Prologue
France! Why in the world do you want to go there? Those people hate us!
More than once, this was the response when our friends and family learned
about our Autumn vacation plans. They were certain that we would be pelted
with rotten fruit the moment we stepped off the plane.
It was our misfortune to be returning to France at a time when Paris and
Washington were in the midst of a regularly scheduled diplomatic crisis.
French fries, which originated in Belgium, were now "freedom fries," and talk
radio hosts across the nation were demanding that patriotic Americans pour
their Bordeaux down the drain and pack their poodles and bichons off to the
nearest Canadian animal shelter.
Forget Al Qaeda and radical Islam, France was now the enemy. People that had never
traveled more than 200 miles from home publicly vowed that they would not visit
France this year. Things were getting serious.
Suddenly our upcoming vacation had profound ethical dilemmas and international
consequences. I expected a phone call from Colin Powell or Donald Rumsfeld at any
moment. Perhaps even the President himself.
Had I received that call, I might have pointed out that the position of the French
government on Iraq, the latest subject of US-French contention, does not differ
significantly from that of notable American politicians such as Howard Dean or Tom
Daschle, and yet there is no punitive crusade to discourage travel to Vermont or
South Dakota. (For my impressions of French anti-Americanism, based on this and past
visits, see the
following
discussion.)
A few days prior to our arrival, Paris received a very prominent American
visitor— First Lady Laura Bush. No tomatoes were thrown. No riots erupted.
The guillotine was not resurrected on the Place de la Concorde. She reportedly
had a great time. We were expecting nothing less.
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