Good Nature

I had a fantastic time in Paris. I realize the only incident apparently significant enough for me to take the time to pick out all the proper keys and chronicle it appears to have been a negative one, but that's only because the rest of the time I was too busy having a fabulous experience to be bothered writing anything down. I maintain that the French are some of the kindest people I've met. Most people were endlessly patient with my bumbling around and general gumming up of their ticket window and museum queues, restaurant systems and the like. When I bought a metro ticket and managed to immediately exit the station rather than going down to the train, then found myself facing one of the few ticket agents who didn't speak English, I began to panic as the number of people in line mounted behind me. Then the lady in line behind me, the fellow who'd been in front of me, and another lady took it upon themselves to help me and translate to the ticket vendor rather than resent the holdup.

Of course, the bulk of my warm fuzzy feeling towards France is pretty much all thanks to my generous hosts, a friend from an acting class my freshman year (who I hadn't seen in about five years) and his boyfriend. Between the two of them, I was introduced to some wonderful people, fabulous restaurants and incredible food. One of them, a historian, makes the best tour guide when walking around town, and was a wealth of information on the regional trivia on various wines and liquers, cheeses, and the like. He STUDIED regional cheeses for part of an exam. He not only sampled me different unique wines and liquers almost nightly; he took me through the local open-air market on a Sunday and had a little cheese assortmet for lunch, AND (this is the point where it gets ridiculous) went out early practically every morning and fetched croissants and other little pastries and left them quietly before work so that I awoke to find treats laid out as though a house elf had been through.

This same fellow said that I had "good nature" or "good temperment", something nice that didn't translate exactly. He said Fred (my friend from acting class, his boyfriend) was the same way (and that that was the biggest compliment. What a good boyfriend, huh?).

This notion of good nature is what brings me to my next point. After four years, I'm finally back in Scotland, my Scotland. Since '04 when I vowed to come back, I've been hard pressed to justify my desire to do so to pretty much anyone who ever asked. I dunno, I always offered. The air just tastes good, y'know? There's just something about it. I am so eloquent hurr hurr.

But I'm figuring out that it really is about the people and the vibe they give off. Perhaps I'm just happy after three weeks in places where English is not the primary language to be back somewhere where I can ask questions properly, but I'm already feeling at home. My hostel is run by one kindly fella who provides free breakfast in the morning and free internet and big screen tv in the lovely lounge connected to the large and well-equipped kitchen; this is the homiest hostel in which I've ever stayed, where it really does feel as though the guy isn't driven by how to get the most out of the tourists coming through but rather that he's just geniunely interested in helping travelers enjoy their stay in his town. Everyone, from the people in Pitlochry for whom I hope to work to the lovely old men in tartan pants who work in the National Gallery, is just so kind and so sincere. They volunteer information and help without your having to ask a thing.

Good nature. Come for the mountains of lush green landscape shooting up on all sides of you, for the delicate looking skeletons of trees and envigorating chill in the air; stay for that other, more intangible kind of good nature that abounds all around.