I’m an undemonstrative Francophile. It may be because the two months I spent in Germanic Alsace were much more meaningful than the eight months I spent in Italianate Provence. And I moan inwardly every time I walk in a bookstore and see the monopoly of books on France (and its hotter cousin Italy). Publishers, there are other countries in the world! Most of these books, of course, are about Paris or the South; my beloved Alsatians go unlimned. Toujours Provence. Jamais Alsace.
But I admire the French, especially now that, for the first time in history (as someone has pointed out) they have a president who speaks better English than the American president. And they have other talents. Charles de Gaulle questioned how one can govern – while many visitors wonder how one can’t love – a nation with over 300 cheeses. My sister-in-law was in Paris recently with her daughter and, after a few days of patisseries and boulangeries, Elizabeth had a good question for her mother: “If you lived here, would you ever bake again?”
