Tuesday, February 28, 2006

Glamorous Paris

I was reading the blog of LaCoquette (www.lacoquette.blogs.com/) that she wrote on arriving back in Paris after a work vacation in the States. She described her trials and tribulations with the flight and then described her glee at being back in Paris. She spoke of the feeling of Paris . No other city feels the same. I agree with her. It is like nowhere else.

So why was I so anxious to return to New Jersey after working in Paris? Let me count the ways - oh no, that's something else. Anyway, first, we spent the Christmas holiday in Switzerland. My 11 year old son and I were on an elevator and someone asked him, in English, where he was from. He said, "Paris". That stuck in my craw. I wished he had said, at least, the United States, if not the town.

Then, one Saturday morning we were out of working flashlight batteries. I went down to the local Prisunic, a sort of prehistoric Walmart. A department store with everything from clothing to groceries. I doubt I've spelled it right. The manager had appointed a little girl as translater for our family. Her response was to hide every time she saw one of us. (You who are fluent in French know where this is going) In truth, her English was not a lot better than my French. I found her and started my charade game. But how the heck do you do a flashlight, say nothing about the thingy that makes it go. I know I should have brought one of the dead ones, but I didn't. She was completely baffled. Finally in frustration, I almost yelled, "BATTERY!" She said , "Oh, battery." And walked me right to them. When I got home I looked it up in the dictionary. Same word - two languages. I brooded about how much easier it is to do business when everyone speaks the same tongue.

The final straw was one morning at Orly Airport. I was on the way to somewhere and stopped in the men's room just before getting on the plane. I was standing there doing what I came in to do when a female voice behind me said, "Bon Jour". Without a thought, I looked over my shoulder and said, "Bon Jour, Mademoiselle". On the plane I thought about it and decided I really didn't want to get used to ladies in the men's room.

I decided we should go home.

3 comments:

Marilyn said...

I agree that there's no place quite like Paris...and it makes me a bit sad to think that I'll probably never live there, even for a short while. (I doubt it's on my boyfriend's short list of places we might move to.) But I did dream of that in my earlier Francophile stage...still fun to dream about sometimes... ;)

(Have only been once, for 2-1/2 weeks, solo...heavenly).

Archana said...

No matter how good any place is, east or west, home is the best :-D!

BTW, good to know you were nerdy at school :-).

I should have mentioned a long time back - I really love reading your posts, especially the ones with stories from the past!

Floridora said...

Why, thank you, ma'am. I enjoy your also.
BTW- Since you are just back, will you give us your review of this week's Newsweek featuring India?