Dedicated to the people of France:
The first time I went to Europe, age 15, I'd saved money which my parents matched to take a whirlwind student tour. I have two unfortunate memories during our visit to Paris. My fellow travelers' first priority centered on visiting McDonald's, as other countries we'd been to didn't offer the fast food whereas I chose not to go, for which I received my peers' censure. Secondly, I ruined a roll of film by opening my Pentax 35mm camera to change rolls in what I'd hoped would be a darkened space, the cupboard--large enough for me to enter and close as there were no closets--in our hotel room. Needless to say I ruined the film that contained pics of France. A happy jaunt to L'Tour Eifel and Museé de Louvre, sans I.M. Pei's pyramid, helped ease the disappointment.
Years later, after college graduation, my friend, Sarah, and I traveled to four countries, in three of which we had hosts. We stayed with family friends in St. Cloud, in the Hauts-de-Seine, a suburban region six miles (9.6 km) from Paris. When not babysitting the couple's young children, we appreciated the charm of the village within walking distance where we'd buy fresh baguettes. But like anxious sprinters, we couldn't wait to get to the city.
We navigated the Paris Metro map and went to many sites and arrondissements (or districts), the most memorable provided delectable places to eat. One restaurant had been recommended to us by our hosts: La Gallant Vert, a Michelin-rated restaurant with excellent service, except for the sommelier. He could see by my rudimentary French (Sarah, a first generation Dutch-American spoke fluent French; she had an ear for Russian and Chinese, too) that I was a young American woman whom he assumed had little experience with ordering wine, unaware that my French-speaking friend knew only the basics. I asserted my knowledge of vin to Sarah and told her what I'd pick if given the opportunity. We decided to see what the expert had to say. The sommelier returned, Sarah asked for his suggestion and voila! He recommended the same wine I had a 1978 white Bordeaux. Sarah couldn't stop laughing until she had to explain to the stoic gentleman my original choice. He left unamused.
By this point, I'd fallen in love with Paris yet I couldn't bring myself to pick up my bags and move there, too embarrassed to go without speaking commanding French. I did take several classes. Nevertheless, I didn't return again to Paris until seven years later, in route to a destination in Germany where I planned to teach English. In la belle cité I stayed at the same hotel my parents had discovered: L'Hotel Regina, a boutique hotel renowned for its locale across from the Tuileries Gardens and being home to the statue, Jean D'Arc. I loved the hotel with its warm staff. Later, I enjoyed a lovely home-style meal with a banker, whom I taught when in England, and his family. Since his wife didn't speak English, I mustered the courage to utter phrases which finally brought a smile to the woman's skeptical face.
With luck, I returned one more time, a decade later. As a teacher I had long vacations, which gave me breathing room to savor my travels. I flew into Paris, had a delightful cab ride with a driver who patiently bore my still unpolished French and returned to L'Hotel Regina (No longer an undiscovered and reasonably-priced accommodation. And, since this last trip it has been rated with five stars--too bad). After being promised a room with a view--yes, just like the movie I politely but firmly reminded the manager about my request--I received a new space where I opened my shutters to a diagonal view of the nighttime sky lit by the synchronized lights on la tour Eiffel. Straight across from my window the Grand Roue or Ferris Wheel, a relatively new attraction added to the Jardin des Tuileries, tapped my child-like glee.
Traveling (see my video on YouTube: Around the World in 15 Years ) challenged me only on occasion when I felt isolated. Still, I rarely experienced loneliness in Paris or France for that matter. For my openness to French culture, its art, cuisine, books, music, and most importantly its mercurial people emanated from inside. The French in turn accepted me: my elementary language skills (at least I tried, I'm sure they reasoned), flair for simple and elegant fashion, love of their food, charming shops and the beaming smile I gave them whether they wanted it or not.
No need for me to explain this week why I have shared these stories or my passion for France. I will only end with this French expression, my mantra: Joie de vivre!
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