Beyond the food and wine and the weather... why choose France? What is the lure of this European country that so stands apart from others? Why have I and so many visited and then settled here. Why have French ex-pats living in the new world returned?
A dear friend came to dinner the other day and expressed quite eloquently why she chose to return to the country of her birth. She had been living in comfort in Australia, enjoying the great weather, the super friendly people, the beach a hop away, tennis daily... She'd built a business there, had an income... but when the choice needed to be made she returned to France.
Like myself, the education of her children, both social and academic, is too important to be left to chance or to others. For the time that they are her responsibility, it is a main factor in where and how she lives.
And so as we and friends were conversing around the fire, a lovely glass of wine in hand, nibblies on the table between us, she let drop into conversation the following lines:
Je tiens à une culture du débat; à une culture de l'intellecte; à une culture d'exigeance.
She returned to France to secure for her children the education, both social and academic, that she felt would best prepare them to live their lives -- wherever they may choose to live in the future. And here, in France, they would be encouraged to express themselves, to argue, to debate, to have opinions. They would be in a world that demands that they push themselves academically to succeed, to not settle for alright or okay.
As a child of academically advanced parents, living just outside New York, I was certainly pushed in my studies, encouraged and driven. So this is a value that I carry in me from my own culture and family and I do my best to convey it to my offspring. However, the culture of debate, of discussion, of arriving at your opinions through heated arguments... this is something I have cultivated since I arrived on French soil. I do believe I was more willing to be bland when I was younger. Certainly I was politically apathetic and rather horrifyingly ignorant. "I don't know" and "whatever" were more common to my vocabulary than "I believe" and "I insist."
Upon my arrival in France it was soon quite clear that the French are aware of and informed about American politics. They have opinions and express them. And if before them I was less knowledgeable than they about my own country and its recent history... Well, suffice to say that I am proud enough to inform myself and remedy my ignorance when faced with such a situation. And so, I read, I learn, I think, I care and I express myself.
Would I have done so to the same extent had I stayed in the US? I just don't know. To a certain extent no doubt. The US has lived through very interesting times (to quote Chuang tzu if I'm not mistaken) in the past two decades. I can't deny being a person who cares and who reads the NYTimes since high school. However, it wasn't till I lived in France that I jumped from the Arts and Leisure section to the Opinions and Editorials...
That France and the French in general prize the intellect. Yes, I appreciate this. The most daily evidence of this social value is the art of conversation. Witty, sensitive, attuned to others, liberally sprinkled with references to politics, literature, cinema, history, song, public radio debates...
Still in operation here is the carefully designed table and social get-together. When invited to my friend's wedding years ago, we were just two amongst over a hundred, but it was clear that the table placements had been carefully thought through and we were with individuals we had much in common with, and with whom we were able to enjoy a marvelous evening of varied subjects.
The conversation is a living entity to be enlivened, encouraged, spread throughout the table. Monologues are discouraged. Sensivity to your neighbor is prized, but the forcefully expressed opinions of one who's drunk a bit much are not undesirable.
As I often told my French language students: the French will not ask you personal questions, however, they do love discussing sex, religion and politics. These being traditionally taboo at the WASP tables of my youth, I find this unceasingly entertaining when I am proven to have spoken truly again and again and again. Unfailingly, one of these directions (or all three) will be the chosen spark for a dinner table discussion. These do have the virtue of not excluding others, as in general, we do all have opinions on them that could be expressed. (A tête à tête is another matter). You can thus understand perhaps, why we sit from 8pm till Midnight over the many courses, wines, and coffee, perhaps topped off with a cognac. When pursuing subjects of this nature, a simple hour just isn't enough.
And so, we are back to why one would choose to live in France. It all converges at the dinner table. And, if we follow that thought to its natural extension, there's sense in the family dinner sans TV, with multiple courses, shared by all. But I do believe I've already gone into this... No?
Showing posts with label politics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label politics. Show all posts
Friday, February 12, 2010
Sunday, November 8, 2009
I cook
I cook and I nourish. This is an integral part of my being, of how I share with others and operate in this world. I've never made mashed potatoes from a box, nor an instant cake -- thankfully my mother didn't believe in them. For every school bake sale we pulled out the Joy of Cooking and made cookies or brownies from scratch. I don't reheat frozen pizzas and rarely use a store bought pie crust (French pâte feuilletée is the sole exception on this). Feeding my children real food from real ingredients -- the best I can obtain without too much trouble or funds -- is integral to how I'm raising them.
I am building their bodies, and their minds. Those reports from the English school system of the improved grades, concentration and behavior of children through the simple (but enormous) change of quality in their school lunches hit their mark in a person like myself. Now Jamie Oliver is attempting to convert a town in the US with one of the largest obesity percentages per capita. I wish him sincerely well, and hope that with Michelle Obama in his corner, not to mention much of the liberal media, he will succeed in shifting some towards better foods and to integrate cooking into their life. He is a far easier media celebrity to watch and relate to than Michael Pollan for the vast majority of the American population, much as I am riveted listenting to the latter speak.
During my childhood in the 1970s my parents, who both worked full-time, fed me nightly, home-made, sit-down meals. I don't remember it being onerous for either of them (they both cooked): a roast chicken or some piece of meat either broiled or quickly fried in a bit of butter, boiled vegetables -- generally two, and something starchy and white. Add to this a pitcher of whole milk for the kids and a bottle of wine for the grown-ups and you have our nightly spread.
What was once so normal is no longer the rule. It is now a revolutionary act to conscientiously feed our children. From Michael Pollan, to Joan Gussow to Jonanathan Safran Foer's new book on meat, it is becoming trendy amongst the intelligentsia to rethink our relationship to food. But, for the vast majority of individuals, cheap and easy, sweet, salty and fatty fast food still dominates the diet.
And taking time to cook. As Michael Pollan put it recently in the NYTimes, in countries where people make their own food from scratch, there is no obesity, or barely. If you had to slice, dice, soak, dry, pre-fry and final fry your French fries every time you wanted to eat some, would you eat so many as to give you cardiac failure?
So yes, I take the time to cook, and to cook from scratch. I offer this to my children, to myself, to my friends. It is time-consuming, but not in a way that is bothersome to me. I've no tv, I get my errands done as I need, my housekeeping is relatively light each week, and no, I don't work long hours at a job that requires a lengthy commute. I am coping (just barely) not doing so. Is it a sacrifice? professionally no doubt, but personally? Clearly, I've chosen this route, and so I live it. My act speaks louder than any winsome wondering words. Thus I can and do spend an hour or a bit more in the kitchen every evening to make a decent meal for the kids. I bake my bread every Wednesday/Thursday, and at least one if not two afternoons a week I prepare a batch of muffins or cereal bars.
To me it's faster than picking up Chinese or a pizza on the way home, and infinitely cheaper on the budget. My garbage is next to nothing: compost, some containers to recycle and perhaps one sac per week that actually goes to the bin.
But back to cooking, and the choice, need and desire to nourish. I like putting food in front of people. It doesn't have to be a big extravaganza -- though Thanksgiving generally is. And I do confess I enjoy getting a bit of applause for a particularly elegant dessert. It just feels right, and yes thankfully, easy, to whip out a quiche while I'm still a bit sleepy in pjs, chop some vegetables, bake a tart, set the table and then go back and take care of shower, work, tasks, children etc., knowing the arrival of my friends at noon will be delightful and easy, natural.
Politics and belief have affected what I serve my children. Of course I was influenced by my parents, but as a child of my generation, and one who reads, seeks to learn more, and operates with the local organic, agricultural world of Provence, I have gone beyond what they taught me. I cook and serve many whole grains. I bake my bread with my own starter to render it more digestible (long fermenting times). I serve lots of locally grown, in-season vegetables, with the occasional sprinkling of frozen peas in a fried rice. I get eggs from a local farmer. And, I rarely serve meat. I am not a vegetarian. I once tried to be and became quite anemic. I wasn't living in a situation apt to eat a balanced diet without meat, and neither did I have the knowledge and skills to do so. My compromise for the moment -- as for many people, this too may evolve -- is to purchase the best quality, and ideally from a local farmer who has raised his animals in humane conditions with good quality feed and local hay/foraging. This is of course not inexpensive, and thus as I mentioned, meat is a rare presence in the meals I serve the kids, no more than once a week, if that.
And so, in this fast-paced world, have I taken myself off the path to financial wealth and professional accomplishments commensurate with my fellow Princetonians? Yes, I think I have, unless a miracle happens. Who knows, maybe someday I'll be a super-famous novelist? In the meantime, by taking this other path I've chosen to place my bets on a different sort of retirement account: my and my children's physical health.
I am building their bodies, and their minds. Those reports from the English school system of the improved grades, concentration and behavior of children through the simple (but enormous) change of quality in their school lunches hit their mark in a person like myself. Now Jamie Oliver is attempting to convert a town in the US with one of the largest obesity percentages per capita. I wish him sincerely well, and hope that with Michelle Obama in his corner, not to mention much of the liberal media, he will succeed in shifting some towards better foods and to integrate cooking into their life. He is a far easier media celebrity to watch and relate to than Michael Pollan for the vast majority of the American population, much as I am riveted listenting to the latter speak.
During my childhood in the 1970s my parents, who both worked full-time, fed me nightly, home-made, sit-down meals. I don't remember it being onerous for either of them (they both cooked): a roast chicken or some piece of meat either broiled or quickly fried in a bit of butter, boiled vegetables -- generally two, and something starchy and white. Add to this a pitcher of whole milk for the kids and a bottle of wine for the grown-ups and you have our nightly spread.
What was once so normal is no longer the rule. It is now a revolutionary act to conscientiously feed our children. From Michael Pollan, to Joan Gussow to Jonanathan Safran Foer's new book on meat, it is becoming trendy amongst the intelligentsia to rethink our relationship to food. But, for the vast majority of individuals, cheap and easy, sweet, salty and fatty fast food still dominates the diet.
And taking time to cook. As Michael Pollan put it recently in the NYTimes, in countries where people make their own food from scratch, there is no obesity, or barely. If you had to slice, dice, soak, dry, pre-fry and final fry your French fries every time you wanted to eat some, would you eat so many as to give you cardiac failure?
So yes, I take the time to cook, and to cook from scratch. I offer this to my children, to myself, to my friends. It is time-consuming, but not in a way that is bothersome to me. I've no tv, I get my errands done as I need, my housekeeping is relatively light each week, and no, I don't work long hours at a job that requires a lengthy commute. I am coping (just barely) not doing so. Is it a sacrifice? professionally no doubt, but personally? Clearly, I've chosen this route, and so I live it. My act speaks louder than any winsome wondering words. Thus I can and do spend an hour or a bit more in the kitchen every evening to make a decent meal for the kids. I bake my bread every Wednesday/Thursday, and at least one if not two afternoons a week I prepare a batch of muffins or cereal bars.
To me it's faster than picking up Chinese or a pizza on the way home, and infinitely cheaper on the budget. My garbage is next to nothing: compost, some containers to recycle and perhaps one sac per week that actually goes to the bin.
But back to cooking, and the choice, need and desire to nourish. I like putting food in front of people. It doesn't have to be a big extravaganza -- though Thanksgiving generally is. And I do confess I enjoy getting a bit of applause for a particularly elegant dessert. It just feels right, and yes thankfully, easy, to whip out a quiche while I'm still a bit sleepy in pjs, chop some vegetables, bake a tart, set the table and then go back and take care of shower, work, tasks, children etc., knowing the arrival of my friends at noon will be delightful and easy, natural.
Politics and belief have affected what I serve my children. Of course I was influenced by my parents, but as a child of my generation, and one who reads, seeks to learn more, and operates with the local organic, agricultural world of Provence, I have gone beyond what they taught me. I cook and serve many whole grains. I bake my bread with my own starter to render it more digestible (long fermenting times). I serve lots of locally grown, in-season vegetables, with the occasional sprinkling of frozen peas in a fried rice. I get eggs from a local farmer. And, I rarely serve meat. I am not a vegetarian. I once tried to be and became quite anemic. I wasn't living in a situation apt to eat a balanced diet without meat, and neither did I have the knowledge and skills to do so. My compromise for the moment -- as for many people, this too may evolve -- is to purchase the best quality, and ideally from a local farmer who has raised his animals in humane conditions with good quality feed and local hay/foraging. This is of course not inexpensive, and thus as I mentioned, meat is a rare presence in the meals I serve the kids, no more than once a week, if that.
And so, in this fast-paced world, have I taken myself off the path to financial wealth and professional accomplishments commensurate with my fellow Princetonians? Yes, I think I have, unless a miracle happens. Who knows, maybe someday I'll be a super-famous novelist? In the meantime, by taking this other path I've chosen to place my bets on a different sort of retirement account: my and my children's physical health.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Getting Politicized
Unless otherwise noted, all materials on this blog are (c) 2009 by Madeleine Vedel
The French love to discuss politics. At the dinner table or a cocktail party, rather than pepper you with personal questions or complaints, they are more apt to try to draw you into a political discussion. Since living here, I too have become an adept at the political discussion. I simply care more and more deeply, and I strive to keep myself informed. Back when I lived in the US, I was not in any way politically savvy, nor particularly concerned. I loved reading the NYTimes, but stuck to the Magazine, Arts and Leisure, and the Book Review sections. When it came time to vote, I would call a friend who had worked in political circles for years and ask her to give me the list of her preferred candidates. I knew we thought and felt alike, so I simply voted her suggestions. As a system, it worked.
But since I began living in France, I've felt the need to be informed, and when possible to act. It could be because people here follow assiduously local and national politics, and also international. They're up on Chavez, on our presidential elections, on the political bents of the Germans and the Italians, what's happening in China. There is just a significant majority which reads about and discusses the issues of the day.
I moved to France during the Clinton years, and lived through the Monica scandal on French soil. At the same time, the French were publicly discovering the presence of Mitterand's illegitimate daughter with his longtime mistress. The comparison of our reactions was interesting at the least, and often amusing. Living amidst the less strict French (at least where mistresses are concerned) I felt that it was a bit much to expect a charismatic man in a position of power not to flaunt it. Attracting women is just one of the benefits for these men. I don't applaud it, but I'm not so innocent as to think that those who resist are in the majority. So, perhaps disrespectfully, I would say, why couldn't he have had better taste? JFK apparently bedded some of the great beauties of his time. Marlene Dietrich at least knew how to be discreet. Am I jaded? or just realistic when considering attractive and powerful men? I've definitely got a more continental view on this aspect of the political world.
Living in France means living amongst people who believe their individual actions, when collected into the organized actions of their unions, can change government. The people who stormed the Bastille and overthrew a king are still here. They shall not be dictated to. And yet, they do very much respect authority and the patriarchal structures that surround them. It's an interesting blend. As many visitors have discovered, much to their frustration, the French engage in and support organized strikes, those that can that is. So those who have guaranteed jobs for life with the civil service -- postal workers, the police, teachers, transit workers--or those who are well organized in unions such as the truck drivers strike with amazing ease and frequency.
This means that your average French citizen has to cope yearly with a week or more of no school for his/her child. One year, they missed so much school in the public system that the baccalauriat exam was in jeopardy. Parents were pulling their hair out seeking options for keeping their kids safe and occupied while they went to work (or missed work coping as they could).
He also becomes adept at juggling shifting train schedules (and the lack thereof), potential gas shortages due to truckers blocking all the highway exits, air flights being cancelled, mail not delivered, and so on and so on.
I remember fondly my experience in the winter of 1995 when all forms of transit -- the trains local and tgv, the busses, and the metro-- were on strike. It was just around Thanksgiving, and Erick had to drive me back to Paris and my job there. Once there, I simply walked everywhere -- something I love to do in any case. But I was joined now by all of Paris. Some were on roller blades, some on bikes. Some hitch-hiked up the Champs Elysées in their handmade shoes, cashmere coats and buttery leather brief cases. Everyone arrived at work with bright red cheeks and stories to tell. Those coming in from the outlying suburbs had it the hardest, but they also regaled their co-workers with tales of sharing rides, hitch hiking and general comraderie. I really loved that strike, strange as that may seem. Paris has never been nicer. And I've never had such lovely legs since.
Remarkably few complained of the situation as they were pretty much behind the strikers and they too wanted then prime minister Alain Jupé humbled. And they succeeded. He has now left central government and returned to his city of Bordeaux to be mayor again.
Though the strikes drive everyone crazy, remarkably often they are supported or at least tolerated by the general populace. There's something hopeful and reassuring in knowing that if you make a stink about an issue, and if there are a sufficient number of you, you will be heard and government will respond.
I've also been brainwashed into believing in the virtues of a single party health care system, and one where everyone gets cared for no matter their prior illnesses, genetic history, etc., I like that education is a nationalized system, designed as much as possible to give equal access to all. It is not paid for with local realestate taxes, and as such, the better neighborhoods don't have a complete monopoly on the best educators.
A fascinating media creation here is a nightly show of puppets repeating the news events of the day in the exaggerated personas of real-life politicians, tv newscasters, celebrities and more. It is called the Guignols, and it is the vehicle through which many French school children are introduced to politics and all the major players in France. Because of this show, your average ten year old likely knows the names and faces of a couple dozen major French political figures, from the head of the green party to the workers' party, the wives and paramours of the sitting presidents (and former as well), all the cabinet ministers. It is a brilliant show: funny, pertinent, and wryly informative. Imagine Jon Stewart but as a puppet.
When I go out on my visits, we chat about family, the weather, and politics. The baker follows Obama's visit to Europe and the various reactions to his presence. The chocolatier would like to know who you're voting for (on this particular occasion, it was Kerry or Bush). What happens in the US affects the French. What happens on an international level will eventually touch them on a local level, be it lower wheat yields in Africa encouraging local farmers to plant more grains, or the fighting in the Middle East increasing immigration, or the economic woes of the sub prime lenders reverberating out to pretty much destroy middle class tourism for a year or more.
I've not lived in the US now for nearly fifteen years. And as such, I no longer have any idea as to the political intensity of your average American. I know many in my own family and amongst my friends worked hard to get Obama elected, give regularly to help along medical initiatives, encourage green policies, etc., But there are also many who simply find discussing politics awkward, inappropriate and unsettling. And so, we are careful, tactful, and avoid "going there." I've been unable to not put a bit of oil on the fire though. Each time I've had a young American au pair in my house, she's gone home with a head full of thoughts about politics, whether she agreed with me or not. Indoctrinating susceptible young women was not necessarily part of the agreement when they came over to care for my kids, but, living amidst this world of fierce thinkers and debaters, I couldn't help myself. Spread the word.
The French love to discuss politics. At the dinner table or a cocktail party, rather than pepper you with personal questions or complaints, they are more apt to try to draw you into a political discussion. Since living here, I too have become an adept at the political discussion. I simply care more and more deeply, and I strive to keep myself informed. Back when I lived in the US, I was not in any way politically savvy, nor particularly concerned. I loved reading the NYTimes, but stuck to the Magazine, Arts and Leisure, and the Book Review sections. When it came time to vote, I would call a friend who had worked in political circles for years and ask her to give me the list of her preferred candidates. I knew we thought and felt alike, so I simply voted her suggestions. As a system, it worked.
But since I began living in France, I've felt the need to be informed, and when possible to act. It could be because people here follow assiduously local and national politics, and also international. They're up on Chavez, on our presidential elections, on the political bents of the Germans and the Italians, what's happening in China. There is just a significant majority which reads about and discusses the issues of the day.
I moved to France during the Clinton years, and lived through the Monica scandal on French soil. At the same time, the French were publicly discovering the presence of Mitterand's illegitimate daughter with his longtime mistress. The comparison of our reactions was interesting at the least, and often amusing. Living amidst the less strict French (at least where mistresses are concerned) I felt that it was a bit much to expect a charismatic man in a position of power not to flaunt it. Attracting women is just one of the benefits for these men. I don't applaud it, but I'm not so innocent as to think that those who resist are in the majority. So, perhaps disrespectfully, I would say, why couldn't he have had better taste? JFK apparently bedded some of the great beauties of his time. Marlene Dietrich at least knew how to be discreet. Am I jaded? or just realistic when considering attractive and powerful men? I've definitely got a more continental view on this aspect of the political world.
Living in France means living amongst people who believe their individual actions, when collected into the organized actions of their unions, can change government. The people who stormed the Bastille and overthrew a king are still here. They shall not be dictated to. And yet, they do very much respect authority and the patriarchal structures that surround them. It's an interesting blend. As many visitors have discovered, much to their frustration, the French engage in and support organized strikes, those that can that is. So those who have guaranteed jobs for life with the civil service -- postal workers, the police, teachers, transit workers--or those who are well organized in unions such as the truck drivers strike with amazing ease and frequency.
This means that your average French citizen has to cope yearly with a week or more of no school for his/her child. One year, they missed so much school in the public system that the baccalauriat exam was in jeopardy. Parents were pulling their hair out seeking options for keeping their kids safe and occupied while they went to work (or missed work coping as they could).
He also becomes adept at juggling shifting train schedules (and the lack thereof), potential gas shortages due to truckers blocking all the highway exits, air flights being cancelled, mail not delivered, and so on and so on.
I remember fondly my experience in the winter of 1995 when all forms of transit -- the trains local and tgv, the busses, and the metro-- were on strike. It was just around Thanksgiving, and Erick had to drive me back to Paris and my job there. Once there, I simply walked everywhere -- something I love to do in any case. But I was joined now by all of Paris. Some were on roller blades, some on bikes. Some hitch-hiked up the Champs Elysées in their handmade shoes, cashmere coats and buttery leather brief cases. Everyone arrived at work with bright red cheeks and stories to tell. Those coming in from the outlying suburbs had it the hardest, but they also regaled their co-workers with tales of sharing rides, hitch hiking and general comraderie. I really loved that strike, strange as that may seem. Paris has never been nicer. And I've never had such lovely legs since.
Remarkably few complained of the situation as they were pretty much behind the strikers and they too wanted then prime minister Alain Jupé humbled. And they succeeded. He has now left central government and returned to his city of Bordeaux to be mayor again.
Though the strikes drive everyone crazy, remarkably often they are supported or at least tolerated by the general populace. There's something hopeful and reassuring in knowing that if you make a stink about an issue, and if there are a sufficient number of you, you will be heard and government will respond.
I've also been brainwashed into believing in the virtues of a single party health care system, and one where everyone gets cared for no matter their prior illnesses, genetic history, etc., I like that education is a nationalized system, designed as much as possible to give equal access to all. It is not paid for with local realestate taxes, and as such, the better neighborhoods don't have a complete monopoly on the best educators.
A fascinating media creation here is a nightly show of puppets repeating the news events of the day in the exaggerated personas of real-life politicians, tv newscasters, celebrities and more. It is called the Guignols, and it is the vehicle through which many French school children are introduced to politics and all the major players in France. Because of this show, your average ten year old likely knows the names and faces of a couple dozen major French political figures, from the head of the green party to the workers' party, the wives and paramours of the sitting presidents (and former as well), all the cabinet ministers. It is a brilliant show: funny, pertinent, and wryly informative. Imagine Jon Stewart but as a puppet.
When I go out on my visits, we chat about family, the weather, and politics. The baker follows Obama's visit to Europe and the various reactions to his presence. The chocolatier would like to know who you're voting for (on this particular occasion, it was Kerry or Bush). What happens in the US affects the French. What happens on an international level will eventually touch them on a local level, be it lower wheat yields in Africa encouraging local farmers to plant more grains, or the fighting in the Middle East increasing immigration, or the economic woes of the sub prime lenders reverberating out to pretty much destroy middle class tourism for a year or more.
I've not lived in the US now for nearly fifteen years. And as such, I no longer have any idea as to the political intensity of your average American. I know many in my own family and amongst my friends worked hard to get Obama elected, give regularly to help along medical initiatives, encourage green policies, etc., But there are also many who simply find discussing politics awkward, inappropriate and unsettling. And so, we are careful, tactful, and avoid "going there." I've been unable to not put a bit of oil on the fire though. Each time I've had a young American au pair in my house, she's gone home with a head full of thoughts about politics, whether she agreed with me or not. Indoctrinating susceptible young women was not necessarily part of the agreement when they came over to care for my kids, but, living amidst this world of fierce thinkers and debaters, I couldn't help myself. Spread the word.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Roger Cohen and Me
Roger Cohen, NYTimes Op-ed published March 4 2009
" I lived for about a decade, on and off, in France and later moved to the United States. Nobody in their right mind would give up the manifold sensual, aesthetic and gastronomic pleasures offered by French savoir-vivre for the unrelenting battlefield of American ambition were it not for one thing: possibility.
You know possibility when you breathe it. For an immigrant, it lies in the ease of American identity and the boundlessness of American horizons after the narrower confines of European nationhood and the stifling attentions of the European nanny state, which has often made it more attractive not to work than to work. High French unemployment was never much of a mystery.
Americans, at least in their imaginations, have always lived at the new frontier; French frontiers have not shifted much in centuries.
Churn is the American way. Companies are born, rise, fall and die. Others come along to replace them. The country’s remarkable capacity for innovation, for reinvention, is tied to its acceptance of failure. Or always has been. Without failure, the culture of risk fades. Without risk, creativity withers. Save the zombies and you sabotage the vital."
This is a very long quote, and I hope my borrowing it (carefully cited and sourced here above) won't get me into trouble. But, reading it just now stirred many feelings, and brought to the fore numerous discussions and arguments I've had over the years.
Living in France, in Provence in particular, has so many plusses. The weather, the history, the quality of the food, the abundance of local agriculture, the level of the general populace's education, the culture, both popular and high class. I can play my bassoon with a local chamber music group, learn tango from top level internationally schooled instructors, drink some of the best wine made in the world, enjoy Chinese films in Chinese (I read the subtitles), or Iranian for that matter, taste some of the most divine chocolate, revel in hikes amidst gorgeous wild flowers, with views of the blue-green (or wine red?) Sea. I can leap from cliffs for a refreshing swim, and wander in olive groves, climb over the ruins of a Roman aqueduct, or simply drink a cup of dark coffee in the shadow of the Pope's Palace.
But, yes, there are limitations to this world that are in stark contrast to the plethora of possibilities in the US. I've felt the class lines personally. One of the strange realizations I had early on still jars me today. I was, admittedly, a very naive young woman. Well-traveled, well educated yes. But hopelessly naive. When I married Erick Vedel, I married a man of many talents, food, sketching, repairing the home, history, iron-working, photography.. a man who loved learning, and was open to new ideas, sought knowledge and cultural exposure. A rich and interesting autodidact. But others didn't always see him this way. His paysan roots (which I often compared to those of Picasso, a boy of the Mediterranean too) were visible on his face, in his body type, in his language. So I extrapolated, and had a moment of epiphany on what the rise of Picasso meant to upscale French society, and the numerous women of class and wealth who were enamored of and and subsequently destroyed by him.
Our American clients adored and adore Erick. His gentleness, his generosity, his warmth, his knowledge of food history, and world music. These are the qualities we see, value and marvel at, and which in the US would have earned him much. But here.... it's not as easy to be well-respected if you've not the requisite degrees and school learning. The will to build and advance are not traditionally rewarded.
And yet, even with these experiences, I'm still enamored of this world, and I'm still here. Though clearly in French terms, I married out of my class -- Erick didn't mix with university professors here, who snubbed his unconventional approach. And I was raised by two Harvard Ph.Ds, in the suburbs of sophisticated NYC. But what a peculiar thing to say and feel? What is class? Is it still so important? But this is the old world, and many, if not most, of the old world behaviors and sentiments are still quite present.
I reveled in the election of Obama. I reveled in what it meant both symbolically and realistically. Someone, from a very simple background, raised by his mother and grandparents (who valued education very highly!), mixed-race, world traveled, and his wife, from a simple lower middle-class Chicago neighborhood; this person and his family can reach the highest office in the land through sheer work, willpower and belief. Nothing is unattainable if you work hard enough for it.
For this simple fact, much as I love living in Provence, I will always be American.
Unless otherwise noted, all materials on this blog are (c) 2009 by Madeleine Vedel
" I lived for about a decade, on and off, in France and later moved to the United States. Nobody in their right mind would give up the manifold sensual, aesthetic and gastronomic pleasures offered by French savoir-vivre for the unrelenting battlefield of American ambition were it not for one thing: possibility.
You know possibility when you breathe it. For an immigrant, it lies in the ease of American identity and the boundlessness of American horizons after the narrower confines of European nationhood and the stifling attentions of the European nanny state, which has often made it more attractive not to work than to work. High French unemployment was never much of a mystery.
Americans, at least in their imaginations, have always lived at the new frontier; French frontiers have not shifted much in centuries.
Churn is the American way. Companies are born, rise, fall and die. Others come along to replace them. The country’s remarkable capacity for innovation, for reinvention, is tied to its acceptance of failure. Or always has been. Without failure, the culture of risk fades. Without risk, creativity withers. Save the zombies and you sabotage the vital."
This is a very long quote, and I hope my borrowing it (carefully cited and sourced here above) won't get me into trouble. But, reading it just now stirred many feelings, and brought to the fore numerous discussions and arguments I've had over the years.
Living in France, in Provence in particular, has so many plusses. The weather, the history, the quality of the food, the abundance of local agriculture, the level of the general populace's education, the culture, both popular and high class. I can play my bassoon with a local chamber music group, learn tango from top level internationally schooled instructors, drink some of the best wine made in the world, enjoy Chinese films in Chinese (I read the subtitles), or Iranian for that matter, taste some of the most divine chocolate, revel in hikes amidst gorgeous wild flowers, with views of the blue-green (or wine red?) Sea. I can leap from cliffs for a refreshing swim, and wander in olive groves, climb over the ruins of a Roman aqueduct, or simply drink a cup of dark coffee in the shadow of the Pope's Palace.
But, yes, there are limitations to this world that are in stark contrast to the plethora of possibilities in the US. I've felt the class lines personally. One of the strange realizations I had early on still jars me today. I was, admittedly, a very naive young woman. Well-traveled, well educated yes. But hopelessly naive. When I married Erick Vedel, I married a man of many talents, food, sketching, repairing the home, history, iron-working, photography.. a man who loved learning, and was open to new ideas, sought knowledge and cultural exposure. A rich and interesting autodidact. But others didn't always see him this way. His paysan roots (which I often compared to those of Picasso, a boy of the Mediterranean too) were visible on his face, in his body type, in his language. So I extrapolated, and had a moment of epiphany on what the rise of Picasso meant to upscale French society, and the numerous women of class and wealth who were enamored of and and subsequently destroyed by him.
Our American clients adored and adore Erick. His gentleness, his generosity, his warmth, his knowledge of food history, and world music. These are the qualities we see, value and marvel at, and which in the US would have earned him much. But here.... it's not as easy to be well-respected if you've not the requisite degrees and school learning. The will to build and advance are not traditionally rewarded.
And yet, even with these experiences, I'm still enamored of this world, and I'm still here. Though clearly in French terms, I married out of my class -- Erick didn't mix with university professors here, who snubbed his unconventional approach. And I was raised by two Harvard Ph.Ds, in the suburbs of sophisticated NYC. But what a peculiar thing to say and feel? What is class? Is it still so important? But this is the old world, and many, if not most, of the old world behaviors and sentiments are still quite present.
I reveled in the election of Obama. I reveled in what it meant both symbolically and realistically. Someone, from a very simple background, raised by his mother and grandparents (who valued education very highly!), mixed-race, world traveled, and his wife, from a simple lower middle-class Chicago neighborhood; this person and his family can reach the highest office in the land through sheer work, willpower and belief. Nothing is unattainable if you work hard enough for it.
For this simple fact, much as I love living in Provence, I will always be American.
Unless otherwise noted, all materials on this blog are (c) 2009 by Madeleine Vedel
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