I have been fidgeting over something terribly important for weeks now, maybe longer. It’s not the future of the EU and the Euro, nor the Greek government’s financial crisis nor even the Arab Spring. Granted those are important but something far greater weighs on my mind: La Toussaint (All Saints Day) which falls on November 1 this year and as usual, is cleverly co-branded with a little autumnal vacation. All of us agree that it seems like an eternity since we’ve returned from summer vacation. Our precious tans are already beginning to fade which is in and of itself perhaps the real crisis! This religious holiday just happens to fall during a school holiday (what a coincidence, imagine that ever happening twice!) But to be sure, it’s a holiday that’s taken pretty seriously throughout France and you can be bet your Euro currency that things are going to get pretty quiet on All Saints’ Day; post offices, banks, stores and most other businesses are closed but you can find a bakery that’s open somewhere. The only thing that’s moving for sure are the tourists bumbling around, running into each other looking for a restaurants or cafe that’s open for le business maybe even a McDonalds. Visions of the irritable AM tourist: We don’t have saints in Flexburg Missoura now give me a damn cup of ‘jo, Monsieur!
Now before you report me to Rome and suggest that my sainthood be revoked or that I be drawn and quartered or perhaps burned at the stake (five minutes on each side, I insist along with sea salt and cracked pepper as needed), it is as much a meaningful day for me as for the next “joe blow” and I will surely pause and think of those near and dear to me who are no longer here with us. And the marketing folks, being the ever sensitive crew that they are, cannot just watch a holiday go buy without beating us to death with information and options and telling us in no uncertain terms that if we don’t take a vacation, we have somehow failed and failed miserably. Perhaps more than that, we have failed as citizens of the French state or to put in another more meaningful context, your neighbors are leaving for the islands and you’re not? Shame on you! How un-French of you! 

For weeks I have been deluged with offers via email or snail mail and everything is starting to accumulate. I had so much email screaming special values that my gas bill went unnoticed until the lights went out. So last night, after dinner, I went over to my comfortable reading chair along with a hefty snifter of 16 years old Aberlour single malt scotch whisky (I was in Scottish heaven) and a deep trash can so I could begin the process of weeding out the slick and useless from the slick and less useless dream vacation brochures.  

I started going through all the hard copy “super values” first because I like looking at the pretty pictures. I’m so visual that way. A hotel in Venice had a reasonably priced packaged deal that looked awfully inviting but would I dare tempt “death in Venice?” Did I want a repeat performance of my falling from my porch (don’t ask what I was trying to do) and into the canal nearly crushing a gondola and two surprised Japanese tourists? I think not. Now, Djerba in Tunisia, on the other hand, seemed to call me for a week of navigating the desert sands atop a camel called “whiskey”, enjoying fine meals of dates and water all the while looking for that lost civilization only to find it was really an old Peugeot rising from the sands (it still had its Peugeot – Vanceur du Safari ’67 decal.) My good friend Luc (who most of you know by now) told me that I should opt for the Tunisian vacation without even a moments hesitation. He said, with a sly grin, “ecoute mon pote, it’s definitely your kind of vacation, you just have to march or die but I will let your borrow a pistol just in case…” Fighting off guerrillas, lack of water, way too much sun and a camel-derived sore posterior made me think twice.

I needed a less challenging environment to properly recharge my batteries for who knows how long I would have to wait for the next vacation. La Valette, in Malta looked promising indeed however all the pictures showed far too many happy smiling people, extreme physical specimens and all starved to perfection. Added to that were pictures of families with multiple sets of little kids with beach toys and sand everywhere. I don’t mean to sound like WC Fields but he did have a point when it comes to children. Now Soulac-sur-Mer in Aquitaine, finally back in France, looked very nice with a swimming pool and it seemed as if the tanned talent was calling me, just me of course, to join them for a little fun and recreation. I could easily do that but would have to first ask Eleanor as she has some excellent historical perspectives on Aquitaine. The Hotel Gorhulho in the Madeiras looked tantalizing and what better place  to sample some excellent wines. A possible. One of my colleagues suggested Alsace, telling me that I would love the mountains, the fresh clean air, the robust foods and an endless assortment wines and the Sound of Music-kumbaya genre that fails to stir my soul. But, for me it all sounded just a little too neat, orderly and overly regimented, go figure. Knowing me, I would lie awake at night worrying needlessly about being under attack.

So now you see what I mean how my choices are far more somber and weighty in nature then some lil’ old international crisis being discussed at the Elysee or  Foggy Bottom or in a bunker in Berlin. They simply have no idea . They don’t feel my pain. 

As if this holiday decision matrix from Hell were not bad enough, I am already sweating the next round – that’s right folks Thanksgiving because I feel a need for a week someplace, somewhere; I mean it will have been a while since La Toussaint. Maybe I could sneak out of town on Remembrance Day, November 11 and rest up for Le Jour de Merci Donnent (thanks to Art Buchwald’s classic 1953 column) or Thanksgiving Day. That would push me into December then I could start really worrying about Christmas and New Year’s holidays. Pity me please, this is not easy for someone who is d’ habitude not a vacation taker. Hurry up and make your vacation plans. Time is running out!

By the way where did I decide to go for the Toussaint? Can you guess from the picture? The winner gets a week’s vacation traveling through the Sahara desert high -atop “Whiskey” the Highland camel.