Bon Jour a Paris

First off, I can’t say that I was really thrilled to go to France in general, let alone Paris. To be absolutely honest, I looked at is as something I had to do since I was in Europe, and more or less would be a good way to kill some time on my way to Italy. I had heard all these stories from Americans saying they hated France and hated Paris in particular. I heard the people are rude, they speak English but would never let you know that, and are not helpful in the least. I also heard that Paris is one of the most romantic cities in the world and therefore fondly given the name, “The City of Love”, and since I am traveling on my own, that made it even less appealing. Arriving at the train station didn’t help me to ignore these stereotypes. I, by my own ignorance, avoided talking to anyone at all costs, and made my way to my hostel as quickly as possible. Once I checked in and dropped my bags I said to myself, “Well, you’re here, and can’t spend the next week in your room. Get out there and make the most of it!” If there was one thing I knew I would love about France was the wonderful food and wine they are so well known for. For this, I couldn’t have picked a better place to stay. My hostel was located in the center of an area named Montmartre, which is packed full of artsy shops and more cafes and restaurants than you would find Starbucks in Seattle. After a shower I headed down stairs to take advantage of the free internet in the lobby. I spent the next hour thinking of every possible phrase I might need while dining out by myself in France, like, “I would like to have… fill in the blank”, “where is the bathroom?”, “the check please”, “I don’t understand”, “do you speak English?”, and of course, “another glass of wine please”, amongst others. When I filled my piece of paper with all the different phrases that might come in handy, I folded it, put it my pocket next to my map, and headed out to see how my night would go. I have gotten used to eating ramen noodles, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, half of a footlong from subway (which is not a “five dollar footlong” anywhere but in the US) for lunch and the other half for dinner, along with every other meal that can be made on the road for less than five Euros, and therefore decided I would splurge tonight. Hey, it’s not every day you’re in France, and especially in an area that has over twenty restaurants to choose from. I decided on Le Chinon. It must have been a great sight for the server when I sat down, pulled out my premade translation paper and looked it over as I waited to be greeted. Within minutes he arrived and greeted me in French, and asked me if I was ready to order. In my best French (which I’m sure is the worst he’s ever heard) I recited the sentence for “I would like to start with a glass of Bordeaux and the escargot. To my surprise, he politely corrected my pronunciation and repeated my order to me in English. I thanked him in French and he quickly returned with my glass of wine asking if I knew what I would like for my main course. Again, with the help of my little piece of paper I ordered the steak tartar with pommes frites (French fries), and salad. Once again, he politely corrected me, repeated my order in English, and walked away with a friendly smile. As I sat, sipping my glass of Bordeaux, at a window side table on one of the busy streets of Montmartre, I chuckled as I thought to myself, “Wow, this isn’t so bad!” Within a few minutes my server returned with my escargot. I have to tell you I have never ordered escargot, nor have I ever had the desire to order snails stuffed with butter, herbs, and garlic, but I also never thought that I would be sitting in France trying to speak to my server from a piece of paper I had written one hour before. Much like the haggis in Scotland, if this dish doesn’t sound amazing to you… it is! My server returned to clear my plate, and now on a French only basis, asked if I would like another glass of wine. I politely declined. Kidding, of course I said, “oui, s’il vous plait”, which for those of you who don’t like to speak French when in France means, “yes, please” He again quickly returned with my wine. As I was waiting for my main course to arrive I noticed something at one of the tables across from me. A couple had sat down for their own magical food experience in France, but unlike me, forgot to make a cheat sheet before leaving their hotel and immediately assumed the server spoke English, to which he responded with a very quizzical (and funny I might add) look and said something in French. The best part of this interaction was when he delivered my food and in almost perfect English asked me if I would like anything else before adding “Bon Appetit.” So, with a big smile I took a bite of the most delicious slightly seared raw steak I have ever had in my life, followed by a wonderful sip of lush red wine. I couldn’t help but think to myself, France, we’re going to get along just fine! I finished off my dinner with a warm apple tart topped with cinnamon ice cream, and just the right amount of fresh whipped cream. Heading back to my hostel, with a full stomach and a smile on my face, I couldn’t have been happier.