May I point this out from the start? British people aren’t
supposed to like the Gallic tribe from across the English Channel. It was on
par with high treason in times past, but now is seen as something just a bit
odd and something, perhaps, awkward – which is worse in today’s world? I do not
see the French as arrogant, pompous and overly philosophical, all things that
are detested in Anglo-Saxon society, the society supposedly down-to-earth and
pragmatic. I see the French as down-to-earth and pragmatic, exactly like us,
which makes the small differences in terms of culture and history even more
potent, like comparing two different vintage wines from the same region – the ‘notes’
and the ‘hints’ of various substances, be it fruit or wood, declare the winner.
And the winner is, between the United Kingdom and France, in my humble opinion, is France. The lifestyle is something I envy greatly. I know very well of
Americans who dream to live in Haussmann apartments, looking onto streets
clogged with taxis and buses, living over shopfronts or – in the case of the
not-so well off – three or four households. Paris, to the British, is full of
three things – shit, cigarettes and sarcastic waiters. I love Paris, more than
I love London. The elegance of such a bustling yet reassuringly compact city is
so appealing. Yes, there are no nightclubs. But they have cafés, where you join
the ranks of old men sipping espresso and reading Le Monde - strobe lighting and florescent make-up do not make up for the great institution of the sit-down session with a book or a paper.
The British may not be Francophiles, like me, but they like
France as a country. Just as Paris is compact, so is France. It is twice the
size of the UK in size, but the range of terrain is nevertheless extraordinary.
You can ski in the Pyrenees or the Alps; catch the sun on the Cote d’Azur or
Provence or on the Bay of Biscay. If you want easy cycling, the rolling hills
of Champagne and the forests of the Ardennes are perfect, and the Massif
Central provides beautiful horizons and landscapes, as you cross the Millau
Viaduct. Such things are lovely. I love them.
But that’s not what I love about France. What I admire in
the French people, which we seem to look over, is the appreciation of being
alone. The British are incredibly social – it’s why the class system exists.
The lone ranger is somewhat of an outcast. You club, you eat, you drink and you
live socially. The Americans seem to be more so, with their obsession with
cliques in high school and work outings (though even the British look at those
with slight disdain). And I hate it. I hate it with a passion. If you can’t
tell already, I’m an introvert and I look forward to periods of being
completely on my own, no distractions or disturbances. I wouldn’t mind if
someone just came up for a quick conversation about an interesting topic (like
literature or philosophy) but more than that stinks of tribalism.
In France, it is quite acceptable to sit in a café or
restaurant, sit outside and light a cigarette perhaps, and not just have a
drink but also a three course meal, on your own. I did something similar in
Rouen. I was sat outside, my Le Monde fluttering away by sudden gusts of wind,
and I saw similar people do what I did – they ate a steak-haché aux frites (burger and chips, albeit without the bun),
reading the paper, or simply contemplating about life. I propose the theory
that this is part of France’s idea of personal privacy – you cannot take
photographs of people on the street without their permission, hence a lot of
footage of people on television, especially archive footage, is blurred. I would be upset, of course, if the Eiffel
Tower or a historic part of Paris was demolished. I would be distraught if
France was cut off from the rest of the world, and I was banned from visiting.
But I would be completely inconsolable if France had dumped the idea that it
was socially acceptable to be able to appreciate solitude. Because, it is the main reason why France is
not only my favourite country, but, as with many Englishmen who have sought peace
from English life, that peril, it is my refuge of choice.
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| Café de France, Place d'Italie, Paris - my first point of call upon arriving in Paris |
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