Hug it out

Sure, so Europeans have great social welfare systems, but in America we have something better: hugs.

A hug, my god, a hug! The joy of wrapping your arms around a friend and giving a little squeeze that says, I'm glad to see you! or, I'll miss you! Equally satisfying to give and recieve, hugs are like body postcards.

You laugh, but for a tactile person, life in a culture of les bises (cheek kisses) is like an alcoholic in a dry city. Outta luck, buster.

Thank goodness for friends who accept, embrace, and practice hugs the American way: big.

Myriam and Benjamin lived in California for a year, where they got plenty of hugging experience. A few years later, they imparted their knowledge to Vincent. The hugging trio now rules the streets of Lyon.

Benj is a tall drink of water, so his hugs lift me solidly off the ground.


Myriam is my size exactly, so a hug from her fits like a silk glove.


Vincent delivers quality hugs with conviction and character, like a good handshake that leaves you speechless, wondering what you did to deserve such appreciation.

Last weekend, six of us (along with Anais, who is also French, and Wugui, who's Tawainese) descended upon Dijon, France -- home of wine (capital of Burgundy, after all), mustard, ginger bread, currant liqueor, and the Palais du Duc, where the numerous dukes of Burgundy lived. Yes indeed,  Dijon contains more mustard as far as the eye can see.

One morning in our hotel, I walked into the breakfast room to find Myriam already sitting with her cup of tea and book. Happy to see each other, we said bonjour with a giant bear hug, the kind where you rock back and forth, really letting the person know that a) you're glad you're friends, and b) you're glad people were created with arms, so that friends can hug.


Two women at the next table were eyeing us curiously. I checked the mirror to see that there were no strange growths on my face (nope). Then I realized that it was the hug that had provoked the inquisitive looks.

I motioned back and forth between Myriam and myself, to the hug that had just passed between us. "Un calin americain," I said. An American hug.


The two women nodded eagerly, like students wanting to show that the knowledge transmited has been sucessfully received. 


I chuckled.


And then something beautiful and unexpected happened. Both women stood up on their respective sides of the table, bent forward, and wrapped their arms around each other. The table between them meant that their derrieres stuck out at funny angles, causing them to smile and laugh the joyous laughs of people who've just discovered gold in the backyard. 


"Qu'est-ce que ca fait du bien!" one lady exclaimed. Well hey, that feels great!


Myriam and I smiled. Our work there was done.


In France, les bises (cheek kisses) rule the land. They are practical because they are no-questions-asked: see your best friend? Cheek kisses. See your ex? Cheek kisses. See your ex's mother? Cheek kisses. But more often than not, brushing cheeks with someone leaves me wanting more... arm involvement.


In Europe, the hug is considered as American as hamburgers. Pff, those Americans with their hamburgers and their hugs. 


Yeah, well, I've done les bises, and the hug wins hands-down.


hug: 1. French kiss: 0.