Grace-Fully Globe-Trotting

Unfortunately, I have never had the chance to find spiritual awakening in a Buddhist monastery in Thailand or been blessed by a Sadhu in Varanasi. I have never smelt the sickly smell of rotting flesh from a Durian or eaten fried spider on a stick. I have, however, been to France and experienced and understood their culture through food.
I arrived, bloated from soulless aeroplane curries. After dropping my bags at a hostel in Paris, I set off. I eventually found myself halfway up the Eiffel Tower with unwavering hunger pains. After scanning the menu for anything that appeared the least bit French, I settled on French fries and cola. When in France, right? Wrong. I made my first cultural and lingual faux pas, when I said “Je voudrais un coq.” I had inadvertently asked the shop assistant for a rooster. She scoffed at my incompetent mistake. I realised that Paris was not the real France. Everyone was too busy to laugh at a joke. This was very much a city with fast food and fast customer turnaround and I had to delve deeper into the heart of France to understand their culture.
I journeyed to a small village in the Loire Valley and stayed with a local family. On the first night, large prawns were placed in front of me. Now you’d think being an Aussie, “throwing a prawn on the barbie” would be second nature, right? Wrong again. My host told me to rip its head off. Carefully, I followed his instructions, when it squirted me in the eye and I squealed. There was a tremendous amount of laughter at the table and my host father peeled them for me for the rest of the night. The humour of the French people and their generosity shone through the language barrier. I was served horse while I was there, which gave a new meaning to being “so hungry I could eat a horse”. Food was shared, slow-cooked using fresh produce with time, passion and love. Food represents the pride of the French in their country and their culture. Food transgresses cultural and verbal boundaries.