The Country of Smelly Cheeses, Berets, and Arrogance

Quelle belle vie! I spent my summer in a dream, living in a little city in the south of France. My days were spent reading French literature, eating lots of bread, and trying to perfect my accent so that the locals wouldn’t find out that I was actually an American. From ordering at a restaurant to inhabiting another family’s home, I constantly noticed the differences between our culture and theirs. Stereotypes were both confirmed and shattered, and living as a charlatan sometimes made me feel like a completely different person.

There’s an Italian phrase known as “dolce far niente” which literally means “sweet doing nothing”. The French engage in this as well, as one of their favorite activities is to go to a café with an “ami” or two, and sit for hours with wine and great conversation. I was stripped of my cel phone, my laptop, and my first language, then submerged into a culture that enjoys doing nothing, so it should not come as a shock that I felt a little lonely at first. French people are not always plugged into their music or in constant contact with their friends, and this was something I grew to love. I’ll be the first to admit that I usually have my cel phone attached to my hand, but the two months I spent without a connection to everyone in my phone book was refreshing.

I bet that when a naïve Frenchie comes to the U.S. and sees a Wal-Mart for the first time, they do all that they can not to faint. Everything in France is teeny-tiny. The “tasses” that one drinks coffee out of is enough for 3 small sips. The tables at cafés are the size of some bar stools. There is no super-sizing of soft drinks and don’t ask for extra ketchup if you expect not to get charged. A typical shopping trip includes cheese, a fresh baguette, some fruit, and whatever vegetables and meat will be used to prepare dinner. They don’t sell cases of 24 bottles of water or “family size” boxes of cheerios. It must have been a francophone who came up with the phrase “less is more”.

As a true lover of French, I have to say that learning their phrases was one of the best parts of being there. To any outside person, just hearing the language is romantic. But the way they express themselves is even more beautiful. The phrase to express the way that they miss someone is “tu me manques” which directly translates to “you are missed by me”. The focus of the phrase is on the person being missed. In English, our “I miss you”, is focused on the person doing the missing. I love that this slight difference is less selfish in French.

In one of my many endeavors there, I tried to get to the bottom of the arrogant stereotype that Americans believe the French are guilty for. A main topic of conversation I had with French natives, aside from my views on our Presidential election and trying to explain to them that there’s more to the U.S. than farms and New York City, was how each country perceives the other. I tried to explain as kindly as I could that Americans believe that the typical French person is overly proud. They responded with the fact that most Americans who come to France are a bit obnoxious with their little attempt to temporarily assimilate into the culture. Americans walk into restaurants loudly speaking English in their shorts and Tiva sandals, and don’t recognize the fact that this behavior is completely contradictory to the norms of France. Imagine the reverse. If there were a country that had a huge tourist population and came into our restaurants, historic monuments, and infiltrated our public transportation, while speaking their native language at a level even louder than a typical New Yorker, all year long, we might be a little bitter too.

It was a summer of learning, feeling uncomfortable speaking in a tongue very foreign to my own, and indulging in wonderful desserts and carbohydrates. The French know how to live in the present, and are extremely proud of the culture that they have established. I appreciated their routines and expressions, and feel nostalgic each time I see the picture of Eiffel Tower I took when I was almost underneath it in awe. As much as I wish I were back there some days, coming back also made me appreciate the things I love about America. Although I don’t order Ventis at Starbucks anymore, I do enjoy drinking my tall coffee in more than 3 sips.

Tatamagouche.

As I walk through the courtyard, cobblestones quip and quarrel with my soles, arguing over the right of way and the passage forward. A drink or two in the morning before my final stand. My hat rakishly perched atop my head, my saber at my side dripping ink, I march forward and sit; rapt in the hard wood chair.

He asks the question and I offer the answer. My laughter echoes and rings at the disbelief that crosses his face. This cycle continues to plague us all, whether we know it or not. We grow old and complacent, content with the doldrums and dealings of the average day. We busy ourselves with the minutiae. Infants, children, schoolchildren, students, workers, retirees. The big picture. Everyday a smaller cycle runs its course. Time lapses. Still it is the pursuit of happiness. Life and Liberty. Where is redemption found? Love. What becomes of those that never find it? I see the worn faces staring across bar stools. I see the empty eyes staring out fogged windows on the crosstown bus. I see.

Her smile alone charges the room. Protons and electrons argue, bounce, and flit with reckless abandon. My heart beats fast, as the thuds mark a cadence for the tiny countless legs that scurry across the floor, carrying a weight Atlas would balk at. As she tosses her hair back, it ripples, like waves of grain, gold, blown by a warm summer wind. I take it in. She crinkles her nose. The buzzer rings and lets me know its time to go.

Misunderestimating W.

The movie 'W.', directed by Oliver Stone, was not totally what I was expecting. That being: a movie portraying a devious and careless man who as president, would willfully lead the United States into the predicaments it faces today. Don’t get me wrong. The movie delivers plenty of laughs. But ‘W.’ also provides an objective look at a likable yet easily manipulated guy who unfortunately just happened to be in the position to be elected president.

Bush was his parents’ firstborn. He grew up fully aware that he was the grandson of a U.S. senator and a descendant of the 14^th president Franklin Pierce (mom’s side). The young Dubya in the movie is a guy that even your grandmother would love to go binge drinking with. And in 2000, George Bush was indeed the guy that half of the country’s voters wanted to have a beer with. Regrettably, they also thought that being a fun drunk is an essential qualification for heads of state.

My point is this. I, along with the rest of my left wing, liberal, dead baby joke telling friends, and probably who ever else Keith brings to the blog, have spent more time hating on George Bush than we have spent listening to indy music or shopping at whole foods. And I figured that the disaster of his presidency and its effects on the rest of the world were calculated attacks on the have-nots for the Bushes and the like to joke about during brunches overlooking the Kennebunkport Sound. But really, George Bush is not evil. He is actually awesome. He knows he is awesome. People have been telling him that he is awesome for his entire life. Now, put an ego like that into the white house.

I don’t know what factors influenced the president’s choice for vice-president and secretary of defense. But Bush was born a crowd pleaser. And, among others, the crowd advising him is Dick Cheney and until recently, Don Rumsfeld. I don’t think that Oliver Stone is asking us to take a leap of faith when he portrays those two as having an agenda. Was Bush the originator of the major and arguably bad decisions of his presidency e.g. invading Iraq? He probably thinks that he made those decisions. Yet Oliver Stone’s theory appears to be that George Bush, never happy to be a buzz kill, is mainly concerned with keeping the other guys in the room happy. What would you do if you started a new job where you were working with a bunch of your father’s friends? Whose advice would you take?

Overall, after you see ‘W.’ you will have an increased like for George Bush. Maybe not as a president, but as an awesome and fun loving guy who can walk into a barbecue and mow down on a few hotdogs while simultaneously charming the pants off of a young Laura Bush.