eing a foreigner, as one could expect in any part of the world, there are those who are welcoming, whilst others deny. ‘Such is the battery that energizes life’. Time spent in the South of France, ‘most notably in Camargue’, has been stupendous. Quite different from the traditions beknownst to me, the ‘peuple’ are comprised of well saddled ‘ranchers’, their ladies ‘no patsies’. Indeed, extremely devoted to their ‘Terre de Camargue’, and rightfully so. For one must defend one’s heritage and promise of continuance.
It is fundamental to emit both ‘respect and recognition’ to the natives for preserving this ‘savage paradise’. The Camarguais recognizes that a Parisian hasn’t the faintest notion as to the hardship of working the land. But lest we not overlook the genuineness of that same Parisian who ‘basks in the fullest of glory’ the very millisecond he sets foot on this sacred soil. Fault him not, as he comes from a world of ‘asphalt jungle’, one that invokes a beaten path.
Consequently, to adjudge another ‘different from oneself’ for not bearing a dutiful role in the fruits of one’s labour, amounts to nothing more than vacant chatter. For each is respectively tied to ‘mismated dominions’, hence concluding that there would be no further need for cultural exchange if all were tantamount.