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LOCAL FEATURES

Friday, August 02, 2002

Return to France yields history, memories, surprises

Ancestors who left what became France could never have imagined the life that’s to be found there now

By Lou Jacquet

Over the past 10 years or so, my wife and I have developed a simple code of conduct for foreign travel: Never be disappointed. We try to enjoy each moment as it comes. We do not have unattainable expectations; we take whatever happens as part of the adventure. We have discovered that outlook is a recipe for being pleasantly surprised most of the time and, more often than not, outright delighted.

Such was the case in France, where we spent 17 days in May traveling around the country from which my ancestors had emigrated in 1846.

That was the year they left Haute Savoie near the Swiss border in the French Alps to begin the arduous trip that would bring them to the New World.

It would take them two weeks by cart to reach the port of Le Havre de Grace (“the haven of grace”) on the Atlantic coast, then eight weeks to sail across the Atlantic to New York on the packet boat Neree – a cramped and unsanitary voyage remembered in our family annals as so horrific that, after six weeks at sea, they were closer to France than they had been after two weeks because of contrary winds. Aboard was my great-grandfather Albert Ambrose, age 3, who lost his little red cap when it blew off while he was up on deck. He cried bitterly as it sank slowly below the waves, losing a cap but gaining a vivid memory for a lifetime.

Thanks to the miracle of modern air travel, it took my wife and me less than eight hours to fly the 3,500 nautical miles from Pittsburgh to Paris to return to the country – though not the region – where my great-great grandfather Francois had made the decision to leave the only land he ever knew in the wake of political turmoil and economic hardship in the 1840s. He brought his family (wife Francoise and five children; six more would be born in America) to a new land of hope. Heading for the French settlement at Louisville, Ky., they were given incorrect directions and ended up in Louisville, Ohio. The Jacquet saga in America, now in its fifth generation, had begun.

To be completely accurate, my ancestors did not leave France per se, because France was not yet a united country in 1846 (that happened in 1860). Our people were Savoiards – poor farmers and residents of the tiny town of Les Houches in the Alpine region of Savoy (later Haute Savoie) not far from Switzerland. Persons who lived there spoke a regionalized French quite different from what was fashionable in Paris. It was a rural world closer to the life of everyday Swiss, Germans and Italians than that of the salons and cuisine of Paris. Today, that rural world is gone, replaced by hundreds of chalets which rent for $2,000-per-week to jet-set skiing enthusiasts, chalets built on the very land where my ancestors were unable to scratch out anything more than a subsistence living.

I have no living relatives in Haute Savoie now, to the best of my knowledge, so I did not get back to that part of France on this trip. I had visited Paris in 1975, but this time was fortunate enough to get a taste of the wide diversity of French life in that Texas-sized nation on a cross-country tour that gave us a better understanding of this picturesque and much-misunderstood country. Although no one can claim expertise about a country one has visited for so short a time, one can get a good overview of a nation in short order by moving about the countryside and observing the history, the culture and the people of such a fascinating place.

To begin with, one needs to dispense with that persistent stereotype Americans hold of the French as cold and haughty individuals. Everywhere we went, shopkeepers, waitresses and folks on the street were as friendly as could be. Tourism is now such a major source of French income, particularly in the wake of Sept. 11, that they seemed to be delighted to take time with us and answer our questions.

As with any nationality, the French do have their quirks. Take table napkins, for example. Walk into a Burger King or McDonald’s in the United States and you could eat your meal with a stack of paper napkins beside your plate if you so chose. In France, as elsewhere in frugality-oriented Europe, customers receive one paper napkin, except of course in the more pricey restaurants, where cloth napkins are the norm.

Speaking of McDonald’s, France has become a nation enamored of “Les Arches Golden.” Drive into the smallest French town after a few hours in a tour bus, and the first thing one sees is a McDonald’s sign artfully painted on an old building, and a tastefully discreet McDonald’s establishment tucked away on one of the main streets of the town. Except for a few minor variations, McDonald’s serves almost precisely the same menu in France as it does worldwide, and the French – particularly the younger generations – seem to enjoy that quickness and convenience in a nation known for endless varieties of elegant cuisine served at hours-long, multi-course meals. McDonald’s is also the traveler’s choice for clean restrooms with working toilets, unlike most restaurants in southern France, where the food is wonderful but the plumbing which westerners consider standard restroom equipment simply does not exist — even for women.

And while we are on the subject of public restrooms, add one more cultural difference: Don’t forget to bring 30 to 40 cents with you when you walk into one of the “toilettes publique”; an attendant at the door collects a fee for keeping the area tidy and sanitized.

France has changed a great deal in the past 30 years. It has become both a mix of the latest in technology in daily life and a living museum to the history and culture of its past. Its high-speed TGV (“tres grande vitesse”) trains zip the visitor around the country at speeds up to 185 miles per hour on glass-smooth railway beds past ancient cathedrals, astonishingly well-preserved Roman ruins, state-of-the-art technology and endless evidence of the French love for the arts. French television is equally eclectic, offering everything from local channels and the CNN worldwide feed to reruns of “The A-Team” featuring Mr. T dubbed in German.

Perhaps no scene spoke more poignantly to us of the French desire to hold onto at least parts of the past, however, than a funeral procession we encountered coming out of a small church in the restored medieval town of St. Paul de Vence on the Mediterranean coast. The church was old and cozy and picturesque, virtually unchanged for three centuries, untouched by modern reforms of any sort in its architecture or liturgy; the people coming out of the funeral Mass watched as the simple wooden casket was lifted into the back of a small mini-van-like vehicle for the short drive to the town cemetery high on a ridge. No flashy limousines, no elegant fashions here; just life going on as it has, day after day, even in the midst of unprecedented changes in technology and culture that my great-great grandparents could never have dreamed of when they decided to leave France to pursue their dreams.

Most of all, one comes away from France with the feeling that this is a civilized nation in the old-fashioned sense – a nation where civility remains a paramount virtue. Americans are industrious and hurried; the French are polite and polished, living (except in the biggest cities) in a society that is slower, less in-your-face, more interested in savoring the moment. In America, food is fuel for the body; in France, it is an experience to be savored leisurely over wine and conversation with friends at boulevard cafes and fine restaurants.

Take Avignon, for example. A hundred yards from the well-preserved fortress of the 14th-century papal palace there, modern residents of that city eat and drink downtown at 10:30 p.m., relaxing at tables in outdoor cafes with music playing everything from French folk songs to American rock. The scene prompts the thought, as parents with children walk safely and serenely down broad boulevards and narrow side streets well into the evening, “Why can’t we live like this in America?”

Next: The great cathedrals
 
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