Under a Tree in Chamonix

Just as the school year came to an end, an abrupt change in my relationship status left looming a potentially lonesome summer. With little notice and less financial consideration, I booked the cheapest round trip flight to Paris. In dealing with heartbreak, where better to start than the city of love? Additionally, after last summer’s misadventures, I was ready for a more, shall we say, Western experience, with fewer language barriers and life-threatening tropical diseases. Cue backpacking trip.

A few weeks later I find myself under the generous shade of pine in the French Alps with a stomach full of chocolate, bread, cheese, and ham, lungs full of crisp mountain air, and a mind full of pleasant sensations. To the soundtrack of the adjacent stream, and on a bed of soft dirt, I enjoy an hour of uninterrupted bliss. It was a rare moment of total satisfaction, and it’s no wonder why. Here I am 4,000 miles from home with no professional obligations traversing beautiful alpine landscapes. Hours of ascent through oppressive summer heat foster gratitude for even a moment of rest and the sanctuary of shade. There was tasty food, good company, and that freeing sense of adventure.

Me under said tree (which included a hastily assembled bushcraft shelter), along a hike in the Chamonix Valley .

I felt similar in one moment last summer, albeit under far less fortunate circumstances. On that occasion, I was famished on a hospital bed on a remote Southeast Asian island, isolated from friends or family. I had a five gauge IV needle in my arm, a throbbing foot wound, and zero prospect of moving painlessly for the rest of my trip. And yet, the bliss felt largely the same. The lesson my trials in Thailand taught me, highlighted by this moment, was that the reliable way to occasion happiness was to be content with circumstances outside of your control. “Mai bpen rai” - “no problem” or “don’t worry about it,” the Thai say. This attitude, alongside the country’s strong Buddhist principles which discourage the reckless pursuit of pleasure, encouraged an inward search for happiness. Lower your standards for your enjoyment, and you will find satisfaction in even your most desperate moments.

This Eastern view was hard to reconcile with what the French were teaching me about how to live, in more ways than one. Firstly, the Parisian philosophy seems to take precisely the opposite approach to adversity. Minor inconveniences seem to take on tremendous personal impact, and are often met with showy displays of displeasure. On several occasions in Paris I watched total strangers engage in heated dialogue over what I doubted were life-threatening issues. At first, I gave the benefit of the doubt, and assumed that perhaps these arguments were justified, or maybe I was just travel-worn and impatient. After enough snark, though, I suspected I wasn’t alone, and took to the academic literature to confirm that despite enjoying every comfort of modern life, a free and democratic lifestyle, and overall healthy economic standing, many here still elect to be miserable. I was vindicated. I suspect the constant stream of stimulants, which seem to replace real sustenance, is causing a nationwide epidemic of “hangry.” No, Pierre, a cigarette is not breakfast.

Thankfully, this attitude seemed constrained to the city limits, and over the next 16 days, in a clockwise tour through the country, I would meet much sunnier representatives of the nation. They would teach me about the second, slightly more enlightened French cultural difference - a more liberal attitude towards pleasure. Despite what I learned further east about moderation and self-control, the French seem to get along just fine indulging their senses with rich foods, sweet wines, leisurely afternoons, and lazy and frequent sex. There is stimulation of every sort, and no shame about experiencing it. If it feels good, it is good. And so despite my Thai training, I began to wonder what's so wrong about listening more closely to the desires of my heart, stomach, and genitals. Not much, I learned.

Some foreigners would bore sitting on a blanket in the park for hours. But the French have encouraged me to ask: where else is there to go when you’ve got wine, cheese, bread, meats, comfort, sun, and company? We possess senses for stimulation of all sorts; we’d be silly to not exploit them… often. More people here than elsewhere, from what I can tell, agree to oblige this gentle pull of leisure and luxury. They seem to possess a spidey sense for enjoyment, knowing how and where to achieve maximum relaxation, where they may marinate for hours at a time. By contrast, they made Americans seem overworked and under-entertained.

There are trade-offs, of course. A 2 hour lunch may not be the best for productivity and profit. A stream of booze, cheese, and bread may not be the best for energy and nutrition. And you won’t soon catch me smoking a pack a day. Who cares, though? Not the French. And neither did I, while there at least. It was refreshing to take things less seriously and indulge without judgment¹. Especially under that tree in Chamonix.

¹ Except for in Paris. There's no escaping judgement there.