LA FRANCE PROFONDE

I first fell in love with France when I opened my French textbook as a freshman in high school. The photo heading the first lesson was of the Arc de Triomphe. I was sold. And I couldn’t wait to see it in person. 

On August 15, 1970, a year out of high school, I boarded an Air France 747 from JFK to Paris with my girlfriend and her sister on a 15-day “If this is Tuesday, it must be Belgium” tour of Europe that began and ended in Paris. The 747 was brand new to the aviation world and being able to fly one was frosting on the cake. So here we are 53 years later, on this day in 1970, August 16, I landed in Paris for the first time. I could barely contain my excitement. Even now, I feel like I am living a dream to be in this beautiful and magical country. The excitement continues.

On that first trip, we stayed at the Claridge Hotel right on the Champs Elysées. Everything about Paris was perfect and, when the time came, I didn’t want to leave. But I didn’t know how to stay. Besides I was in college and had to get my degree. I could dream, but a life in France at that time was impossible. I wanted it so bad I could taste it. The hunger never left.

It was five years later when I returned, this time for business. Between degrees (and in reality trying to figure what my next step was), I was working for an incentive travel company. This trip I was directing a tour that included Paris, Madrid and Palma de Mallorca. 

I returned to France as much as possible for work or pleasure. When I moved to New Jersey, it was easy and cheap to jump across the big pond for long weekends which I did at least twice a year. I’d vacation in France whenever I could and eventually started bringing family and friends to share my love for this country. Over the years, I made close to 50 trips. It was in my blood and I was in love with all things French. 

Yesterday I finished Julia Child’s autobiography entitled My Life in France, co-authored with her great-nephew, Alex Prud’homme. From start to finish I was enraptured. Like me, Julia Child was a die-hard Francophile. She found something to love in every aspect of the country. Its magic went to the depths of her soul and she could never get enough of it. In time, she and her husband Paul decided to have their own place and built a small home in Provence, just north of Cannes near Grasse. It was their refuge and they came to refresh and regroup as a break from their busy professional lives. 

Along the way, of course, Julia Child established herself as a leading culinary educator. Her books are iconic. Her television series in association with WGBH in Boston are legend. Upon completing the book yesterday, on what would have been her 111^th birthday, I was sad. I was sad because she is someone I would have loved to know but will never have that opportunity. Like me, she was driven to learn. She had a wicked sense of humor and didn’t put up with much. She knew what she wanted and she went for it. Her husband was a willing ally and they had a marvelous, fun-filled life together. Hers was a life well-lived experiencing the depths of France as few rarely do. I know we would have gotten along; we had much in common. I love humor and can imagine tongue-in-cheek bantering with her.

Most people visiting France come only to Paris because it is all they know. What’s not to love about Paris? It is truly one of the most beautiful cities in the world where culture and cuisine marry with history and tradition.

I spent years getting to know Paris but was finally motivated to stretch the limits, get out of my safety zone and explore other regions. It is France’s most famous city, but there is so much more to explore in La France Profonde.

The term La France Profonde implies the heart and soul of France which exist outside of Paris, deep in the heart of the country wherever that may be.

Paris is Mecca for many. Young people throughout France get their degrees and/or professional training then look for career opportunity and excitement in Paris if not abroad. To land a job and have a life in Paris is considered great success. Then there are others, more complacent, who choose the idyllic life of paysans (peasants). So too for us who retire….

At different times in life, one has different needs. The young often enjoy and need the energy of the big city. I understand that and loved the 15 years I lived in metropolitan New York City. I especially enjoyed the latter five years in Jersey City where views from the 34^th floor of the high-rise apartment building in which I lived included New York Harbor, the Statue of Liberty, Battery Park and downtown Manhattan – only 2 minutes away by train to the World Trade Center. It was fun. It was exhilarating. After 15 years, it was enough.

I moved to Atlanta for five more years to aid my youngest sister and had the experience of another booming American city. I grew up in and around Detroit, experienced Baltimore for a short time, and spent two years living in Seattle. All good. But it was the experience of rural and small-town living in Kalamazoo, Michigan (10 years) and western New Jersey in Hunterdon County (10 years) where, in the latter, I lived amidst wildlife on five wooded acres developing a taste for a less hectic life, one surrounded by peace, quiet and nature. 

In July 1986, less than six months from completing an MBA along with two friends, I did a circle tour of Paris to see the great cathedrals. From Paris we rented a car and explored Amiens, Rouen, Reims, Metz, Strasbourg, Bourges, Dijon and Chartres. We also made a stop at the grave of my Uncle Tom who had been in the 101^st Airborne and captured during the Battle of the Bulge in Bastogne, Belgium. He died in a German POW camp and was interred at the American cemetery in St. Avold, not far from Sauerbrucken on the German border. 

In 2000 I explored the Loire Valley with my family as reported before. It was a three-week adventure for 14 of us: Paris, the Loire, Dordogne ending up in Bordeaux. We were there to celebrate my mother’s 75^th  birthday, the 50^th birthday of my sister-in-law and myself, and the 16^th birthday of my niece. It couldn’t have been more fun.

With that trip as a template, I led two other groups of friends to the Loire Valley. In 2003, I visited Lyon attending the Bocuse d’Or competition as well as touring the associated market as I contemplated an import business to resell select French items. 

In addition to numerous visits to Paris, my work took me to Nice and Monte Carlo. Other trips included house-hunting ventures that took me all over western, central and southwest France. 

Over the course of roughly 15 years, I explored France to determine where I wanted to live and what it was I wanted in a house. I used a spreadsheet to refine my criteria so that when the time came, I knew exactly what I wanted (ideally 3 bedrooms minimum, each with private bath), light (vs. dark rooms), privacy, good weather, a gas stove, and a good working kitchen.  

As far as regions are concerned, I was drawn to the west and the southwest. The north and east were too cold with harsh winters, rain and depressing darkness. I couldn’t imagine a retirement without sunshine. I wanted a milder climate away from the cold and snow. But I also wanted tranquility (i.e., no crowds) so that ruled out the Côte d’Azur and Provence.

Exploring the country outside of Paris was exciting simply because I was contemplating where I might one day settle.

I have friends who live in the Gers, southwest of Toulouse. I found a home there 15 years ago in a small village called Mont d’Astarac. Had I moved faster, I would have moved to France much sooner. But someone put in a successful bid before I did, so I lost it.

It would have been a nice life in Mont d’Astarac with its views of the Pyrénées topped by a 15^th century toll tower at the edge of the property and a small church of the same vintage across the road.

The house was a maison de maître and would have required full restoration, but the price was right and I had a vision of what could be. In particular I was drawn to the dining room with its grand and fully functional fireplace and tall windows looking towards the mountains. In the end, it would have been quite a different house though still with three bedrooms. Given my love for food and entertaining over dinner, it would have worked beautifully. 

The next house was in the center of France in Ars, not far from Aubusson in the Creuse department. This region is less popular due to its elevation, colder winters and lack of great industry other than farming. Yet it is equally beautiful and similar to where I now live with rolling hills. That house was more than I needed with five bedrooms, but I envisioned a chambre d’hote at that time (France’s version of a B&B with breakfast and dinner upon request). It had outbuildings that could be developed into gites, a swimming pool, a greenhouse, fruit trees, etc. It even came with a tractor. The kitchen had two stoves, one wood-burning. It was all stone, typical for the region as this is from where the stonemasons who built the great cathedrals had come. I found this house in 2008 but with the downturn in the stock market and its impact on sales of homes (particularly in New Jersey), it wasn’t time. It took nearly two years to sell my house. Still, it was fun exploring La France Profonde.

It took 10 more years for my dream to manifest itself distracted by family and business issues. But the time finally came and I serendipitously found my home via Facebook’s Properties for Sale in France. It all came together pretty quickly. Within less than five months I was a homeowner in France. With the long-term visa in hand, I made the move and the rest is history.

Upon arrival it was fun discovering all that surrounded me. I was (and remain) captivated by the history of the country and the region. In my village there is evidence of prehistoric inhabitants. The Romans settled here as well and the foundations of two villas remain. The Cathars, considered heretics by the Roman Catholic Church because they didn’t think priests, churches or its hierarchy were essential, were plentiful. In fact my village was one of their strongholds. Their demise is the story of the Inquisition. Then there was the War of Religions between Protestants and Catholics and the Black Prince. 

More recently there are stories about the French Resistance working to remove the Nazis. There were no battles in the south during World War II, but the acts of sabotage were everywhere attacking trains and munitions. Being less than 80 years ago, we are not that far removed from this sad era. 

France is many places and many things. I have often said that there is no part of France that is unattractive; every region has its own beauty. Where I live in the western Languedoc there are occasional strong winds, mild winters, and hot summers. The rolling hills, the foothills of the Pyrénées, with their fields of sunflowers, colza (in the family of canola oil), soy and wheat, reflect the aridity and lack the lushness of central France in places like the Loire Valley, the Dordogne, or the Perigord. But it has its own special beauty that makes it unique – especially with the views of the mountains a mere 60 miles away and the Montagne Noire behind us, the southwest corner of France’s Massif Central.

When one travels outside of Paris, a different topography and unique beauty abounds depending upon direction. Adding to the physical beauty are the remnants of the past: castles and manor houses, charming villages some of which are designated as Les Plus Beaux Villages – The Most Beautiful Villages. Others are designated as Villages fleuris (flower villages) adorned with trained rose vines, geraniums planters on bridges or balconies, and other colorful specimens. Nearby Camon is an example.

Many villages look rustic and worn-down; most buildings and homes need paint. The majority of these homes date back 200-500 years and therefore take on a certain patina. Their stucco requires constant maintenance. They often look tired. Yet, walk inside these homes and one can be amazed. No two are alike. The decor may be wild and erratic or elegant beyond belief. External appearances can be deceiving.

I recently had the pleasure of dinner at the home of a couple from Paris I met in June. About 18 months ago they purchased an old château dating back to the 15^th century in a neighboring village. It hadn’t been lived in for 100 years aside from the Nazis who occupied it for three years during World War II. They are in the process of what they expect to be a 5-year renovation. 

One half of the château has been restored to provide them with a new kitchen, dining area, a small sitting room and a bedroom with bath – all with ceilings 4 meters (about 10 ft.) high. 

The huge main salon which is beyond the central entrance has a ceiling of double that. With its gorgeous configured plaster painted white and Wedgewood blue, adorned with classical Greek and Roman sculptures perched on the side walls, it makes for a very elegant space. I would guess the dimensions of the room are roughly 40 feet deep and 30 feet wide. They aren’t clear yet how to use this room so I suggested a huge oriental carpet in light blue matching the Wedgewood color, along with a grand piano, some candelabra, maybe a few chairs or sofas. Who knows? Inspiration will come. Regardless, it will be a showcase once done.

I had met the couple at a dinner party and they invited me to another dinner at their home. They also invited a former Shakespearean theater actor from England, and a celebrated radio journalist who works in Paris three days a week and broadcasts from home nearby Thursdays and Fridays. Her husband also joined us. He was a correspondent in Washington DC for a French television channel and he continues to work as a journalist. It made for very interesting conversation. You never know who you are going to meet.  

I have a neighbor up the street who has a house that is an amalgam of two. As a result, its floor plan is erratic as walls have been broken down to merge the two houses. The rustic kitchen has a working fireplace elevated to waist-level and complements the existing stove when preparing big meals. The dining room is bigger than my house. My neighbor painted its beams with bright colors and gold filigree in the medieval style. Off the dining room is a garden with a potting house. This house of seven bedrooms has many secrets to be discovered – none of which are apparent from the outside. There are surprises everywhere like this all over France.

La France Profonde is more than topography. It is the life that is enacted on a daily basis be it at work, school, or social events. It includes the local marchés (markets) where one can pick up seasonal fruit, vegetables, meats and cheeses, all locally produced. It also includes cultural events that bind a community, bringing villagers out to socialize and be entertained. 

In early June, my village hosted its annual “Bandas” festival with brass bands from all over the country coming to perform and compete. 

Every year on June 21 (because it is the longest day of the year and gets dark later), many communities throughout France celebrate their local musical talent. It is called Fête de la Musique. In my village there were two different groups who staged performances this year. Tables and chairs were set up, drink and food available for purchase. Some villagers participated in folk dancing to traditional tunes. It was a hot night but fun nonetheless. 

I was compelled to go to Montréal’s Fête de la Musique by one of my neighbors who had told me the day prior “On ne se voit pas.” I had to think a minute because the reflexive “se” referring to one’s self can be tricky. Translated it meant “We don’t see each other.” She was right. I hadn’t seen her since being invited to her home for a New Year’s get-together January 3 where I gave her COVID. So, still with some guilt about infecting her, I went.

In late June, another village group sponsored a “ciné-concert” – piano accompaniment to silent films. The pianist was the organist from Église Saint-Eustache in Paris. He was amazing. I expected ragtime, but he played in the style of Ravel reflecting incredible improvisational talent. I had my neighbors and some friends over for drinks and hors d’oeuvres beforehand to fulfill some social obligations and be more, shall we say, “visible”? 

Early in July I went to the Festival de Carcassonne to see the Ballet Béjart de Lausanne (Switzerland) in the Jean Deschamps amphitheater within the walls of the medieval La Cité in Carcassonne. If you haven’t seen their sensual rendition of Ravel’s Bolero, it is well worth watching.

Late July we had our biannual international dance festival, the first since 2019 due to the pandemic. I enjoyed the last one so much and was really looking forward to it. The highlight of the entire weekend was the semi-professional troupe from Drummondville, Quebec. Their choreography didn’t go unnoticed. 

Last week we had our annual organ festival in the church. I again invited my neighbors for aperos (drinks & hors d’oeuvres) beforehand. When I knocked on her door to extend an invitation, my neighbor Anne Marie gave me a bag of 70 plums she had just picked from her garden. I didn’t have time to use them that day, but two days later I made two tartes: one for her and one for me. I took it over (still warm). In appreciation, she gave me a jar of plum jam she had just made (still warm) plus a large jar of plums in eau de vie (alcohol). This kind of sharing amongst neighbors and friends is common. Whenever one hosts an apero, you can count on gifts of food and wine. Everyone loves to contribute. It is indicative of life in La France Profonde.

These are the things that bring us together.

Community is important in France and residents are expected to contribute to community life in some fashion. Is this possible in Paris? Sure, but it is different when you live in a small village. Participation builds familiarity and bonds are strengthened. It’s a part of being French.

I love it because while I enjoy the tranquility and solitude I have built into my home and life, we all need people at some point. These activities provide many opportunities to get out and mingle.  

In late June, the headlines told the sad story of a 17 year-old boy killed by police outside of Paris. There are two sides to every story and what hasn’t been played up is that this boy was well-known to police. This doesn’t justify his killing. The reaction was violence in the streets for over a week.

Where I live is safe, being rural. There was some riot activity in Toulouse an hour away, but the manifestations were mostly in the north of France and Marseilles. The riots speak to another side of La France Profonde where, despite remoteness from the wheels that churn in Paris, the people have a voice and are not afraid to raise it. They were empowered by the French Revolution and that mentality persists even today. This is the voice of La France Profonde reminding bureaucrats in Paris that they must answer to all citizens.

A recent New York Times article pointed to a problem sadly prevalent in the US: police brutality. I’ve never considered France racist, at least not in the sense of prejudice against Black people. But racism does exist, largely directed towards the Muslim community and particularly those from North Africa – especially those from Algeria. The French police have similarly been cited as overly aggressive. No place is perfect and there is work to be done. My fear is that France is moving too far to the right. In fact the radio journalist said that if there was to be an election today, Marine Le Pen would win. God help us on both sides of the Atlantic.  

La France Profonde is many things. It is the sheer physical beauty of the entire country outside of Paris. It is the heart and soul of daily living in whatever form that takes, the farming, the work, the pleasure drives. It is community engaging with friends and neighbors. It is neighbors sharing the bounty from their gardens. It is the voice of all France making its demands. It sings to the tunes of the past, reminding us of the cycle of life over the centuries. It is the soul of France showing its best.