Everyone knows that the French are known for their kisses, windows, telephones, heals, toasts, chalks, chops, bulldogs, horns, pastries, dressings, cancans, leaves and fries. Beyond the mundane and the obvious, most fans of things French will insist on wine and cheese. There are countless other “things”, if fairness was called in to be a fair judge, that justify the love for the land even if the welcome at borders is oftentimes of the unpleasant strand.
In the vast range of things French this short sheet will touch with every bit of subjectivity and remnants of poetic aspirations on anything faintly resembling pure charm that makes for indelible imprints. Categories are allowed. Village names, cities, streets and monuments need not be mentioned in four paragraphs.
“La liste commence”. Tree positioning as an art form across the land, within towns and, in-between them, and as you carefully approach them without getting a ticket in the mail. Closely linked, please add to that basket of things of beauty that sell well every single country road you could lay your eyes on. Ah the landscapes!, so long as you don’t get within a mile of the tolls adorning the super freeways. And the coastlines that have remained non-commercial in spite of the invasions.
The idea of the French railway system, the train stations when your eyes are closed as the crowds get in the way of the architecture, and the sounds when announcements are made through loudspeakers anywhere in the land, with the exception of the security ones threatening the immediate destruction of abandoned bags full of mementos, a tooth brush, and toys for the kids (hopefully).
The villages if you can ignore the stares. The flee-markets wherever they might be. The old phone cards, no longer in use. The legendary newspapers and the written and spoken word, alongside the documentary tradition and the French curiosity of things distant. Authors and artists as far back as the eye can see, to be celebrated with an honest pastry followed in due time with a home-made soup wherever home-cooking remains a viable tradition. Will leave culinary commentaries to the experts on elusive aromas and concepts.
And vive les artisans (they shall be named in due time) and French-made handiwork before it is slaughtered!
The pili-pili saka-saka diaries 
April 20, 2010 at 3:41 pm |
Ahhh…so you are saying that it is sublime, heavenly, out of this world : ) Until the next visit … A Bientot!
April 20, 2010 at 3:55 pm |
Tres bon; my accents aigu or whatever won’t come out to play yet; you’ll have to imagine them; elements of this bespeak a poem dearest pili pili; okay; off for the day; love and hugs to all who congo
April 20, 2010 at 10:55 pm |
ahahaha! “as you carefully approach them without getting a ticket in the mail”!!!! That’s hilarious! for all of you who have not experienced this, this is a very poetic reference to the fact France has hundreds of radars that automatically record your speeding, and you get tickets mailed to you. It’s VERY common, and it gets pretty expensive pretty fast. Not like in the US where speed is checked by radars, in France you pretty much get automatically ticketed if you speed! I’m guessing this will make Pilipilisakasaka’s list of NOT so favorite French things…maybe a future post?
I love the French word and documentaries…best documentaries in the world. Hauntingly beautiful and so informative and inspiring and challenging and titillating.