Trying to remember May of 1968

To many young French people of my generation, May of 1968 was a big deal. For me that wasn't the case. I was held against my will inside the French Air Force, with still ten more months of meaningless, compulsory service to go.

I just ended a frustrating winter during which my ski days had been scarce and felt mediocre, only during my weekend leaves, punctuated with a few frustrating nights out at l'Isba, the main Morzine disco, looking to hookup with some elusive girlfriend.

That's when the riots and the strikes fell on us and literally kept us firmly blocked inside the Base as the social situation was rapidly deteriorating.

That was enough to make us feel alienated from this youth movement and totally unsympathetic to it. For me, as a prisoner of that military institution, the outside world was fine and I didn't see the point in trying to disrupt it.

To this day, I never understood May 68, as my countrymen called that period, and never felt part of it.