I am a secret Francophile. It must be a secret when even my closest friends are surprised when I show my affection for all things French. I love everything French except the attitude French people have towards anyone who does not speak their language or those who speak it even with the slightest hint of an accent. I do not speak French at all. I know only a few words and expressions; nevertheless, of all the languages I like the sound of French the most.
I don’t know how it started but probably in the early 1960s when I was a freshman at the Budapest University of Technology. French New Wave movies were in vogue (one French word I know!). In Communist-era Hungary, movies from the capitalist West were not available for the public, but some were shown at university film clubs where only faculty and students could watch them. I am sure that some of the attraction was that they were “forbidden fruits” but I really loved those black and white movies by famous directors like Jean-Luc Godard and François Truffaut. The movies I liked the most were Breathless, The 400 Blows, and Jules and Jim.
Now that I think of it, my Francophilia must have started even earlier than my college years because my three favorite childhood books were The Three Musketeers, The Count of Monte Cristo, and Around the World in Eighty Days. I read them when I was ten or 12 and they were written by French authors Alexandre Dumas and Jules Verne, respectively. It just happens that one of my most favorite contemporary novels is All the Light We Cannot See. Although it is written by an American author, Anthony Doerr, the story is about a young blind French girl and a German boy whose World War II stories intersect at one point and the scenery is mostly Paris and Normandy.
The first time I was allowed, by the Hungarian government, to travel to Western Europe was in 1970 and it was a business trip to France. I will never forget the first dinner at an authentic French restaurant. Duh, we were in Paris. It must have been authentic. It was there where I first tasted and fell in love with ratatouille soup. The cheese platter at the end of our delicious meal was also unforgettable. I still remember the face of the waiter when I asked for a bite from every cheese on the traditional cheese platter, and there were plenty of them. Who knew that you were not supposed to have more than two or three varieties?
Since that first trip, I have traveled to France a few more times and saw most of the tourist attractions in Paris, even the famous Les Halles that was Paris’s central fresh food market before it was demolished in 1971. My wife and I spent one July 14 (Bastille Day, the French version of America’s July 4) in Paris. We still have some stems of roses that my wife got from a friendly stranger in Jardin du Luxembourg. The rose is dried, colorless, and has no fragrance by now, but every time I look at it, it brings back the memory of that sunny day in Paris.
I have toured many of the castles in the Loire Valley and was enchanted by many rustic towns in Normandy. I had breakfast in an authentic French boulangerie in the Quartier Latin and visited, more than once, the Notre Dame cathedral before it caught fire in 2019. In spite of seeing and experiencing so much of France, I still must go back for more.
I have to go back to Paris because I promised my daughter Laura eight years ago that as a graduation present I would take her to Paris. Yes, you might think it was kind of selfish on my part, and you are not too far from the truth. However, it seemed to be mutually beneficial because she majored in hospitality, which meant getting experience by visiting famous French restaurants and wineries. If this sounds contorted, please remember that my original calling was to be a lawyer.
Unfortunately we never made the trip. Her life got very busy after graduation as a restaurant manager, she got married, the first baby came, and now she is expecting her second baby any day. But we are still planning to go. Once we are in Paris we must go to Provence, which is famous for its colorful countryside, wine, food, and it includes the French Riviera and the French Alps. This region is the home of the bouillabaisse (warning, it’s not kosher!), ratatouille, and salade Niçoise. Isn’t it a magical place for a hospitality major?
I also have to go back to Paris because there are still many things I haven’t seen yet. The book I am reading now, The Missing Sister, is a story of twin sisters whose lives get complicated. Guess where? Of course in Paris, and the story line is connected to the catacombs of Paris. They are underground ossuaries, which hold the remains of more than six million people. A fascinating place, I must see.
While I am dreaming about my next trip to France at the end of April 2020, the coronavirus is still ravaging the world. Borders are closed, the streets of Paris are desolate, and tourist attractions are empty. As I looked up the Jardin du Luxembourg on Google Maps today there was a note in red over the park, “Temporarily closed.” Sign of our times! I survived the Holocaust, I lived through the worst years of communism in Hungary, and I am not going to give up my dreams. This too shall pass.
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