When in France…



Being an itinerant lesbian stand up comic (which is quite similar to being an itinerant preacher but with more sex and fewer prayer meetings) I spend a fair amount of time planning travel. Because of the focused nature of my wanderings, this is seldom complicated; in fact, most directions to my

gigs could consistent of two steps



1.        Find the gayest-looking place in town

2.        Go there.



But not so long ago, I found myself planning a non-comedy related, non-gay related trip to France. A friend wanted to visit Lourdes. I was hoping I would not be the only biggole queer dipping myself in the

healing pools.

Anyway, researching this trip was a bit challenging, since most of my

international travel experience has been in places far beyond the reach of indoor plumbing, a category that France, technically, does not fit into.



The first order of business - once the airline reservations were made -

was to buy travel insurance. And while I have never considered myself

"risk averse" the discussion with the insurance salesperson made me feel

as if I was only months away from needing Geritol and developing an

insatiable desire to eat dinner at 4:30 PM. The 20-Something Cheerful

Helpful Insurance Person explained that in order to give me an accurate

quote for the coverage I was seeking, she needed to know what kind of

activities we would be engaging in on our trip.



Me: You know, traveling, um stuff. The average, um, activities (I didn't

add "for some lesbian friends visiting a Catholic super shrine")



20-Something Cheerful, Helpful Insurance Person: Well, let's see. I need

to know if you are going to (sound of rustling papers) be engaged in

(obviously reading from a list): Big foot skiing?



Me: No (I resisted the urge to snarkily question "oh wait, do you mean the activity wherein you ski with your own big feet, or one in which the

Sasquatch accompanies you on a few downhill runs?")



CHIP: Bungee jumping?



Me: Uh, no.



CHIP: (brightly and hopefully) Reverse bungee jumping?



Me: Um, yeah, I don't think uh.no (Tell me, dear extreme sport savvy

reader, is there really a sport in which you attempt to persuade a bridge to jump off you?)



CHIP: Elephant trekking?



Me: Wow. Does the insurance also cover any injuries sustained as a result of interactions with PETA protestors?



CHIP: I'm sorry? What?



Me: Never mind. Uh no. I think we'll pass on the elephant trekking this time.



CHIP: Okay then (obviously disappointed). How about land yachting?

Korfball? Rock climbing with tools? Rock climbing without tools? Via

ferrata? Gorge walking? River sledding? Heliskiing? (with a tiny little

expectant sigh) Zorbing?



Me: No, um, I don't um. No. We're going to like, go to monuments and visit museums and stuff.



CHIP: Okay, well.(falsely cheerful voice) um, I'm sure you'll have a very(stifling a laugh) good time.



This exchange had the effect of making me worry - for a moment at least

-that visiting France would be like a repeat of 7th grade. The cool kids

will be trekking on elephants and korfing down gorges that they've reverse bungee jumped into while I and my traveling companion visit Cathedrals and museums, which is apparently the European equivalent of sitting on the bleachers during the school dance.



Until it occurred to me that the Cheerful Helpful Insurance Person could

have simply asked me "are you going to be doing anything insanely

dangerous, the attempting of which flies in the very face of logic?"



And I could have, quite honestly, answered "no."



But the fact that this seems to be quite a rarity (for American travelers at least) explains some curious things I've noticed about the

English/French phrasebooks I've been perusing.



Like, for example, why each of them have at least 5 pages devoted to

negotiating the French medical system and include prominently the French

expression "Aie!"



Which, apparently, loosely translated, means "ouch!"