For the French...

The French often get a bad rap.  They've been called snooty, unsupportive, rude, and worse.  But my opinion is quite the opposite.  I've no idea why I'm writing about this at this time, but who cares-- at least I'm writing again, oui?  Let me give you the reasons I love the French, and why they've made such an impression on this all-American girl.

1.  My first impressions: I'll never forget, though clouded with sleeplessness, my very first view of the Eiffel Tower.  We were landing, it was morning, and cloudy.  The land looked very much like anywhere else I'd landed in my travels until, far in the distance, I spotted that famous tower.  I couldn't help it-- a smile broke out on my face.  Disinterested, sleepy passengers flanked me, but I smiled and my heart pounded and I knew I was in for the adventure of my life. 

2.  My faltering French:  I was very nervous to use the French I knew, though I had taken four years of the language, plus independent study.  I was shy, afraid that all I'd heard about the French and their rudeness would be true.  Yet I found them to be entirely gracious and patient.  I recall when we needed tickets for a Seine boat tour one evening. 
"Bonjour," I began, nervous about my first conversation en Francais.
"Bon Soir," they replied, gently reminding me of the time of day.  They smiled.  I smiled.  I continued with newfound confidence.  I also remember visiting the Palace Versailles, where we asked for directions in French.  Though we were obviously American, the guide asked us, "En Englais ou en Francais?"  He didn't simply fall into patronizing English to appease the American tourists-- he gave us the option, and we chose en Francais.  I found that they weren't so different from us.  When a foreigner asks me for directions in English, I am much more likely to respond with patience than if they assume I speak their native language.  It's the same with the French.  I never once experienced rudeness, as I always attempted to speak their language in their country.  And by the time I left, I was almost fluent. :)

3.  My favorite memory: One of the very best memories I have of my time in France is a conversation I had with a bouquiniste owner on the Seine one afternoon.  We were browsing the tiny green shops set up along the river, admiring the paintings, drawings, and antiques.  We stopped at one-- I can't even remember why anymore-- and began a conversation with one of the two old men who sat there.  One spoke some English and sat with his friend to translate for the American tourists.  He asked if we spoke French and I responded, "seulement un peu," which means "only a little."  He then asked where we were from.  My friend told him she was from Texas, whereupon this man turned to his friend and in French, said something along the lines of, "She's from Texas; you know Bush, the Republican fanatic."  I laughed a little under my breath, and he looked surprised.  "I thought you didn't speak French!"
I grinned.  "Seulement un peu," I said.  We then continued to have a political discussion (in English), and he asked who I thought would become the next president.  Keep in mind, this was 2006, before any presidential races had begun.  "I think maybe Barak Obama; at least he'll run."  I was surprised at this man's knowledge, because he leaned toward his friend and told him in French that I thought the Senator from Illinois would run.  I sheepishly realized I had no idea about French politics.
"What about Condoleeza Rice?  Hillary Clinton?"  He asked in his delightful accent.  I rolled my eyes. 
"Maybe," I said, "But I hope not."
"That would be a terrible night for American men," he went on, "To go to sleep at night knowing that when you awoke, there would be a woman president!"  I laughed at his blatantly sexist attitude.  We didn't stay much longer, but that political conversation with a Frenchman had imprinted the French people on my heart.  What warmth and intelligence!

4.  My protection:  On a sunny afternoon on one of my last days in Paris before leaving for Greece to meet up with friends, we decided to spend some more time by Sacre Coeur, with the intention of sketching (a favorite pasttime for the both of us).  We were well aware that in this area and the rest of Montmartre, the street vendors could be particularly bothersome, so you were to just ignore them and usually they'd move on.  On that day, however, the vendors were creepy.  They wouldn't leave us alone, and we're pretty sure they said some vulgar things in French.  Both of us had an uneasy feeling, but we decided to stay.  There was only one bench open at the bottom of Sacre Coeur, near the carousel.  We sat.  We started to sketch.  Even while sitting, occupied with sketching, the vendors harrassed us.  Immediately an old, white-haired French woman sat down on the unoccupied lefthand portion of the bench.  She didn't read, she didn't sketch, she simply sat and watched the birds.  No vendors came our way again.  After a time, we decided to move on and began packing our things.  When we got up to leave, the white-haired woman left as well.  I am convinced that woman sat down by us only to protect us from the vendors' harrassment.  What kindness.

5.  My other favorite memory: My other favorite memory of the French centers around children.  At Versailles, we pulled out our sketch pads once more and began sketching a fountain in the gardens.  We sat in the warm sunlight, recreating man-made beauty.  Mine was not turning out so well, and I was thinking of throwing in the towel when a horde of children swarmed into the enclosure.  It was obviously a field trip, and there were about two dozen maybe second grade students and a couple teachers.  They huddled around us, staring at our drawings.  Sounds of amazement, evident in any language, came from their mouths.  I couldn't make out everything they said save for two words: "Bon" (good), and "dessinez" (draw).  We smiled and nodded and said, "merci."  My heart warmed-- these little children harbored no resentment, no pride against American tourists.  They admired my mediocre drawing with the innocent delight of any child.

I hope, through these snapshots, I've given you a glimpse of why I love the French.  I experienced nothing but kindess and patience from them (except for the creepy vendors), and I miss them.  I left part of my heart en Paris.