'Tripping Through France

France!

My arrival by ferry from England as a twelve-year-old tourist is a distant memory. That was my first visit to Europe, touring with my family. Yet, the travels around Paris in the damp springtime and the hospitality showed by an unknown rural family have been persistent memories in the years since.

Almost forty years later, in April 2004, I welcomed an opportunity to come to France again, this time to work at my firm’s Paris headquarters for an initial two years. Before I moved back to North America, this would be extended, happily, to four years. As an adult, I had visited France only once since my arrival as a youngster - a brief vacation along the Mediterranean coast. Living in Paris became so much more.

The short stories and oil paintings that I will publish here under the title “’Tripping through France” will bring you inside the Paris and France that I love. I came to know both very well through many experiences. I hope that when you read these vignettes, you will get as much enjoyment from them as I did living them.

Kind regards,

Mark Algar

A First Trip to Paris

In 1965 my family embarked on an early spring trip to Europe for a once-in-a-lifetime whirlwind tour. I was still a boy, not quite a teenager, and it was my first trip beyond the coasts of North America. We arrived in France by ferry after our first week in England. The sites of central Paris beckoned despite the steady spring rain. A chance to see stunning views of the city by climbing the Eiffel Tower was denied by a thick fog that wrapped around us and the upper half of the famous tower. Thus my most vivid recollections of Paris? The paths along the banks of the Seine, sitting down and sketching the Notre Dame Cathedral, the immense Louvre museum with a Mona Lisa that you could get close to, and of the Parisians young and old bringing home their dinner "baguettes," the long thin bread that is so common in France. The baguettes were always bare, sticking out of pockets, out of bicycle baskets, or in the young hands where pieces of the warm bread were being torn off and consumed on the journey home.

We also traveled south into the French countryside in our horsepower-compromised touring van. We arrived through a circuitous route and some challenges at a camping site listed in our out-of-date “France Camping Sites” guide. My parents exchanged warm greetings in French with the woman who met us, but there was a strong feeling of unease. The hostess appeared surprised at our arrival. She lived with her two children in a rural area of central France, her home secluded amongst some young woods on a hill at the end of a long lane. After several further exchanges, it became evident that she had bought the property the previous year and had no intention of continuing to host campers. We had arrived in the late afternoon, and my parents were in a bit of a fix. However, as the children (her two and our five) were connecting well across the two cultures and two languages, the adults quickly reached a resolution. In the end, we stayed for two days. Cold morning showers in the outdoors, minimal amenities, and lots of fun. The unforgettable experiences of an enjoyable though damp Paris and a welcoming rural family would be my strongest memories of France for the next forty years.