Last night I spent the evening with my lovely French friend Valérie… She was the girl who introduced and first showed us our property in Saint Rémy de Provence… In a way I can thank her for changing our lives so dramatically… because without her I would not be here, immersed in France and all things French. Valérie and I have become great friends since those early days and even though many years have passed since that ‘fatal’ meeting we always reminisce and marvel at the serendipity that brought us together. Without her help… buying the property… negotiating with the owner… finding lawyers… engaging architects and generally ensuring that our crazy dream could become a reality… I don’t know that I would be sitting here today… Valérie made me believe that it was all possible… that an Australian living on the other side of the world with no French skills or local knowledge could turn a crumbling and abandoned fruit farm into a family home and working olive farm.
We met at her office in Saint Rémy and as I waited for her to finish her last few calls of the day, I could not help but overhear her conversations with clients; they were not discussing anything private, they were more courtesy calls and timings for future rendez-vous. Her lovely Parisian accent was a pleasure to listen to… soft… a little husky and as far away from my Aussie twang as you would imagine… As I was lulled, almost hypnotised by the French language, I promised myself to try harder with my French speaking… to pronounce the words more like Valérie.
Her chat went on for some time… although the essence of it was, ‘where’ and ‘at what time’ I observed that she spent a good long moment on social pleasantries… much more than I would do for the same type of phone call. As she hung up, I laughed and said to her that she must be exhausted from all that polite talk and that if it took ten minutes to make an appointment with each of her clients, it was no wonder that she worked late most nights… Valérie smiled and said to me … that is the difference between you and I… between things French and things English… French is all about the curves… English is a straight line.
For a moment I was confused and then I realised that Valérie had, in one word, described the French way… of looking, of living, of being… of just about everything… The French are never direct… living in France is not straightforward… it is rounded… it is rich… and that which is French almost never traverses a straight line.
I thought her observation a stroke of brilliance… it made perfect sense to me…. Perhaps that is why we love all things French… curves are so much more alluring… xv
Have you read Elaine Sciolino’s thoughts on this?
