They speak French. Nothing but French. Nary a word of English.
They could be talking about the weather, lovers, children, quitting smoking (probably not), or revolution. I have no earthly idea.
Perhaps they are asking, “Who is that man drinking sparkling water over there pretending not to be staring at us while we smoke our extremely thin cigarettes?” Who knows.
My waiter comes over and speaks to me. I mumble a couple of words of French to try to fit in. He takes my sad offering of his language as some declaration of fluency. He then launches into a long fusillade of foreign words without taking time to breathe like I am an old school chum.
I stare.
Words begin to form in my mouth, and I blurt out,
“Bon Jovi.”
He pinches his face at me like he ate something sour.
I read a quote once that said, “Traveling to new places is like being 5 years old all over again because everything is new and you don’t understand any of it, but you really could use some more ice cream.”
Normal everyday activities become profoundly difficult, like crossing the street, ordering food, catching a train (the right one at least) or asking the location of the bathroom when you don’t speak or understand the language.
Therefore, I have learned to pantomime. It’s like a pathetic version of Pictionary (but with actual consequences) as I draw with my finger in the air like it’s an imaginary whiteboard. The waiter yells guesses at me in pigeon English.
“Napkin” He yells.
“Hamster?” He questions.
“Toast,” I cry.
“We have no such toast.” He says emphatically.
“You must have toast?” I say as I rack my brain to think of another visual clue for charred bread.
I finally point at a croissant and then at the sun and then my mouth.
The waiter stares for a while and then screams, “AHHH, oui.”
He nods virgously, walking back towards what I suppose is the kitchen. Progress, I think.
A few moments later, he arrives back at my table and proudly deposits a cold crossiant before me with a shard of even colder butter.
He then drapes a blanket around my shoulders as he smiles, steps to the side to light a cigarette, and checks his cellphone.
Definitely progress.
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