on non-perishables such as booze and cigarettes, and to have your prescriptions for Prozac and Xanex topped off before your local pharmacist closes shop and hops the TGV for Bretagne. Life as you know it ceases to exist - the parks are silent, devoid of the laughter of children and controlled chaos of a friendly game of futbol. One walks twice as far to find a boulangerie to buy ones daily bread, or if you have a car, parking is a breeze. There is nobody around to battle for an available space! Forget having friends over for a summer BBQ - they all went to Provence. There is nothing to BBQ anyway, the boucheries and poissonniers are FERMER. Then September arrives, and on what americans celebrate as "Labor Day" marks the beginning of the French New Year. The mouthwatering aroma of rotisserie chicken wafts through the air, brought to you by the neighborhood butcher. Beautiful desserts are displayed in the windows of the patisseries, tempting the passerby. Once again, there is a long line that extends out the door of the boulangerie first thing in the morning, and the brasseries are crowded with "regulars" that drop by for a midday beer, a lotto ticket, and a lively political debate. It's as if Paris awakens from a collective slumber, and life begins as if it had never stopped - until next August!