Contrary to popular belief, I’m not French. Not a splash of that cheese-loving, surrender-monkey French blood in my body, yet I’m as Francophile as they come.
In case you were wondering why this German-Italian-Irish-Polish melting pot shunned her own cultures and embraced France, here’s why.
My mother grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania. When she turned 16, she applied for a Rotary Club scholarship to study abroad. She didn’t narrow down her country choice; anywhere they wanted to send her, she would go. And so she was selected to go to South Africa. She embarked on sewing sundresses and learning about South African culture.
A few weeks before she was scheduled to leave for the sunny shores of Capetown, riots broke out and the country was deemed an unsafe destination for a young American woman. The Rotary Club changed her itinerary, and sent her to Normandy in Northern France. The headline on the story that ran in the local paper: “Miss Makes Like Columbus: Aims For South Africa, Ends Up In France.”
She switched gears, started sewing winter clothes and learning French. Although she had only studied German, she quickly became fluent in French–thanks to long study sessions and a natural talent for languages.
She then majored in French in college, spent a year studying in Montpelier and hitchhiking through the South of France, and became a high school French teacher. Although she no longer teaches French–the FBI snatched her up for her language skills after a few years of teaching–and she now runs her own business, her French is still impeccable. Literally. Whenever we travel to France, she’s able to commiserate with locals about “those loud American tourists” without them ever questioning her own nationality.
Unfortunately I chose friends over French and soccer over studying while I was younger, eliminating a bilingual childhood. Yet having a French tutor at home meant I jumped straight into French II in high school (after three years of German to please my grandmother), and never looked back. I’ve spent two summers in France, one in Provence and one in Paris. Taking advantage of my six-week college winter break and cheap off-season fares, my mom and I shopped to our hearts’ content at les soldes the past few years.
I love traveling somewhere where I can understand the language and yet it’s not my native tongue. And when you understand the French culture, you can fully appreciate its nuances. The diet of excellent wine, creamy cheese and a fresh baguette every day? Added perk.
Yet I know many people don’t enjoy Paris, or are frustrated by the French way of doing things. Not understanding French culture (also commonly perceived as rudeness) can definitely damper a visit to the City of Lights.
What are your feelings about France: the people, the culture, the food? Stereotypes? Actual experiences? I’d love to dig into some of these issues while I’m in Nice.
