book-France

(Place on page 42- new para. after "power of Lourdes..").

We took a flight home from Paris and did a little sightseeing on the final two days. I'll never forget this smiling cab driver with a gold tooth in the front, showing us all around the City of Lights the night before we left for America. He picked us up at Orly Airport and drove super fast into the city, grinning all the way. He spoke little English, plus none of us had the courage to ask if all Parisians drove that fast, or did he want to give a family of Americans a thrill before departing France?

I was sitting in the front of the taxi, almost peeing my pants from fright, while my parents and Mark sat in the backseat, white as ghosts. Suddenly, the dreaded Schuylkill Expressway  outside of Philadelphia  didn't seem so bad.

We made it into Paris in one piece.The cabbie  took us to all the usual tourist spots. I can still see the Effel Tower as we parked beside the iconic  landmark, and I remember feeling in awe of the height and thinking "It's really here!" The other memorable memory was all the little bridges crossing over the river Seine, and as dusk was falling over Paris, the scene truly was spectacular,  the many lanterns and lights on  the little bridges twinkling  and sparkling  on the water.

I'm sure Dad had to remember the Arc de Triomphe  in the heart of the city. I still have a grainy, old black and white photo of Dad's army squadron, pictured right there in front of the monument.  Dad never used to like to talk much about World War II , and he said little when we saw the majestic Arc.

I wished we had more time to spend in Paris, but spending so much time in Lourdes was worth it. Plus we did take day trips, bravely venturing around the rolling summer countryside, seeing vineyards and mountains and lush fields of green.

We did okay with the language, picking up a few words of French here and there, especially the basics, like "food" and "bathroom."It did take Dad a while to get used to the French currency. I liked the fact that their money came in different color bills, making it much easier to find.

Speaking of food, the French cuisine wasn't bad. Of course, as kids, we tried to stick to our basic diet of American food, and found that french fries were about the same as the fries at McDonalds back home. Mark and I were courageous to try the rabbit one night (I never watched a Bugs Bunny cartoon again). We passed on more exotic food, like escargot ( snails) and frog's legs, delicacies in France. To us, the expensive  plate of snails at a nearby table, laying on a bed of parsley, looked too much like our front garden and drew the predictable reactions  of "Yuk."

We did enjoy the occasional glass of red wine, which was offered at every meal. It made the odd sights and aromas of the restaurants in France easier to swallow ( pardon the pun).

My favorite was the soft, warm bread and the endless variety of pastries, almost as good as our local Tastykakes.

All in all, spending a month in France during August, 1972  was a once in a lifetime, unforgettable summer. I wouldn't fully appreciate the experience until later in life. My parents really were the greatest. And as time goes by, France seems like a  fading   watercolor dream, the visions not as vivid, yet the memories lingering forever.