Nimeño II, 1st century Nîmes arena romaine
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Some people are born with the travel bug. Some like it warm and cozy at home. While I can appreciate and very much enjoy the
warm and cozy, I’m always thinking, planning, talking about the next trip—in
recent years primarily to France. In
high school, I studied the requisite Latin and added German and French. After high school, I took advantage of the
occasional French conversation class that was available wherever I lived. A lengthy summer trip to Europe a few years
after high school sealed the deal. A few
years later, a year and a half in Chile expanded my interests—linguistically
and touristically. In college, I spent a
January term in France; and in my adult years, I have sought out others whose
interest in improving their French skills and love of France aligns itself with
mine.
Èze, near Nice
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What is it about France that draws me here? There’s no simple answer. France has its problems just like every other
country, and it solves them in much the same way we do in the U.S. It’s different from the U.S. and yet much the
same. It’s a democracy, though the
electoral and legislative structures and processes are different. Both countries have geographic and climatic
diversity. The U.S. has states. France has provinces and departments; and
residents of those provinces and departments have unique loyalties to their
regions as do residents of, say, Louisiana and Illinois.
Lagnes at sunset |
One big difference between France and the U.S. is its
centralized government. The French Armed
Forces are responsible for all things military, including protection of its
interests internationally and keeping the peace within the borders of France—in
the cities and the countryside. The
roads are tended by a national work force of gardeners and engineers and
laborers. Child care is available from
birth to three. From three to five, most
children attend nursery school, and starting at age six, education is
compulsory through the age of sixteen. Public
education supports the largest number of government workers in France, which
says a lot about its concern about and commitment to the nurturing of its
children; and educators, including child care workers, are compensated with
respect. Health care is nationalized,
and let me remind the reader that lest you believe that nationalized health
care means people lose out on treatment, France has the fourteenth highest
survival rate in the world (The only large countries—all with nationalized
health care—that are higher on the list are Italy, Canada and Australia with
all the others small principalities or islands.) as compared with the U.S.,
which is fifty-first on the list. But
let me get to the question of what draws me here.
L'Isle sur le Sorgue |
I live in California, thought by many to be the most
beautiful state in the country, including me.
And the rest of the country is diverse and stunningly beautiful in a
thousand different ways. But France
offers me something different. It’s not
just béchamel and brie. It’s vistas of
vineyards, canopies of plane trees lining the road into the distance,
meandering canals, Roman ruins and medieval castles and towers—everywhere and
too many to mention, homes still standing and occupied after many hundreds of
years, fish plucked from the sea to the dockside to the plate in a matter of a
few hours, soaring mountains, a savage ocean, and a gentle sea. It’s also the béchamel and brie.
Maison Carrée, 1st century, Nîmes
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France struggles to hold on to customs and language as
borders fade and other customs and languages are but a click away. It still jars me to see a sign for Kaufman
and Broad or Century 21. And over the
years I’ve noticed more and more English words working their way into the
vernacular. When we started traveling to
France, the stop signs said “arrête.” Now they all say “stop.” And we see and hear “power, burger, bowling,
double cheese, show business, scattershot” (of all things), and hundreds of
others. My husband claims that when we next travel to
France, they’ll all be speaking English with a French accent.
Roussillon |
Nothing seems quite as easy as it is in the U.S. where we
expect convenience at any cost to those who provide it. In France, the post office in the larger
towns opens at nine, closes for a long lunch, then remains open to six or seven. The boulangerie
in our small town opens early in the morning and closes at noon, opening again
around four. The library requires a
complicated process for finding a book.
There is no browsing. You have to
know what you want. The small shops
expect permission to touch their offerings.
Almost all road signs are symbols without words—some intuitive, some
absolutely mystifying. Speed cameras are
everywhere, though they are politely announced in advance. Most stores are specialty shops and will not
be able to answer questions about anything outside their realm, including
comparison of their products with someone else’s similar product. At the same time, French citizens are
welcoming and helpful, friendly and generous.
Even the toll takers on the péage greet you while taking your
money and bid you a good morning, afternoon, evening of travel before you
leave.
All told, France fulfills a desire to be fluent in the
language, treat my palate to delicious food and drink, and treat my senses to
all manner of sights, sounds, and tastes.
As long as my gray cells are firing, I’ll continue challenging them with
new puzzles, new adventures, new landscapes.
France offers me all that and more.
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