Invalides

"La place des invalides" or "Les invalides" marked the beginning of my francophil life. My sister caught her own strain of francophilia and lived there for just short of 20 years. My niece is half french but refuses to speak it.

This magnificent monument to Napoleon (his tomb is under the dome), to permanently wounded soldiers and the army museum was the destination of my first bus ride into Paris. I was in University and arrived alone to go to french classes over a summer. After a week or two of headaches from the speed and hypnotic sounds of the language, I was in love with the adventure, the beauty, imperfections and romanticism that this city aims to inspire.

I was studying 20 Century French literature. Paris was like the expression of what I read. Once arrived I made francophone friends wherever I could. It became like a home. Despite the occasional snobbishness, I completely immersed myself in the psyche of this culture that some assumed I was a citizen by the end of my 2 month sojourn there. The land-lady who hosted students in her home personally drove me to Belgium. It was a friendship.

The romance, good taste, joie de vivre, style, pride... are all good, but the general forthright in-your-face nature of the conversation was really intriguing. I felt I could show my true colors in Paris even though I was an outsider. Like looking at yourself in the mirror, I entertained my loneliness. Not endure but savoring it like for the first time.

Unlike the Chinese who cover it up with crowds and large family, or the Americans with entertainment, sports and humor, there is a side of French culture that celebrates being alone.

It's not for everyone. Like the monument to the tragedies of war that looks grand and beautiful, facing our darkness is the only way to overcome it. Alas, la Place des Invalides is easy to forget and avoid.

I learned that in celebrating my angst, I'm able to find new boldness and meaning especially when it appears there is no way out. That's what I learned from France.

To illustrate, Véronique Sanson still sang (in 2013) her classic song whose final line is:

"Quand j'aurai mis vingt ans à voir que tout était mirage
Alors j'entends au fond de moi une petite voix qui sourd et gronde
Que je suis seule au monde."

"When it took me 20 years to see that all is a mirage.
Then I hear deep inside of me, a small voice that sighs and groans,
that I am alone in the world."

The crowd loved it!