not my images)
Southern Burgundy
Le Musee des Beaux-Arts in Dijon
I'm getting a lovely tour by a friendly woman, a friend of my roommate, she's wonderfully interesting, and a car pulls up, they are friends of hers.
They chatter briefly in french, and I am introduced, as her ami americaine, (something to that extent.) The talk switches the english, and the woman inside outlines her history in america - years spent in san francisco, a sad marriage, an ex, how American her children act, how she's returning to beautiful California within the month, how she told her friends to find her a new man.
This conversation quickly transitions into which type of man is a better lover; French or American. The two women in the car, pulled to the side of the narrow french street, as well as my new companion leaning towards the open window, are not reticent in expressing their opinions on the matter.
"My sister, she marries a Chinese guy," the blonde ex-Californian elaborates, "I like him, but he has two brothers, and my sister said they are both-" she plucks her long fingers from the steeringwheel and loosely forms an 0 with the index and thumb, allowing for an inch of space between the red painted nails, "-small." she laughs good naturedly, as if commenting on the unfortunately cool summer weather. "She tells me that some nights she can't even feel her husband," an eye roll "and they only do it once a month!"
Minutes later, she waves us goodbye and pulls her little European automobile back into the street, never for a moment displaying an ounce of chagrin over her topic choice.
Later, we visit an exquisite little French family, and we drink tea and have a lovely bilingual discussion. Over the next couple of hours, I learn that Americans are 'prudish; puritans.' and that French women don't eat.
Which makes a lot of sense.
I never thought of it this way - maybe I need to stop being closeminded.
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