En Bretagne

Out here in Brittany for Sophia Konanc's wedding, a few observations.

First off, though there's a lot of seashore and thus a lot of beach, I wasn't prepared for just how much of a beach place it is. Further south, for sure, I get it, but up here it seems a little chilly. Further south I get it for sure, but up here the highs are typically in the 70s in August, sometimes as low as the 60s. Anna compared it to Myrtle Beach, and while it doesn't have the trashy honky-tonk vibe of places like Myrtle or Santa Cruz or the Jersey Shore, she's not all that wide of the mark. Then again, Northeasterners have flocked to Maine in the summer from the dawn of time and they don't necessarily swim in the ocean, so I get it.

For sure a big part of me regrets that we are hustling to the south as soon as tomorrow, particularly as the interweb tells me we are doing so in the face of an historic heat wave. It will be in the high 90s and perhaps scrape the underbelly of 100 in the Dordogne while we are first there and then in Bordeaux. But then the heat wave will break and it will be chilly: in the 60s when we are the Basque provinces and the low 80s in Madrid.

But I digress. The wedding of Sophia and Valentin was lovely to be sure, but it has also been interesting to get a better view into the often mysterious ways of the French haute bourgeoisie. They are in many ways as much stiffies in their mores and habits if not more so. There were some curiously literal expressions in the marriage ceremony about the importance of making babies, which I get. We all know we need babies to keep white people and the wealthy going and in power. But it was surprising nonetheless. 

Then it turns out that the French basically won't let wives speak at wedding receptions. Marushka wrote a toast but David ended up having to read it, basically unmodified. She was not overjoyed. 

There was more, but now I gotta go eat my toast.