I suppose, like many who fall in love “Taboo” style, I’ve been in denial for a long time. When the questions “When did you know? HOW did you know?” first fell on my ears the feelings of trepidation and longing to reveal everything mingled together, creating a delectable dish waiting to be devoured. Only now do I dare to take the first bite!
When did I fall in love with Everything French? How did I know? (A glass of Louis Jadot Pinot Noir may serve you well during this first entry, sip slowly…)
Perhaps it was the Black Beret I sported in middle school, or the shared croissants on Saturday mornings with my Mother – even if they were frozen from Pillsbury. These events coincided with my discovery of Vogue Magazine and fashions I covet to this day. The origin and history of any chosen perfume I adored always seemed to lead back to France. Édith Piaf’s music followed shortly after, but I pushed her aside. I then took a quarter of French in High School. I tried again in College. The language would not stick to my brain. In 2004, sitting in a coffee shop (ok – Starbucks!) I heard Keren Ann, A lovely French singer. Her English song – The Sailor and the Widow– did not possess the typical American, or “English” feel in its rhythm or storytelling. Although I recognized the distinct French flavor – I still hid my lust.
Then, the accidental meeting occurred. A trip to Europe that included England and Ireland. Only, at the last minute, we decided to include Paris. Less than 48 hours of Paris. The intensity of this brief affair was intoxicating. We stayed at a hotel next to the Sobornne. We took a trip to Notre Dame de Paris up all 400 some odd steps to the gargoyles, spent an afternoon at The Musée d’ Orsay (no time for the Louvre!), enjoyed the food, a long walk along the river Seine and met the people whom I LOVED – YES the people! But then it was over. The whole experience felt like a dream. I went back to my comfortable closet of denial as if we had never met.
Then in 2005 sitting in the BluWater at Greenlake in Seattle it happened. Love slapped me across my palate. The celebration of my partner’s tenure appointment at a local College begged a bottle of Champagne. The Sommelier suggested Champagne Veuve Clicquot. It was love. Shortly after that I picked up French Women Don’t Get Fat only to discover that the author, Mireille Guiliano was once the CEO of Veuve Clicquot. I knew this was a sign. I opened my heart.
Although I admitted my love, there have been more years of apathy, more half hearted attempts to explore the possibilities. My love for France, Paris in particular, feels like a living embodiment of that Waitress’s song “Christmas Wrapping. The Desire is there, but so are a lot of missed connections.
This blog is my attempt to pursue a relationship with France, Paris in particular. I don’t know what will happen. I’m sure I’ll misspell French words, and perhaps the French will laugh at my silly American ways. There will be romantic dates, lover’s spats and many glasses of wine, coffee and pastries. As France, Paris in particular, and I get to know each other maybe I’ll find it has all been infatuation. Maybe a deeper, truer love does not exist. I seriously doubt that, but like any new relationship how will we know until we try?
Sadly, this must be a long distance relationship. I’ll keep in touch via the usual ways. Web cams placed stalkershly around France, Paris in particular. Many letters have already been written. They exist in Books, Music, Language Podcasts and phone calls to people who have or have had a relationship with France – otherwise known as the Exes OR Ex-Pats. I need merely experience these letters in their various forms and then reflect on my dates here. Hopefully, if this relationship leads where I suspect and dearly hope it does a visit to Paris will be in my future by early 2011. For now -Bonne nuit. Puits de sommeil. Good Night – Sleep Well. (via babblefish.com translation).
