In Love with France
It made me think of just how fortunate I am to have that perfect lover. Absolutely perfect. Gone are the lonely nights and the social engagements filled with loneliness. My former heavy-but-empty heart is constantly filled, thus providing an escape from the “if only I had a man” state of mind.
My perfect lover is a kind and gentle one too. Help is offered when I need it. Consideration and respect are the norm. No matter how I look; no matter what kind of hair day I’m having; no matter what the scale said that morning, I am always made to feel beautiful and sexy and appreciated for the person I am.
And yes, there are flowers and chocolate, candlelight dinners with fabulous wine, numerous “you’ve outdone yourself” surprises, romantic getaways full of memories and an array of fabulous birthday celebrations every July.
No, I am not dating George Clooney. What I am is a single woman, over 50, living alone – who is passionately in love – with France.
I once said that when I’m in France (or even plotting my next trip), I never want for anything. I am happy. I feel complete. I am full of anticipation and joy. I never, ever feel alone or disconnected.
And when I am not in France, I have the memories of the heart and anticipation of a rekindled relationship.
I must admit, however, that I am not monogamous in this relationship. Not by any means.
At any given time, you will find me in my Citroën caressing the curves of scenic D roads. Or I might be cavorting in the poppy or lavender fields. There are times I fantasize about romantic getaways where my constant companion is a good book overlooking the lavender fields or ocean. I flirt with the owners of patisseries and fromageries and I more than flirt with any man who has just made fresh bread!
But most days, I am into the delight of being there. My head is either full of what is or excited about what may be. Aren’t these the symptoms of a woman in love?
So this is a Valentine Day Card to my adopted homeland.
Open this card and I hope the French people feel my appreciation for all their kindnesses and warmth. Hugs all around to the fabulous people I met in restaurants who showed extraordinary patience when I had that “oh dear it’s another omelette day” face. They spoke this supreme language of love: “Excuse, me, Madame. May I help you? I don’t speak English too well, but I speak menu very, very well.”
Speaking of menus, kisses on both cheeks to the owner of Au Chien Qui Fume who convinced me that that empty table on the patio was waiting for me and would I please sit down so his staff could fuss over me. (They did). And three kisses to the chef of the restaurant on the Left Bank who emerged from the kitchen when he heard I had limited time to eat as I was heading to a Chopin concert at a nearby church. Not only did he thank me for respecting the French appreciation of time, he suggested a menu while explaining the musical significance of the Chopin program I was about to hear.
And more kisses and a grateful hug to the good Samaritan in Clement-Ferrand who recognized the sight of a frustrated lost traveler and the sound of a Michelin map on the verge of becoming confetti and who jumped in with directions just in the nick of time. A halo to the angel who happened to emerge at the right moment from the Casino supermarket near Rabastens to drive me into town, so I could find those three roundabouts I felt were the key to finding Tony & Marianne’s chambre d’hôte in Couffouleux. And three kisses for the countless others who explained bus schedules, train correspondences, the difference in gasolines and who would responded with kindness to every phrase which began “Excusez-moi de vous déranger.”
My love goes out to all my hosts and hostesses. Marianne, it is no wonder you receive hospitality awards every year. My extended stay at Maysou de la Manoir is among my most memorable experiences. Those long gourmet dinners with the other guests exemplified all that we Francophiles envision when we romanticize evenings in France. I feel fortunate that I had an opportunity to be among your regulars before you and Tony go on to new vistas.
Susan and Hermann of Les Tuillières in Pont-de-Barret: I love that you loved and missed France so much, you came out of retirement to start a whole new career with a big enough kitchen for Hermann to create his masterpieces. I also hug and kiss Burt the Cat for killing the little field mouse. (I still have Sherm with me on my étagère by the way). Maggie and Pierre Marey of Le Verger – you need no Valentine. You are Valentine’s Day personified. You give of yourselves so generously that those of us who are fortunate to know you, feel cared for even if we live miles away. To Kikou, Tony and Chanton (le chat) in Beaulieu-sur-Mer: My heart is still full of the joy and enchantment I felt at Villa Gracia and I kiss you both for the morning bread (thank you Tony) and the French lessons on how to present what I’m putting on the bread (thank you, Kikou).
Although I am obviously in love with chambres d’hôtes, I have had some hotel indiscretions along the way and I would be remiss if I didn’t mention them when speaking of love. I LOVED my birthday celebration last year in Paris, thanks to the staff of the Hotel Duquense Eiffel who made my dream of spending my birthday looking at the Eiffel Tower into a reality. Thank you for giving me the best room with that fantastic view from all windows. I also fell in love with Nice and in doing so, Madame Kimming and Eva Gasiglia of the charming and intimate Hotel Villa La Tour created their own little niche in my heart as well.
So next Thursday, when Valentine’s Day rolls around and the flowers and candy start arriving for my colleagues, I will sit back and recall all that France has given me over the years and a glow no doubt will show on my face. I will look around at the photos in my office, as I project about what lies ahead in about six months.
And then, I will take a moment and say with that all knowing smile on my face…..”I love you too.”
