✨The Magic of France✨

He went to Paris
Looking for answers
To questions that bothered him so

He was impressive,
Young and aggressive,
Saving the world on his own
Warm summer breezes
And french wines and cheeses
Put his ambitions at bay

Summers and winters
Scattered like splinters
And four or five years slipped away

Jimmy Buffett – “He Went to Paris”

As I now sit on a plane bound for Paris, I can’t help but think back to my first trip to France, over thirty-five years ago on my honeymoon with Liz. It seems like yesterday that I was listening to a Jimmy Buffett CD as he wistfully sang “He Went to Paris.” Those first lines of the song take me back to my heady days of youth, young love, and having so much ahead with Liz. Our days and nights were indeed filled with French wines and cheeses, because wine and cheese are all we could afford. Splurging then consisted of buying a baguette and a bottle of Nutella.

Midway through our honeymoon we were on a train seated near some American college students backpacking through Europe. Their joy upon receiving a special gift from us is like nothing I have ever seen. The gift? The last quarter jar of Nutella.They were famished. They ate it with their fingers, and I respect them for that. Back to Buffett, it is not four or five years that have slipped away on me, but thirty-five.

Tapping this out in the darkness of a red-eye flight,the lessons of so many trips to France come back so quickly. The ease and reward of making a simple salad dressing is a joy that has stayed with me. More importantly, the pleasure of a long dinner is something that I grew to appreciate, as well as respect bordering on worship for quality food.

Years ago, I discovered, the best baker in all of Paris, Bruno Solques. Of course, his artisanal baked goods are mind blowing, but I love his happiness over my enjoyment of his food. Every visit to his bakery, he seems a bit surprised at my enthusiasm for his baking.

My daughter, Molly, is also now en route to France, meeting us in a few days in the Burgundy area. She is close to the age I was during my first trip to Paris, and I can’t help but wonder how those same song lines apply to her at her stage in life. No doubt she is bringing her own questions to Paris. I hope that France works its magic on her this trip, as it has done for me. Together, we will do our best to learn as much as we can about the wines of Burgundy, as I am such a wine novice. I only learned recently that the fine reds of Burgundy are complemented by excellent whites from the area (a white Burgundy wine is a Chardonnay). Wine is a given in the area, but we will also search out the best cheese.

Years ago, Liz and I were traveling with Molly and our son, Alex, near Carcasone, in Southwest France. On a narrow country road we spotted a hand-written sign for cheese.

Parking near the dilapidated barn, we had more questions than answers about the health and safety of buying food. Goats ran loose everywhere, and the flies, so many flies. An ancient Frenchman wandered out of a cow stable, blinking as if he had not seen sunlight for days. We were unable to communicate due to the language barrier. He smiled a toothless grin, leaving us to do what any sensible travelers would do, we followed him into the barn, deep inside.

It didn’t take long for us to realize that this was where the cheese was made. And how did it taste? It was the best cheese I have ever had. Ever.

On past family trips, I played the role of tour-guide, which I love doing. This trip is meant to be different, a recharging after so much time in COVID lockdown. Our itinerary is light, with a week at one hotel in France, and then off to Italy. I see this as a trip with my daughter as traveling with a cherished friend, rather than taking my daughter on a trip, as equals. As the parent-child responsibility slides from my shoulders, I am brought back to Buffett’s masterful storytelling.

As the song continues, Buffett’s traveler copes with tragedy, as we all must at some time or another of varying degree.  Considering this, I think back to hearing Buffett introduce this song at a concert, with a bit of melancholy he said something like, doing our best is all that we really can do.  I have rolled that over in my mind countless times.  While his words are on target, my take-away from the song is that I need to accept that doing my best is all that I could have done.  Acceptance.  Let’s move to the end of the song…

Now he lives in the islands
Fishes the pylons
And drinks his green label each day
He’s writing his memoirs
And losing his hearing
But he don’t care what most people say

While I am certainly nowhere near eighty-six years old, I do enjoy fishing more so by the year, and I won’t complain about a drink each day. Also, I am now at the point where I can admit, I don’t care what some people say. As I think about the magic in life, in my life, some of it has come to me in France. Ah, the Côte d’Azur, those people know how to live. When I think of the old timers shopping the market in the town square of Vence, I believe that I am on course for the type of happiness that I see in their faces, having lived a good life, enjoying good food, wine, friends, and family.

EPILOGUE

Through eighty-six years
Of perpetual motion, “
If he likes you, he’ll smile and he’ll say,
“Some of it’s magic,
And some of it’s tragic,
But I had a good life all the way”

He went to Paris
Looking for answers
To questions that bothered him so

He went to Paris
Looking for answers
To questions that bothered him so

A few days have passed since I wrote all everything above. Now Liz and I sit in a small brasserie in Burgundy, awaiting Molly’s arrival from Paris. She should be here any minute. I think back on the song, “…some of it’s magic…” The moments, the memories that have stuck over the decades have nothing to do with work, hobbies, houses, cars, or even the events that seemed all-so-important when they happened. Many of the magic moments were during trips to Europe, lost in vineyards, immersed in conversation with locals at a bar, and most of all over a drink or dinner with my family. Yes, that is a cliché, yet the disconnection of both language and culture back home allows a focus on the people you travel with…especially when it is with the most important people in your life. Maybe, just maybe, that is the magic.

A post about France on a blog about Italy?  Why not…. Some of the best trips to Italy combine a visit to a nearby country.  Molly and I are excited to restart our blog with this trip. 

Most people pigeonhole Jimmy Buffett for his wonderful songs about the sun and fun in the Caribbean.  If you want to hear some of his best work, check out his songs set in France.  

• He went to Paris <<< This gem is from the world before MTV.

• Cost of Marseilles