leçon 1: asking for the bill
Another embarrassing story in communication that happened in the first week that we were here in Paris.
We were on one of our regular walks, meandering between streets and metro stops and we found a café along the way that we decided to have lunch at. This is one thing that we've had no trouble appreciating, the food is always incredible-- and we've been enjoying as much of that as we can get our hands on.
One of the big differences when eating out (especially sitting on the terrace of a café) is that the French take their time and enjoy their meal and conversation --I mean
really take their time, to the point of staying there all afternoon and evening. So because of this, it's often quite difficult to get the garçon to bring the check. Quite the opposite from the US, where we're used to being pushed towards the exit the moment the last bite is eaten because the restaurant is anxious to clear the table for another patron.
After we finished our meal and spent another forty minutes trying to flag down the waiter we finally managed to get his attention. So I politely ask him, "Bonjour Monsieur, pourrions-nous s'il vous plait avoir la pourboire?". He gave me a bit a blank expression for a few seconds and then started to chuckle. That was when I realized that I had just asked him for the tip, instead of the bill. Oops.
For those of you who know Charlie...
Quoting Dennis:
"It's the funniest saddest thing ever."
the streets of San Francisco still haunt me...
zoom-zoom!
I got
new rollerblades!
My goal:
Pari RollerA fast night skate through the streets of Paris from 10-1am with about 20,000 other skaters
What I can do now:
Rollers & Coquillageswhich translates to skates and shells...
I used to skate without fear, until
that day in San Francisco.
The helpless, flailing feeling... it's all coming back.
dame blonde vs. dame blanche
dame blonde (left)
dame blanche (right)
I was craving ice cream at 1am, so we went to Porte Montmartre (a café down the street from our apartment).
I'm really working my french.
I order: "dame blanche, si vous plait"
waiter confirms, "une dame blanche?"
me: "oui"
I get: dame blonde, or a pale ale with lemon slices.
Turns out the waiter said, "une dame blonde?"
My ears now know the difference between a pale ale (dame blonde) and a vanilla sunday (dame blanche).
proudly showing off my carte d'orange
Without a doubt, one of the greatest things about this city is its mass transit system. With the myriad of bus, train, and métro stations scattered far and wide, it makes it very easy to travel anywhere and difficult to get lost. Best of all, it actually works (hard to believe I'm sure)! Not having to worry about driving, parking, or traffic is a nice relief. I just hop on the métro and train, and by the time I reach the next chapter of my book I find myself at work.
One of the new French rituals every morning after arriving to the office is to go desk to desk and greet everyone with a "bonjour" and a handshake or bis. Then once everyone arrives, it must be followed by gossip over a café. I’ve learned that this coffee break is an essential part of the agenda, and usually another will follow lunch and then again in the mid-afternoon. I can appreciate this break despite being not terribly fond of the bitter taste of coffee-- but if it truly is an acquired taste then maybe there’s hope for me in becoming a coffee-addict like the rest of you too? If not, well, I’ll just continue to stick with my hot cocoa.
0 Comments:
Add a Comment
Links to this post:
Add a Link