I have kept myself to myself yesterday and today, because my mild head cold has meandered down into my throat and taken up residence there, and I don’t want to pass it on to anyone.
Nevertheless I have not been idle. Aside from watching my two DVDs over and over again and reading Le Tresor de Picsou (the treasure of Scrooge McDuck) I have kept an eye on the surroundings, courtesy of the three large windows in my apartment. Yesterday morning I discovered that a large beach umbrella had blown down from the top level veranda of a building opposite mine and fallen into the river, just behind the parking lot. I checked periodically whether it was still there, and it always was. Over the course of the day it had migrated slowly down the river, until it got stuck near the little bridge.
Finally this morning after I returned from the Cure I decided I could watch this no longer, and went into he parking lot to inspect the situation from close up. The umbrella was firmly stuck, and well out of my reach. At home of course I would have fetched a walking stick and retrieved the umbrella with its crock – terribly useful things, walking sticks! – but in la Bourboule I have no access t such implements. Besides I have a cold and am I supposed to meddle in these affairs anyway?
I went to talk to one of the helpful ladies at the reception and explained the situation. Please note that thanks to my Hermes scarf L’Ombrelle Magique I know the difference between an ombrelle (against sunshine) and paraplue (against rain), so was able to describe the situation accurately – had I proclaimed that an umbrella (against rain) had fallen into the river no doubt the reaction would have been a gallic shrug. But a huge umbrella blown down from a terrace, now that was a different matter! The helpful lady and I went straight to the river, she observed the situation and took notes, concluded that the umbrella – she called it a parasol, yet another word for umbrella – belonged to the owners of house XYZ, and returned to her desk to make a few telephone calls, not before thanking me profusely and repeatedly for being so gentil (nice). Just proves one can be useful, even by just looking out of the window!
But now I have to share with you my outrage about a little pamphlet which was pressed into my palm this morning during the Cure by a young man. The pamphlet invited every curiste to come to a talk about the healing powers of the water in la Bourboule. OK, fair enough. But half way down the leaflet I saw the following statement:
‘Dans les montagnes du nord Pakistan
Sapperlipopette, as Professor Tournesol (Cuthbert Calculus) would have said. Leaving aside the question what this ‘fact’ is doing in a leaflet about the healing waters of la Bourboule – the insinuation is obviously that its waters have similar longevitious properties, which is ludicrously easy to rebut since the people who live here do not frequently live beyond 120 years of age – surely one can expect anyone expert enough to give a public talk on the matter (and charge Euro 5 for listening to it) to check their facts before making such an astonishing statement?
A few years ago I read up on various studies relating to human longevity. Curiously enough, in all cases where large segments of a population claim to be excessively old, birth registration records are either non-existent or patchy, and old people are highly venerated.
An interesting case is the famed centenarians of the Caucasus . Although the inhabitants do indeed live to a ripe old age, documented cases of above age 90 are rare. However, there is a tradition of naming children after their grandparents. During the Stalin area any number of Caucasian males tried to get out of military service by using their grandfather’s identity papers, thus increasing their age by 40 odd years at a stroke. About twenty years ago – google for the details, it’s all out there – a researcher into old age looked into the Caucasian old age claims, and discovered this interesting little bit of history. He had hoped to prove that it was the yoghurt that did it …….
Undeterred, he went on to see the Hunzas, whose claim to old age were their apricots. They also live in inaccessible mountain regions and honour the aged, the more aged the greater the honouring. He had read about the Hunzas in the research papers of a fellow scientist, who had visited them ten years previously, and decided to visit the individuals who had been interviewed by his colleague ten years earlier. To his great surprise, an individual who had claimed to be aged 80 ten years ago now claimed to be 102 – she had managed to age 22 years in the span of ten years! This story was repeated over and over again – individuals routinely added a decade or two to their previously reported age.
What can we conclude from this? If old age is rewarded and difficult to verify, people lie themselves older. If additionally it sells apricots, so much the better! If living in inaccessible mountains with pure air and water made one live longer, the people of la Bourboule would all live to be a hundred – but they don’t. Ditto for yoghurt, apricots, goji berries, etc etc.
La Bourboule and the Cure are great for asthma and other respiratory diseases, as well as various skin conditions etc – why undermine a hard won reputation with ridiculous claims for longevity?
If my French wasn’t so iffy I would go to this talk and heckle!
