The August Catastrophe

The full force of the midsummer madness struck Western Europe last week. Bulletins on French radio had the urgency of war communiques: "The traffic jam is now approaching Lyon . . . It is now impossible to pass through Avignon . . . Accidents have blocked all roads into Aix." In Italy, three-quarters of the population of Milan fled the city. Rome, Florence, Naples and Genoa were dead, and Capri, Elba, Rimini and Viareggio as jammed as Coney Island on the 4th of July. Thousands of vacationers had to stand twelve hours in railroad coaches to reach the sea. In Spain, the government had moved from Madrid to San Sebastian, and was nearly trampled under the influx of French tourists, who this year will number 7,000,000.

Stubbed Toes. If the American works for raises and promotion, the European works for his vacation, and he wants it in August. It has done no good to point out that Nice is nicer in July, with more sun and less rain than in August, or that Spanish beaches are pleasanter in June and September than in midsummer. No one listens. Of France's 8,000,000 autos, 4,000,000 were on the road last week--filled with potato salad, crying children, accordion maps and cursing drivers. Seven million campers pitched their tents on 8,400 acres of camping space, and there were scarcely 4 sq. yds. per bivouacked family in Southern France. Thousands of toes were stubbed on thousands of tent pegs. Along the French Riviera the cars were bumper to bumper, and the bikinis bosom to bosom. Vacationers everywhere stood in line for meals, phone calls, beach umbrellas and bathrooms. Restaurants in Nice served as many as four sittings for dinner, the last at 11 p.m. Genial hosts in the beleaguered resorts responded bravely by shoring up their prices.

Though obviously silly, an August vacation was still chic. At St. Tropez alone, Premier Georges Pompidou, Conductor Herbert von Karajan, Artist Bernard Buffet and Author Franchise Sagan were dining and dancing. Brigitte Bardot arrived, then left when she could not find a maid. There were so many of the young, beautiful people from Paris that the town was being called St. Tropez-des-Pres. In Antibes, Pablo Picasso good-humoredly cavorted for tourist cameras at the Restaurant Roger.

Absurd Lesson. Governments beg their citizens to vacation at other times. Jean Hallaire, secretary of France's Committee for the Establishment of Work and Leisure Time, warned: "The month of August will be a catastrophe for vacationers. It should be an excellent lesson in the absurdity of everyone taking his vacation at once."

But it is not easy to stay home in August, since many businesses simply close down for the month. The French production index slipped to 66% of the yearly average. Survival in the empty cities has its risks--the plumber, the doctor and the baker are all at the beaches. In Italy, most bars, restaurants, movies and drugstores are shut down for eight to 15 days. Every other shop in Paris bears the sign Fermeture annuelle. Most Western Europeans could well understand the sign posted last week outside the Church of Santa Lucia in Verona. It read, "Absent on vacation," and was signed, "The beggar of Santa Lucia."

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