Field Notes from France: On Connection

I’ve always believed that when you pay attention — really pay attention — life opens up. You see things you would’ve missed. You meet people you never expected. And sometimes those moments stay with you long after the trip ends.

Since coming home, I’ve painted two pieces from France. Both came from small, human moments that reminded me connection is everywhere if you’re willing to look up, smile, and engage.

This blog is about those moments.

1. The Neighbourhood Watch 

I was sitting across the street at Café des Arts in Paris when I noticed the tiniest head popping out of a window above a restaurant called La Petite. Just a little cat perched like he owned the block.

I must have been smiling at him, because a man nearby caught me looking and said, “That cat is like the neighbourhood watch. He does this all day.”

It made me laugh, partly because it was true and partly because this is exactly the kind of small, beautiful thing you notice when you’re actually present. When your head isn’t down. When you’re not rushing.

I ended up painting him when I got home. A tiny 6x6 tondo wood panel of a cat who probably does believe he owns the street.

But the moment wasn’t just about the cat. It was about the fact that a stranger saw me noticing something and spoke to me. A simple connection born out of a smile.

People think the French are unfriendly. Three trips in, I completely disagree. Every time I’ve been open and warm, people have matched that energy. I’ve had strangers walk me to where I needed to go. I’ve had people interrupt my lost expression to offer directions without me even asking. I’ve had café owners laugh with me when I butcher their beautiful language.

Maybe the key isn’t “Are they friendly?”
Maybe it’s: Are you open?

I’ve made neighbours into friends simply by smiling first. Most of us are so absorbed in our own little worlds that we forget connection is a two-way street. Someone has to make the “hi.” Don’t be shy.

2. The Dinner in Bordeaux 

After our Saint-Émilion wine tour, our guide Clément recommended a place for dinner. I had already green-flagged it on Google Maps, so of course we went. The temperature had dropped, colder than I packed for, so instead of sitting outside, I said, “Let’s sit inside.”

Great decision.

The restaurant — Le Michel’s — was glowing with colour. A giant tree branch hung from the ceiling, covered in flowers and lights. My kind of place.

The tables were tight. Maybe six inches between ours and the next. Getting to my seat felt like a mission. I was convinced I’d knock over their plates and bottles, but they kindly moved their table so I could squeeze in. A small gesture, but one I appreciated.

We were finishing our wine when a new couple arrived. The woman had a backpack strapped to her front, and I assumed there was a baby in it. It looked exactly like that. Her partner moved the table out so she could get in — oh, that’s how that works — and as she sat down, full of joy and good energy, I smiled warmly at her and “the baby.”

Of course, there was no baby. But my smile opened a conversation between our tables anyway.

She was from Bordeaux, and despite the language gap (my French is non-existent), she generously told me places to visit. We used visuals, hand gestures, and laughs to fill in the blanks. It was such a lovely exchange, the kind that makes a trip memorable.

Before we left, she said, “Take my phone…”

And because I take things too literally sometimes, I thought she meant her actual phone. No — she meant her phone number.

I realised it thirty seconds after we walked away. My husband said, “Why didn’t you take her number?”
Ugh. Brain not braining.

We’re all walking around as little balls of projecting emotion, trying to feel connected but not always knowing how. And often we expect others to do the work.

This dinner reminded me again that connection is something you participate in, not something you passively receive.

3. People Are People — Give Grace

Not everyone you meet on a trip will be friendly, French or not. We’re all human. We carry bad days, grief, exhaustion, anxiety, loss. Sometimes these things bubble to the surface and we judge someone on that one moment, or worse, on someone else’s story about them.

But most of the time, people are kinder than we think. Strangers are more willing to connect than we assume. And all it takes is a smile, a hello, or even noticing the same cat in the same window.

Don’t believe everything you think.
Especially when it comes to other people.

4. Painting What Connected Me

Since getting home, I’ve painted two pieces from these experiences — the neighbourhood-watch cat and the restaurant interior with the giant decorated branch. Both came from moments where I paid attention and where someone else met that attention with warmth.

I love painting places where I felt a connection to a person, a moment, or a particular sliver of beauty. And yes, I still want to bring a massive tree branch into my home and hang it from the ceiling. They don’t build ceilings in 

Canada like they do in France. A shame. Ceilings are so underused.

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Travel reminds me of this every time:

Connection doesn’t come from perfect language, perfect timing, or perfect circumstances.
It comes from noticing.
From smiling.
From being open.
From letting strangers become part of your story, even if only for a moment.

We get so much further when we stop assuming, slow down long enough to look up, and let the world meet us halfway.