Francophilia: Meaning and Message
If you have been
to France more than once, much less seven times in seven years, it is
likely that someone will consider you a Francophile. Less a label than
a statement of observed fact it is likely a something to be valued
rather then abhorred. The term, along with nearly everything else, has
taken on a different connotation since 9/11. Dyed-in-the-wool
Republicans use the term pejoratively, taking umbrage at the fact
France opposed the War in Iraq, or even that John Kerry "looks French"
(a recent comment by Secretary of Commerce Donald L. Evans). Or,
finally, that the lawyer destined to defend Saddam Hussein in any
future legal proceedings is Jacques Verges, a Frenchman. But these
things aside being a Francophile poses some less political quandaries.
It is a phrase that connotes social, cultural and historical
appreciation.
I
have never joined the local Alliance Française for a couple of reasons.
The first is my fervent adherence to the philosophy of Groucho Marx
(and later, Woody Allen): I never join a group that would have me as a
member. While this may be form of reverse snobbery, the more spiritual
reason is simple: I relish my pleasures in private rather than with a
group. Thus, I share our (my wife have been on every yearly trip)
exuberance with close friends and a few appreciative relatives. France
is a very private pleasure for us.But being outed as a Francophile can be both private and public. Ergo:
A
friend of a friend called me a few years ago, saying they were going to
France for the first time and someone had told them I was an "expert".
She wanted suggestions. This is the quintessential Francophilic
dilemma. What did it mean that she considered me an expert? Was it a
form of flattery to get me to be forthcoming? What should I tell her?
What did she want to know? Should I offer our four-page list of Paris
Tips, compiled early in our travels when we were naive enough to
consider that we had discovered la créme de la créme, the essence of
Paris that had remained undiscovered until we ventured upon it? Should
I direct her to do her own research in suggested books and Internet
sites? After all, part of the pleasure of any trip is planning for it
and the plethora of Internet sites (although I might argue that Bonjour
Paris is all you need) are capable of taking you there virtually.
Francophiles
tend to have a unique form of hyperacusis: they can detect someone who
is about to speak French before they utter the first word. A few weeks
ago I got into a taxi in Philadelphia and, noting the cabbie’s foreign
name, asked where he was from.
"It’s complicated," he said. "Algeria and France."
"Where in France?"
"Nice," he replied.
"Je
le connais," I said instantaneously, glad that my accent had not
deserted me since my last trip to France seven months earlier and
hoping M. B. would not consider me presumptuous. We chatted en français
until I reached the airport.
It
is uncanny how quickly we pick up on a French accent and how ready we
are to insinuate ourselves into a conversation. When I hear a French
word, for example, I involuntarily sense the saliva collecting in the
back of my throat ready to assist me in rolling my "r’s" This is not a
problem really; it is just one of the uncontrollable aspects of
Francophilia.
As a physician I
have an added benefit of being a Francophile: most of my patients know
it because I take a two-week vacation to France every year. They ask
fairly consistently when I am going back, how the last trip was and
occasionally seek advice. I have brought memorabilia from each trip for
display in the office. Currently, they can find an historic poster of
the Tour de France (a couple is pouring water over the head of a tired
biker from wine bottles), a colorful poster from the Fêtes de Melons
from Pernes Les Fontaines, posters bought at a stationer’s of fromage,
chats, légumes, and a poster from le Musée des Hôpitaux Publiques from
an exhibit on the history of childbirth.
In
addition I have about six French families in my practice. Our visits
are generally a polyglot of English and French and eventually wander to
discussions that are dangerously un-pediatric. Un vrai plaisir.
Ultimately
the true joy of being a Francophile is you get to live with the
ineffable hope and soulful conviction that you will be going back to
France to soak up more of what you have come to need.
Louis Borgenicht is a pediatrician/writer living in SLC, Utah. He's the co-author, with his son Joe, of The Baby Owner's Manual: Operating Instructions, Trouble-Shooting Tips, and Advice on First-Year Maintenance.
