Christoffe is one of those archetypes that I have come to appreciate: the Horny Older Frenchman. At some point in the life cycle of a certain species of Frenchman, the joyful single-mindedness stops being creepily sexist and becomes oddly endearing. At 75, Christoffe is very endearing.
He owns the Paradise Hotel, a cluster of beachside bungalows in Doc Let. The bungalows are his retirement project. Previously he worked for the U.S. State Department at its offices in Geneva. Without much prompting, he’ll show you pictures of himself playing tennis with Al Gore. “He was always a loser,” Christoffe says.
When you check in, he immediately introduces you to the other guests, details their relationship histories and marital status, and suggests possible pairings.
When Christoffe hears that some of his former guests have gotten in a minor motorcycle accident, he is horrified. “That beautiful girl from San Francisco?” he cries, tracing an hourglass with his hands. Yes, Christoffe, and also the other girl, the one from Canada. “That beautiful girl from San Francisco?” he cries, tracing another hourglass.
Christoffe’s two-year-old and four-year-old sons, half-Vietnamese, race between the bungalows.
Christoffe reminds me of Renee, another Horny Older Frenchman, one I met on the southern tip of South America. Renee offered tips on how best to drive drunk — close one eye, it cuts down on the double vision. He talked tirelessly of the virtues of Viagra, “thees wonderful technolozhie.” He boasted disturbingly of the advantages his poor sense of smell conferred in bed. And, in moments of quiet reflection, he lamented the fact that he had only known 60 women in his lifetime, excluding prostitutes. After 40 years of dalliances, he reckoned his tally should be higher.
“Renee,” I consoled, “You were a married man. Think of what you could have achieved if this were not so.” Renee retorted that he took his first mistress three months after his wedding.
I don’t think Christoffe is going to take any mistresses. He has his boys, a wife, and a hotel to look after.
Christoffe is shocked when I leave at 1:00 in the afternoon after staying only a single night. He is right, 1:00 is far too late to begin cycling. But after three days in Nha Trang, I am feeling an imperative to keep moving. The next beach is only 50km away.
