Posted By:
Kevin OI'm pretty much the least confrontational person I know, but I've got to say a word or two on the direction of this thread.
I am one of the (apparently unfortunate) few who enjoy and respect both France and the French. I researched a book there a number of years ago--one which would have been impossible to produce without the remarkable kindness and generosity of so many people who had nothing to gain by helping me. I've been back four times since, still waiting to encounter the stereotypically rude Frenchman. I've had disagreements of opinion with people, but I've never felt threatened or unsafe because of them; indeed, most arguments have ended with a cup of coffee. As in most places, people seem to treat me the same way I treat them. I think the problem with too many people who travel abroad is that they expect to be treated as "special." When they get treated like everyone else, they're sure somebody must be screwing them.
My true appreciation for the French antedates my book trip, however. It was July of 1981, and I was a nineteen-year-old kid in the US Navy. Our ship had been invited to a small town on the French Riviera to celebrate the anniversary of the day the city was liberated by the Allies. There was very little to do in the town, so not many people wished to take the small boats to shore for the evening celebration. About seven PM or so the city square began to fill up with mostly older women, who placed bottles of expensive champagne in a large fountain. An orchestra of older men soon followed, and the air filled with American big band music.
The women took our hands and danced with us until after 2:00 AM, fishing bottles from the fountain and telling us that our fathers and grandfathers and uncles and great uncles were "angels of mercy" who risked their lives to free them from tyranny. "No matter what you hear," one woman told me, "there will always be those who will never forget." Our captain was so moved by the experience that he allowed us to stay ashore overnight, giving in to the requests that we allow the town's citizens to house and feed us. When our ship left harbor the next day, dozens of men and women stood at the sea wall waving French and American flags.
I'm sure it sounds hokey, but it was the French who taught me the full meaning of American sacrifice.