The Sultans of Swing

It's Dave. How's it going?

The Cote d'Azur is the sunniest, warmest part of France but it's still at about the same latitude as Boston. And while the weather during the day can be beautiful, as soon as the sun goes down the temperature plummets. And there aren't many streetlights here. When the sun is down, it's dark.

Tonight when I walked outside I was again hit by that darkness, and when I got in the car I could still see my breath. I felt really far from home. I pulled onto the narrow country road that leads away from the house and turned on the radio. Instead of another French song whose lyrics I can't understand, they were playing "Sultans of Swing" by Dire Straits. I felt closer to home.

It's amazing how language affects us. In Mougins, where most days I don't hear a word of English outside my own house, I'm much closer to the place where Mark Knopfler wrote Sultans of Swing (London, I assume) than anyone in the United States. But the culture and language of England has spread itself through much of the world the last 300 years, and I'm a product of that history. Chances are, if you're reading this blog, you are too. And I think that's mostly a good thing. At the very least, it makes it easier to appreciate certain simple pleasures no matter where you are. I was glad to enjoy one of them tonight.