A question of dress

One thing that did strike me in France were the number of overtly Muslim women. Please don’t get me wrong. I’m happy to accept people of all faiths & nationalities. Admitttedly around here we see few dressed in this way. However, I did find myself asking myself questions.

When we were staying in Annecy, when we were having breakfast a couple came in. He strolled on ahead, she followed behind with her child. She was wearing an all encompassing gown, head & face covered. She was stopped by the restaurant manager & told to uncover her face. She explained to the client that in France it is illegal to appear in public with your face covered in this way. She could dress like that in her own room(s) but not in a public space. The Arabic lady nervously uncovered her face, a beautiful face reddened with the embarrassment she clearly felt. I suppose it must feel like being asked to strip bare for her.

On another day, there was a road race. It was a hot day. There I spotted a woman running, head covered, face covered, flowing robes. I couldn’t help thinking it was ridiculous in such heat. She must have been sweltering with all that lot on.

Another couple strolled through a park. They look like young marrieds, much in love, yet she always remained a few steps behind. I couldn’t help thinking what a pity they should be denied the right to walk, hand in hand, like western lovers do.

I have to confess I can’t quite decide how I feel about this Islamic dress. I did feel for that woman, obviously embarrassed by having to strip (i.e. uncover her face) but there is a bit of me that says when you live in, or even visit, a country with such a different culture as France has, you have to dress appropriately & certainly not break the law of that country. If ever I visited a Muslim country, I would expect to cover up. I may question covering my face but I would certainly not bare my arms, legs & head. I would do that out of respect for the foreign culture. I feel they should do the same. Especially when I understand that nowhere in the Koran does it say such dress is obligatory, just that women should dress modestly.

Those women who were dressed in Islamic attire but with their faces uncovered, I smiled at happily & said hello to. The Fox was surprised to see how their faces lit up as though they rarely got a smile from a non-Islamic woman.

It’s strange how much this has troubled me. I’ve seen many women on the TV wearing their heads covered. Indeed I’ve even admired how attractive they often look. I envy them their ability to wear a hijab & for it to stay in place securely. Scarves always seem to slide all over the place on me. Maybe it’s just a matter of practice. Who knows I may soon get that practice if I end up losing my hair after chemo.

Spreading the news

Yesterday I decided the time had come. No putting it off any longer. I got down to the task of ringing the family & letting them know about the op. They don’t often read my blogs these days – eyesight problems as they’ve hit their late 70s.

Needless to say they were shocked, & surprised knowing, that I’ve had cancer once before. They reckon one in two people will get cancer in their lifetime. My cousins have concluded I’ve had the Fox’s bout too.

It turned out to be useful, talking to my cousin Pat. Long term readers may remember she had breast cancer herself a few years ago. Her problems these days lie rather with arthritis, particularly in her legs.

Anyhow, Pat was able to tell me of some of her experience of having an op, its after-effects, of radiotherapy & chemo & their effects too. We agreed my reactions may not be the same. Indeed, to some extent they must differ in that she had to have a mastectomy (full breast removal) while I am having a lumpectomy (partial removal). Radiotherapy hadn’t bothered her but she found the different courses of chemotherapy, with their different drugs, had different effects, utterly unpredictable, never the same. She’s also suggested it might be worth trying to do some arm exercises before the op to make my left arm as strong as possible before in the hope that recovery may be faster.

After my chat to Pat I feel reassured about how things may happen & feel I can cope, though clearly it’s going to be a long haul. 

One thing we have decided on is a quiet Christmas at home. By then I’ll probably be in the midst of the trauma of chemo. It seems to be a waste to commit to a big expensive meal, to possibly find myself feeling nauseous due to the chemo. A small light meal may well be more appealing & the Fox will manage to cook that if I’m not up to it. Precisely what we’ll cook we’ll decide later when we’ve seen how I’m reacting. Who knows I may yet not even have chemo in which case we can have our usual delicious roast at home.

Chamonix

To us, Chamonix seemed a strange town. It’s surprisingly un-French.

As you stroll along the streets we couldn’t help being aware of how much English was spoken around us. Tourists from around the world come here. For them English, if not their first language, it is their second language. Shopkeepers tend to automatically speak to you in English rather than French. It was quite a relief to have our days at Plateau d’Assy or Martigny & speak French once more.

These days tourism has to be the main business in the town. There are some very posh shops, Chanel for example. In my youth skiing was the sport of the wealthy &, to some extent, I think it still remains so. Chamonix is about skiing, along with mountaineering & paragliding. It is the mountaineering that tends to be epitomised in the town’s sculptures.

Pointing to Mont Blanc

On one of our trips into the town centre, our ears were attracted by the sound of an organ playing Bach & so we visited the church, the Église St Michel. The organist seemed to play most days we soon discovered.

Eglise St Michel

We also soon discovered that many of the attractions had closed for the season. Many of the ski lifts stopped working mid-September. I had contemplated going on the Montenvers Railway up to the Mer de Glace glacier. However, that was closed for maintenance & repairs. The Espace Mémoire Marcel Wibault, a small art gallery specialising in mountain paintings also closed by the time we’d got ourselves settled to explore the town. We tried the Musée de la Mémoire et de Patrimonie – closed again.

Chamonix was certainly the place to buy outdoor clothing suitable for hiking, skiing or mountaineering. Every other shop seemed to sell them.

For me, one of the great charms of Chamonix was the number of painted buildings. The trompe-d’œil effects were sometimes quite spectacular. They certainly gave a jollity to the place.

The back of the cinema

I also love the way the River Arve winds its way through the town. As a result there are numerous flower bedecked bridges. The water of the river is surprisingly soapy green in colour. It’s not that it’s polluted but rather as though there are some chemicals & silt being washed down from the surrounding mountains.

One of the many bridges over the River Arve

Many of the roads are named after famous mountaineers. The one in particular that struck me was the Rue Whymper which instantly recalled to my mind the film starring Michael Rennie in which he, as Whymper, conquered the Matterhorn. Many years ago I did some research on the many British mountaineers who have honed their skills in the Lake District Fells & who caused mountaineering these days to be regarded as a sport. The most famous must be Sir Chris Bonnington who has scaled Mount Everest.

Chamonix is an interesting place, especially if you are sports minded, be it skiing, mountaineering, paragliding, or simply hiking. However, I doubt we will be returning as there didn’t seem much to do for wheelchair users, though some of those sports did have facilities for disabled people.