So, we’ll admit to having a bit of a difficult time adjusting to life back in Menlo Park, our near-month-long stay in France having been such a dream.

It’s not that Menlo Park is a bad place – it’s anything but, almost as beautiful a place as I’ve ever lived (and I’ve lived here for 20 years come July). We’re nestled between beautiful hills, covered with oak woodland and redwoods, and the San Francisco Bay wetlands. Many friends and colleagues pine to live here.

And it’s not that France is without its flaws. French houses are nice, but French kitchens by and large suck: the pots and pans are old and beat, the knives dull, the stoves have puny burners (not that this stops nearly anyone in France from whipping up excellent food). If you’re an American amateur of cooking (like moi), French kitchens are a challenge.

There’s also the French work ethic: in the month of May there were no fewer than 3 ‘long’ weekends (translation: everything is closed Thursday or Friday through Tuesday or Wednesday). Since the average French refrigerator is the size of a large suitcase, this makes for some frantic shopping days, when all of France is trying to get enough food in for the weekend’s big fetes. Outside of long weekends, the French workforce has two states: en vacances and en greve. One wonders how anything gets done in France.

But, then, there is La Belle France, magnificent countryside which, in the Maconnais, is a patchwork of wheat fields, pasture and vineyards. The air is sweet, the aspect, in any direction is beautiful. Daily long walks, ending at the church of the Taizé Freres for their simple, chanted morning prayer was as good a discipline as I’ve ever observed. Memo to self: spend spring and fall in France from now on…

{ 1 comment }