The plane from London touched down at 1:15 p.m. yesterday, and I was back in Texas.

We caught the Paris to London Eurostar train on Friday morning.  Ensuite, Mon Marie et moi spent one day and evening touring London town, then moving from our room situated directly over the hotel disco to another room, getting 5 hours sleep, and then heading for Heathrow airport.  Nine hours later, the peace and quiet of DFW customs lines never felt so good.

Thinking back over the last three weeks, I have come to some conclusions.

First, France is a beautiful country.  I would turn around and go tomorrow to see the graceful countryside of Provence, enjoy the energy of Paris, and soak up the nightlife of both regions.  One of the best ways to get around is by train, either Metro or the express trains that go out from Paris.  It gives you time to sit and soak in the allure of the country.  I’m happy to say that I took advantage of the Metro and the TGV express.  I would also be happy if I could say that it was by choice, but it wasn’t. The truth is that I wasn’t about to try to drive a car in France by myself.  I don’t drive a stick shift well, and as I proved to myself early in the trip, I’m incapable of asking for exact directions.  If I had tried to drive, this blog probably would have been about my adventure in Italy, or more likely, a French jail.  So, another thing I appreciate about France is their excellent rail service. . . . when they’re not on strike.

Second, the French are exactly like we’ve been told and not at all like we’ve been told.  When you ride the bus or the metro, you have lots of opportunity to observe the French people.  As a group, they do not look like happy people.  As a matter of fact, it can be kind of glum–especially depending on the time of day.  Rush hour is downright depressing.  No one smiles.  Friends sit by one another and don’t even talk.  People just stare.  They don’t seem the least bit friendly.

But, as individuals, the French are fun and funny.  I was fortunate to spend time with the teachers in Provence.  Okay, so I was locked in a monastery for a week and had to spend time with the teachers.  But, the great thing about the situation was that it forced me to get to know people outside of my normal comfort zone, i.e., Americans who speak only English.  At any rate, the teachers in Provence and in Paris were witty and interesting.  They not only asked the students about their lives, but they told us about themselves.  And they added humor to their explanations.  It felt a little strange to be laughing with a complete stranger about her neighbor with too many cats and a canary.  But, it also told me how similar the French are to us.

With the exception of the French sales clerk who raised her left eyebrow and tilted her head in disbelief when I told her my dress size, I found the French clerks and waiters and waitresses to be very kind and helpful.  They didn’t even bat an eye when I tried my French.  Some let me struggle with words before jumping in with English to rescue my order; others just answered in French knowing that I didn’t understand them and still brought me the right food or piece of clothing.

I also discovered that the French are hard workers.  Every morning on my way to the school in Paris, I walked past people opening their shops for the day.  From the owners at the boucherie setting up the meats in the display cases to the men washing down the poissonnerie before putting the fresh caught fish on ice to the clerks serving pastries at the patisserie to the people heading to their offices.  These people worked from sun up to late in the evening.  And it was hard work.

Last, and with great relief, I found that I really do like to hear the French language.  It’s not at all like English and takes a while to get used to.  But, it has a melody to it that English doesn’t quite have.  I get my ooo’s and ahhh’s mixed up.  I don’t always shape my lips the right way for certain words.  (It would probably help if I smoked.  Puckering counts for a lot in expressing French words.)  But on the whole, I’ve learned a lot about pronounciation and conjugation.   As much as I could learn, that is, in a mere three weeks.

So, I plan to return to France next year after studying up a little more.  And maybe next year, French will be rolling off my tongue.  And just maybe, I’ll be speaking so fluently that the sales lady at the Galeries Lafayette department store won’t even have time to question my dress size.

Au revoir!