There were mobs of folks arriving
at Heathrow in early September and mobs arriving at Newark yesterday—some of
them, doubtless, like us, parts of both mobs.
I am led to conclude that whatever economic, spiritual, and political
discontents the West faces just now are not showing up in the bottom lines of
the international airlines companies.
New Jersey was hot and a little muggy, as though its calendar were
running a month behind. Even so,
homecoming is almost always sweet, and the sweetness tends to increase as the
years go by. I could do without the
faint but undeniable aroma of a defunct mouse as yet unlocated among the heavy
printing machines that surround my study workspace; but that, too shall
pass. Odorless mummification cannot be
too far distant. And I confess to a
slight disappointment that I found no visual evidence that there had been
rioting in the streets on account of the temporary suspension of “Gladly Lerne,
Gladly Teche”. In any event I am back,
and it’s back, though with even less to say than usual.
Our journey, which had no motive
beyond that the pleasure of the travelers, had four stages through two
countries. We began in England, dividing
our time between Cambridge and the Kentish countryside near Canterbury. Then we flew to Nice, where our dear friend
and host Andrew Seth met us and drove us to his own personal parcel of
paradisal Provence a hundred kilometers to the west in Salernes. We were there for a week before boarding a Paris-bound
TGV in Marseilles. TGV, as you probably
know, means train à grande vitesse, or “high speed train”;
and they really mean it. Just over three
hours later we were in the capital for either a short week or a very
long-weekend (Thursday to Tuesday).
Once we set aside the cattle car
aspect of the air flights, every segment of the trip, which was devoted to
visiting family and friends, was delightful.
That phrase (“family and friends”) may sound disjunctive and possibly
even adversarial. My dear old dad had a
favorite joking line: “Of all my wife’s relations, I like myself the best.” It is one of the many blessings of my own
life that so many family members, and I might say especially my wife’s
relations, are also friends, and very good ones at that.
At
Cambridge, the University being out of session, things were a little quieter
than usual; but it’s still a bustling place, with the bustle butting up against
absolutely extraordinary buildings. We
took in a Eucharist at the vibrant old University church, St. Mary the Great—my
first time ever in the place. A couple
days later at Canterbury, where some official function had temporarily closed
the cathedral to mere gawkers, the high point was the bookshops.
On a couple
of earlier occasions I have reported on the remarkable country house parties
hosted by our friend Andrew. This was
perhaps the mellowest of them all. Ancient
friendship has a quality like no other.
It is almost always forged not merely by the laughter of heedless youth
but by the more severe realities of life’s vicissitudes. There is a patina to it that only time can
provide and that only age can appreciate.
The final
few days in Paris turned into a social whirl.
We had hoped to do some memorable chowing down, to see some museums, and
visit a couple of old friends. The
friends reacted with such enthusiasm and generosity that we ended up having only
two restaurant meals. I was in France
long enough to do some serious newspaper-reading across the political spectrum,
and this left me with the impression that the country is on the whole pretty
happy with its new leadership. One
very knowledgeable French friend calls Macron not merely intelligent, but hyper-intelligent. To be sure once you move past such accidental
and peripheral matters as style, substance, and essence, one can easily
appreciate the striking similarities between the situations of Messrs. Macron
and Trump. They were both put into
office by voters sick to death of the same old Same Old offered up by the same
old political parties. Of course
Emmanuel Macron actually created a new political party that pulled off the
astonishing feat of providing him with a parliamentary majority. Donald Trump’s feat was perhaps no less
astonishing, though very different. He
simply squatted in the vacancy that was the Republican Party. Mons. Macron has already has some stunning
successes, especially with the reform of France’s sclerotic labor laws. The naysayers’ prediction of paralyzing
protests have so far proved inaccurate—suggesting to me that on the whole les français can be realists. And now Macron seems poised to take on a
major leadership role in the wider European context. I am going to be watching with interest.
