travelling... straight on until morning

My friend WMM, who's just back from Paris and Provence, is still decompressing.  She'll be sharing her own travel impressions later, but the thought of someone's first trip to Paris - inspiring!

So I thought it might be fun to share some of the impressions of my very first trip to France: all those years ago, and they're still with me.

As we set off, I had une liste of sights I had to see, experiences I wanted to have, foods I wanted to taste. Most of all, I wanted to know if the language I'd worked on since age 11, slavishly following the instructions of teachers who claimed to be ex-DOD language school, would in fact work: would a French person understand me? Would I understand a French person? Would, for example, the response to a request for a café au lait be a cup of coffee, a blank stare, or gales of laughter?

warm brown water

surprise no. 1: I was understood! More: I was complimented! Oh, what a relief to learn that those hours in front of a mirror checking how lips were pursed or jaw relaxed, had paid off!

surprise no. 2: French teachers can lie.  Café au lait is awful, especially if you like coffee. It's a morning drink, and to this day in many places is made by heating up the remains of last night's coffee and diluting it with hot UHT skim milk. I consider it an accessory for those who want to sit in a cafe with a morning newspaper and try to look French. I don't consider it food.

We arrived on an overnight Channel ferry and picked up our car at sunrise. We had to call the rental guy at home, since his little office wasn't open, but he was courteous and helpful, and wished us a happy journey. At that point Himself decided that he couldn't start the day or  drive without a glass of orange juice (not the place to discuss my relationship with citrus). We found a seaman's bar/tabac that was open, the barman thought it was très amusant but found the only orange in the place, and let's just say, it was a very expensive glass of OJ.

Maybe hotels have those peculiar shutters that keep out the air so when you get up, you can throw them open and see rooftops, fields, waterfront, flowers... in case overnight you forgot where you were. I later learned of the French horror of drafts. How long ago was this? Mont St Michel wasn't crowded.



I've already discussed my raptures on seeing the Bayeux Tapestry in real life, and I still count myself lucky to have been able to get up close and touch the texture of the stitches before the preservationists got hold of it. Pavé de chocolat for dessert that day, in the Lion d'Or. I checked, it's still on the menu. Probably still good, too.

Chugging through Brittany on roads that were still not paved, behind horse-carts, madly consulting guidebooks to see if we were anywhere near a village that might be celebrating something - anything! - so that we could observe Bretons in local costume, these are very expensive handmade outfits, sometimes hundreds of years old. Each village has its own style and they are family heirlooms. True Celtic pride.



Favorite chateau: Azay-le-Rideau. Best part: being turned loose on our own with a mimeo'd outline of the contents and purposes of the rooms, oh, vous parlez français, vous, allez-y...  We took turns reading aloud from the Michelin Green Book for Chateaux of the Loire, to let the history of the empty rooms resonate.

And on to Paris, where I encountered surprise no. 3: everyone in Paris was slimmer than I. The opposite had been true in the country. I considered reversing the course of the trip. Then - Paris happened. It's true that you get dressed up every day. This is because every day there's something to get dressed up for, even if it's just to walk down the street. This was the spring that blue jeans came to Paris, but like no jeans I'd ever seen: pressed, with crease! Stitched in strange colors! Fitted! Hemmed! Made fancy! As one who'd grown up in real jeans, I was horrified. French jeans have improved and I've gotten more broad-minded, but I still remember the shock. I may have thought everyone should wear close-fitted skirts or blue work shirts,  and carry baguettes.

After all, the buildings looked like the pictures in my textbooks...

Lovely surprise no. 4: Sainte Chapelle!

Lovely surprise no. 5: Sainte Chapelle!

Some early impressions:

They park on the sidewalk!

The whole country smokes those smelly cigarettes, not just college kids who want to look cool.

Waiters love to tell you what's in a dish and what else you might like with it.

We figured out the Métro in about a minute. We still haven't figured out the busses.

The plumbing was, um, different. The necessary vocabulary had not been covered in any of my coursework. I learned fast.

This first trip took place in April. We expected the weather to be soft, mild, spring-like. It was cold, damp, bone-chillingly windy. I invented the layered look: I wore everything I brought, all at once, topped off by a "packable" raincoat. If I could have figured out a body part to keep warm with the envelope of the packable raincoat, I would have worn that too. I later learned that the song is about April in Paris because the composer insisted on a two-syllable word at that point. The lyricist, having actually been to Paris, was pushing for June. Or at least May.


How to say "magic" in French: Paris.

Welcome home, all you tired summer travellers. Enjoy your memories.