Coming out...

OK. This is embarrassing.  In some regards I really don't want to admit it.  But yes, well, I must say that I am in fact a Francophile.  A lover of things French.  I never thought I would get to the point that I am declaring my dirty little secret.  The Frogs, those blasted French, the only good thing to ever come out of Frances requires you to get a triple bypass.  I spent years saying that I had not interest in France or the French.  I didn't particularly like the sound of the language, all nasally and rough.  I preferred the roundness of Spanish. And all those words that I had trouble spelling in English, I discovered were in fact French words that had too many vowels in strange orders and silent consonants that were always tripping me up.  And then I had heard all the stories of the French being pompous and refused to speak to English speakers trying their damnedest to communicate in their stupid ass language.  These were the pre-conceived notions I had been sporting for a good part of my adult life.
Then I went to France, and discovered that I was in love.  I found that in fact the French were actually very accommodating at least more so than the Germans.  Upon reflections, I found the German attitude to my inability to speak German much the same as many Americans--which made perfect sense considering how prevalent German heritage is in the US.  And then with further reflections, I realized that actually the French like Americans--they gifted us with the Statue of Liberty for heavens sake.  They remain grateful for the number of Americans who sacrificed their lives on French soil during WWII. What the French do not like is the English.  Hey, I thought, common ground, I don't particularly care for the English either.  ( I got really tired of hearing, "You're OK for an American" from the English.  What I always thought when I heard this was "Well, I guess you are passable... for a HUMAN!") I'm sure that there are unpleasant French, just as there are surely unpleasant people everywhere, and I am sure that there are French that don't particularly care for foreigners either.  But my overall experience during my 10 days in Paris was that, they were a gracious lot with rather good food, kick ass museums and a history that reads as the architecture for all that is good in Western Civilization.

 I was trundling around on the Metro reading From Dawn to Decadence: 500 years of Western cultural life from 1500 to the present by Jacques Barzun I realized how influential the French were in forming Western Civilization. Maybe because was reading this massive tome and then stopped at a station named after someone, I had just read about, I began to feel an infinity for the country.

And then I went to the Louvre, I was never so amazed in all my life.  I of course, I wanted to see the Mona Lisa.  I grew up with a Mona Lisa print on my bedroom wall.  I also had a fascination for the Venus de Milo.  My mother had a mini reproduction of the statue in the library.  But I was stunned by the sheer size of the Louvre and for some strange reason when I approached the staircase with the Winged Victory of Samothrace, my breath caught.  I felt, I knew this statue but didn't know why.  I will never forget the feeling of this goddess of Nike. I am certain that my reaction was because I had seen the image of this statue but it never registered unlike my knowledge of the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo.  When I saw these pieces up close (Ok, not so close for the Mona Lisa), I felt like I was connecting with something pleasant from my childhood.  But the gasp that escaped as I mounted the stairs to see the Winged Victory comes from making connections that I was never fully cognizant of--it is magical and permeated my entire experience.
The company I share in my love for things French is many and there is no lack of literature to fuel my imagination.  From Julia Child's My Life in France to Paris Letters by Janice MacLeod and Cara Black's Aimee Leduc mysteries, I find myself in fine company.  

Recently, I finished Cara Black's latest installment Murder in Pigalle.  Each of Cara Black's books are set in a particular neighborhood in Paris.  Aimee is the owner of Leduc Investigations which has transitioned into a cyber security company in the late 1990's.  Although Aimee is not technically I gumshoe detective any longer, she is constantly pulled into near fatal situations.  She is hip, sassy, wears second hand couture and has a significant weakness for bad boys.