Hay fever season is upon me. Achoo! That means lots of eye watering, drippy nose and of course sneezing. What’s not to like?
Sneezing in Any Language
It’s a curious thing that we make a certain sound when we sneeze. In English – Achoo. If I was sneezing in French, it would be Atchoum! (Though I have also seen it spelled Achoum.)
Chinese – Han shee!
Argentina – Achis!
Greek – Apshoo!
Russian – Apchkhi!
And, I just discovered, as you do, that someone who is deaf doesn’t ‘Achoo’ when they sneeze. That is they don’t use a verbal word to denote they sneezed. Interesting. (Popular Science)
Hay Fever Season When in France
Of course, being in France, allergy season comes with its own particular flavour. Or perhaps odour would be more accurate, usually one involving freshly cut grass, plane trees, and whatever invisible yellow menace has decided to launch itself directly into my sinuses.
The French seem to regard hay fever with a mixture of stoicism and theatrical despair. There is very little middle ground. You are either expected to carry on as normal, elegantly dabbing at your streaming eyes over your morning espresso, or to announce dramatically to anyone within earshot that les pollens sont insupportables cette année (the pollen is unbearable this year).
Allergy Treatment in France
One of the first things you notice here is that allergies are taken seriously at a French pharmacy. Often in France, the pharmacist is your first port of call before a doctor. You sniffle your way inside, trying not to sneeze on anyone, utter something pitiful involving rhume des foins (= hay fever, but literally translates as a cold from hay. I love it!) or les allergies, and are met with the calm efficiency of someone who has seen hundreds before you.
Then you are asked what type, eg what chemical do you prefer for your antihistamine? This is where the unprepared foreigner blinks blankly, and it is explained to you that you are either Team Cétirizine or Team Loratadine. The French pharmacist, sensing uncertainty, will generally narrow things down with enviable briskness and offer one or the other, as if presenting two entirely reasonable life paths.
There is something deeply French about this approach. No glossy brand marketing, no dramatic promises of twenty-four-hour relief, just a calm discussion about active ingredients. You leave not clutching “Super Ultra Allergy Max”, but a text printed little box labelled with what sounds faintly like something from a school chemistry lesson.
Additional Treatments
And / or there is Le spray. The French are very keen on nasal sprays. Saline rinses are practically a way of life here. There is something wonderfully practical about blasting your sinuses with salt water and considering the matter largely dealt with.
Then there is the distinctly French belief in the restorative powers of thermal spa treatments. Yes, there are places where people go to spend weeks inhaling mineral-rich vapours and bathing in therapeutic waters for respiratory complaints and allergies. It can even potentially be covered by the health system here if it is deemed your allergies are ‘good’ enough. This treatment feels gloriously old-world, as though one might recover while wearing a linen dressing gown and discussing philosophy.
Pollen
A particularly French allergy paradox is the national devotion to fresh air. No matter how much pollen is visibly floating through the atmosphere, windows must be opened. Apartments aired. Shutters flung wide. “It’s good to circulate the air,” someone will tell you, while an entire ecosystem of pollen drifts directly onto your pillow.
And then there are the plane trees. Beautiful, dignified, and absolutely determined to ruin spring for thousands. These elegant giants line boulevards across France and produce pollen like a confetti cannon. There is also something slightly surreal about seeing the allergy itself. The plane trees don’t just quietly pollinate. They announce it. On dry spring days, you can actually watch the pollen drifting through the air in pale, hazy clouds. It hangs there in sunlight, almost beautiful for a second, like yellow dust suspended in slow motion.
It’s Officially Hay Fever Season
There are even official pollen alerts, because of course there are. One can check the day’s pollen forecast with the same gravity usually reserved for storm warnings. High grass pollen? Birch on the rise? Best prepare accordingly.
What makes it even more distinctive in France is how structured the pollen year actually is. It is not just “spring is allergy season”. There is a kind of unofficial calendar to it. First come the tree pollens (often starting as early as late winter), including hazel, birch, and those infamous plane trees. Then spring properly kicks in with a broader wave of airborne irritants. After that, grass pollen takes over in late spring and early summer, which is often the peak misery period for many sufferers. Finally, toward the end of summer and early autumn, weed pollens like ragweed arrive to finish the job. In other words, it is less a “season” and more a rotating schedule.
There is also a very French practicality to how this is tracked. There is actually a national pollen monitoring system (Used to be RNSA now done by ATMO), who publish a pollen risk map which can also be broken down by pollen type and area. The old RNSA system, which once offered relatively centralised pollen alerts, has now been replaced by ATMO France’s regional network. Now, rather than a single national “weekly pollen email,” things have become more… French.
Alerts now depend on where you live, which regional ATMO body you fall under, and whether you’ve managed to find the correct subscription page hidden somewhere between “air quality” and “public health dashboards.” Somewhere, in theory, there is an email arriving to warn you. In practice, you may just discover you’ve already been sneezing for three days.
More Allergies
Oh, and speaking of allergies (and let’s add a French twist), a fun book: French for Cats
And did you know that menopause can change your allergies? It’s true. I can attest. Allergic to menopause, but no longer allergic to cats it would seem. Go figure. But still allergic to hay. Or is that pollen, given it is spring?
And that’s all I feel I can write today as my nose is dripping and sniffling. Apsik! (Achoo in Polish)
Ok, Not Quite Over it Yet
You’ll find more quirky observations on life in France in my French Findings. Or if you are into more musings, check out my Simple Life Findings.
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