Within 2 hours of crossing the border from Switzerland I realized that every stereotype I had ever heard about France is true. It is a classy, sophisticated, fashionable, snobby, beautiful, politically active, occasionally unshaven, natural, elegant, wine-loving, delicious-food-making, and utterly romantic country.
Some Stereotypically French Things
Some Stereotypically French Things
We had a 40 minute layover in Lyons, where we changed trains, and we took a walk across the square to the mall. It wasn't an especially gorgeous city, and it was the middle of an average day, but there was literally something in the air. The romance was palpable. Everywhere I looked, couples were staring into each others' eyes, locking lips or seducing each other from afar. Women didn't just walk by, they slinked. In flouncy skirts and heels with messy hair and perma-pouts. Men, who in my Western-ish upbringing would have been derided as metrosexuals or pretty boys, casually leaned against walls looking soulful and sending flirty, lonely smiles to the girls. Even the language seems like it was deliberately designed to be sexier than the way the rest of the world talks, requiring pursed lips and subtle tongue enunciating.
There's a reason it's called a French kiss
The effect was even more noticeable in Toulon. Our train arrived just after a gorgeous sunset, and the sky was still lavender against the white stones of the buildings and fountains in front of the station. There were so many well-groomed people in the sidewalk cafes that the air around us was permanently scented with cologne, and the dozen or so men who passed us as we sat at the bus stop all looked love sick. The idyllic weekend we spent in Southern France with Danielle's friends Eric and Camille sleeping in late, basking in the sun, and eating elaborate dinners that lasted all night long did nothing to reverse my impression that the French know how to live.
This was one of our most enjoyable stops so far. But I'm warning you: going to France without somebody to love is a little bit torturous.
There's a reason it's called a French kiss
The effect was even more noticeable in Toulon. Our train arrived just after a gorgeous sunset, and the sky was still lavender against the white stones of the buildings and fountains in front of the station. There were so many well-groomed people in the sidewalk cafes that the air around us was permanently scented with cologne, and the dozen or so men who passed us as we sat at the bus stop all looked love sick. The idyllic weekend we spent in Southern France with Danielle's friends Eric and Camille sleeping in late, basking in the sun, and eating elaborate dinners that lasted all night long did nothing to reverse my impression that the French know how to live.
This was one of our most enjoyable stops so far. But I'm warning you: going to France without somebody to love is a little bit torturous.
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