Impressions from France, now that the three Guilford College amigas -- Susan, Margaret and I – are together:

Despite the reputation that the French people are haughty and rude, we have found them to be absolutely charming – except when they get behind the wheel of a car. Then Dr. Jekyll (or is it Mr. Hyde?) emerges. On the road, they are some real pieces of work. I attribute their vile behavior to the fact that they’re exhausted and bitter from having to change gears every 15 feet in those tiny deathtraps they call automobiles. Otherwise, from the guy who sells fresh eggs at the open-air market to the elderly lady at the “informations” desk in the concert hall, they’ve been uniformly helpful and kind – even openly friendly. Our taxi driver the other day, in particular was yummy. Baby blue eyes and the manners of a Southern gentleman. We would've happily let him drive us to Chile. The French, we have concluded, have gotten a bum rap over the years.

Wednesday we went to an off-the-beaten-path museum in Paris, the Marmottan, known for its fine collection of Impressionist paintings. A stroll afterward to the taxi stand took us through a beautiful park and to a sidewalk café for coffee and pastries. There we lingered for two hours in absolute relaxation as we watched the world go by. It felt very French, and we congratulated ourselves for having fallen discovered this ritual -- so much, in fact, that we have continued to follow this ritual daily.

Being inspired by the Marmottan, yesterday we drove to Giverny, Claude Monet’s village and the inspiration for many of his best-known paintings. His cottage garden, in particular, was still simply breathtaking despite the late date in the flower-growing season. We were surprised at how vivid the colors were; the dahlias and sunflowers, in particular, just amazed us. The garden remained in full bloom, with surprises such as pink and purple autumn crocuses and scarlet sage and morning glories and nasturtiums.

Of course the star of the show at Giverny is Monet’s water lily garden, which is like stepping into an Impressionist painting. Susan and I had been there before, but it was a first for Margaret. We all ooohed and aaahed at every turn. Of course, because this attraction is so popular there were lots of tourists, including a full complement of Americans – the only ones we’ve had to put up with so far on the trip. Despite that blight, we thoroughly enjoyed the day.

Today we attended a free choral concert at La Madeleine, a church that has been converted into a stunning concert venue in the center of Paris. The choir we heard was from the Netherlands, and is part of a national choral organization that boasts 1,000 voices from all over Holland. Its choirs tour all over the world. The 125 singers in today’s concert were often in tune and occasionally were on the same passage as the organist, who used the occasion to perform a solo recital. Balance must have been of only passing concern to the group – of the 125, only 18 were men – but they sang with heart and conviction, and we enjoyed their effort very much.

I was also jealous at their turnout: On a rainy Friday afternoon they managed to draw a crowd about twice as large as my Festival Singers manage in an entire season.

The day ended with prayers to the Commuter Gods that we don’t have to ride a train every day from Paris to one of the hundreds of little bedroom communities (like La Frette). Jostling our way onto the train in rush hour with a seething mass of French humanity is NOT the way we’d like to spend any more of our lives, let alone a holiday. As we found out the hard way, the friendly-French thing goes only so far, and certainly does not prevail when train seats are at a premium. The only gentleman who took pity on three tired oldish ladies and offered us a seat turned out to be a woman!