It's a problem in the sense that sometimes it's all I think about. I love France. I get French magazines delivered to my house. I love all things French and even have French decor sprinkled throughout my home. Don't get me wrong--I truly love all of Europe. Each and every country that I have visited has been unbelievably beautiful. The smells, sights, food, people, rivers, villages and even the sounds are fantastic. Each unique, each fascinating, each charming and each alluring, however--there is France.
And when I am there, nothing compares.
The very first time I ever went to Paris will be a memory forever etched into my brain. It was January, it was raining, it was cold, but it was Paris. Everyone from the flight attendants to the taxi drivers were apologizing for the weather. What I could not express to them were the emotions rolling through me after leaving the airport and seeing Paris for the first time. As we were driving into the city center I was fighting back tears. I was in Paris. The city that I had only dreamed about.
Paris. It's only a word, a name, a place and yet from the moment my feet touched the earth, I felt at home. The language although different from mine sounded wonderful. The people were smartly dressed and the food smelled delicious. And that was just in the airport.
We quickly checked into our hotel, grabbed a shower, a short nap and we were ready to explore. We had only a couple of hours before my husband had his first business meeting. It was important to me to get the feel of my new surroundings as I was going to be spending pretty much the next week alone--walking the streets of Paris. Poor me. And so, we walked and walked and walked--in the rain. It was one of the most beautiful memories for me. Paris in the rain. After a few hours, my husband left and there I was alone, in my new city, with my umbrella and a map. I took off on foot and headed to the nearest cafe, where I had my first French encounter with a cappuccino. It was wonderful. I sat studying my map, sipping my coffee, and having a conversation in my broken French with the very nice young waiter. He was enjoying my exuberance over his city. He pointed me in the direction of the best shopping and away I went. Fearless and wet--in Paris.
When I was in the 6th grade my teacher just happened to also be a Francophile. He taught us, students, some French, which then inspired me to take French as a foreign language for the next 6 years of school. I'll admit that while I mastered the accent, over the years I forgot most of my French. So, fast forward 30 years and drop me smack in the middle of Paris and poor language skills is what you get. I found though that over the next couple of days while sitting in little cafes sipping my cafe cream, I was able to understand what others around me were saying. At first while distractedly trying not to listen I thought they were speaking English. After a few seconds I realized that no, they were speaking French. I was amazed that I could understand some of what they were saying! I then began to try and read street signs, menus, chalkboards, directions and so much more. I was so excited. It helped so much to feel a part of them--my French people!
In the evenings when I would join my husband and his colleagues for dinner I found that I could master the menu, that I could join in some of the conversation and that I could eavesdrop somewhat. It became a game of sorts for me. While most of the dinners were primarily in English for my husband's sake, every once in a while the others would have to speak French among themselves--and I could understand them. It was an exciting feeling for me. Once home I immediately went out and bought some French language CD's to brush up on my French. I was determined that on my next trip--I would be even more prepared. And believe me, I was going to return. And I have many many times.
As my first week in Paris came to a close I hated to leave. However, I was armed with hundreds of photos and lots of souvenirs. I had bought trinkets from all over, I had my memories tucked safely away and I had a huge smile on my face. I would be coming back. And one day--maybe even spend extended periods of time. As in living in Paris for months on end. It's a dream of mine. To split my time between home and Paris. A dream that might not ever come true or maybe it will. Time will tell. I will share a few of my photos that I took on my very first visit.
So, yes, I am a Francophile. And I am proud of it. And I love Paris. In the rain. OK, in any weather.
2 comments:
I love your posts... brings a smile to my face and a yearning for our next trip there.
Not a place I've ever wanted to visit, but you make it sound magical :)
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