Step Aside, Americans Coming Through

Blanche is starting to thrive in her pasture. At night she sleeps in her sheep house, with no food, so she’s happy to go out in the morning and forage as if she’s a real sheep. This morning I was very proud of her because she willingly ran into her pasture, and began making a slow munching circuit around the enclosure. Previously, she would only stay where she had a view of the house. Problem is, when she completes her circuit, which takes her about two hours, she comes to the corner of the fence nearest the house and starts yelling for me. If I would ignore her, she might stop that habit as well. But she’s hard to ignore because she’s so cute and I go running out to her with a geranium for her to eat.

Last night, Preston and I drove into Cahors to attend a chorale concert in which my friend Franciose was singing. There was a packed house in the pretty, old church. The small, rush bottom chairs were a bit uncomfortable for us (next time we’ll take throw pillows when we attend a concert in a church) but the singing was sublime. Most of the singers were retired. However, there were some young women in the group, and the director was a very pretty young woman who knew her stuff. Two of the men were in such bad physical shape that I worried they might not make it through the concert. They both brought chairs on which to sit, and winced with pain whenever they had to move off and on the risers.

The French like to add a pedantic element to all of their concerts and so before each piece, a woman read off a small essay regarding the work’s origin and history. I’m sure I would enjoy these lessons if the chairs were more comfortable.

The majority of the population in our departement is comprised of retirees and foreigners who live here part-time, although more and more foreigners are retiring here now. The younger people who have businesses make a lot of money off of us as evidenced by the new stores popping up in our small village. There isn’t a vacant storefront in our village now. Consequently, entrepreneurs are building very ugly buildings on the outskirts that are surrounded by hideous asphalt parking lots. Again, we are killing off the quaint countryside to service our voracious appetites for material goods.

Recently, an American in San Francisco commented to me that when he visited rural France he didn’t see anyone working and he figured that was because it was “such a socialist country.” But his observation is absolutely not true. The farmers and shop keepers that live here work very hard, long days, and they work well into their seventies and eighties. Tourists think the countryside is dead because they see the rural houses with their closed shutters and assume that no one is home and they pass so quickly through the countryside that they don’t notice the farmers working in their fields. The farmers here are usually not on a tractor; they’re standing working in their fields, and can’t be seen from the road. The reality is that the shutters are shut because the houses stay cooler in the summer (when the tourists are passing through) if the shutters are closed during the day. Air conditioning is very rare in France, in the house or in the car. I went out and purchased an extra fan today remembering that last year, in the middle of the deadly heat wave, there were no fans to be had. I noticed that Madame Garnier had air-conditioners to sell this year. That’s the first time I’ve seen home air conditioners for sale in France. The heat was unbearable today in the mid-nineties.

The rural French don’t think the Americans are capable of hard work, and several of our neighbors commented on that fact saying they were surprised to see us willing to tackle physical labor. They believe that all Americans are wealthy and sit in offices all day because they only see the people who can afford to take European vacations and the characters of American life on television and in film. So who can blame the French for the stereotypes they've developed of Americans. For the most part, we are fatter than the French. We are much louder. We do throw money around as if it grew on trees.

I went to visit some Americans today who had just arrived for a week’s visit. High-end rented BMW’s surrounded the house. I sat with them for two hours. I can tell you they won't discover a hint of the real France: the France that seeps into your soul. For the locals, who don’t have a lot of money but possess much wisdom on the art of living, will stay away from them, intimidated by the show of wealth; and of course, the Americans didn’t come to fraternize with the comparatively impoverished locals. They came to sit by the swimming pool, talk about the shopping they’re going to do in Paris, check their e-mails. To these Americans passing through, the locals are quaint extras populating their fantasy vacation. I know, because I used to be one of those Americans who came for a month, spent lots of money, and left, raving about my great vacation in France and my fun shopping excursions.

Living here half the year, my neighbors have taught me a humility that brings peace and calm to my life. They have shown me how to live more simply (my husband would debate this claim) and with greater joy. Paris is the center of civilization, but if you’re looking for the spiritual essence of France, you need to come to the countryside, wander the paths, lay with the sheep, drink Rataffia with the farmers.

Our French accountant told us that if someone charges a large amount on a bill people say, “Do you think I’m an American?” For example, last year when I purchased my two orphan lambs, I went in person to the farm and the farmer charged me 70 Euros for each lamb. That was highway robbery. I didn’t know what the price of lamb was but I knew that was too much for an orphan lamb that might drop dead at any moment. I didn’t argue because I had already fallen in love with the two lambs I had chosen. This year, I had Roger call his cousin and ask the price for bum lambs, and I instructed him to not reveal that I was American. The non-American price for orphan lambs is 30 Euros, although his cousin won’t have any new lambs until August.

When we first purchased our place, we were told that Roger was not happy that “Americans” were moving in. He was afraid we’d pave the entire property and put up a McDonalds. But now he’s one of our best friends. Americans have an image problem, but it is of our own making. Maybe if we just rented small Peugeots without air-conditioning when we visited, and stopped to talk when we saw a farmer out working in his field, we could undo a lot of the stereotypes of the arrogant American.

I'm probably more "anti-American" than the French because I don't want France to be Americanized. I'm trying to escape the strip malls, the housing developments, the coffee chains, but they follow me wherever I go.

Last night at the concert, the first half was comprised of French songs, the second half was dedicated to English and American composers works.