I am a self-confessed Francophile. I speak French; have a degree in French; in my 20s I did the obligatory year as an au pair, in Limoges, working for the family of a famous French porcelain house.

Now in my 30s, working as an international human rights lawyer, French has been a core component of my professional life enabling me to share ideas with francophone diplomats and civil society workers. The French Déclaration des droits de l'homme et du citoyen is one of the fundamental historical documents in our discipline. Who would question the revolutionary concepts of freedom, equality and humanity? (Okay, fraternity is a bit outdated, but French feminists helped reshape our thinking on this too).

Last year, before returning to Australia following several years working overseas on atrocity crimes, I walked 1100 kilometres across France, soaking up everything French culture had on offer. On my long walk, I contemplated the decade of atrocity-related work I'd been engaged in while living in Africa, Asia, and Europe. Unsurprisingly, I didn't discover the answer to ending the commission of atrocities, but I did make the (perhaps superficial) discovery that my love affair with France would be life-long.