I hope you are doing great. I'm back again with a new post from one of my trips. By the way, my last bellanaija article can be found here.
Enjoy the story below and as usual, please share your thoughts and this post. Cheers!
PARISIAN TIME
I arrived in Charles De Gaulle airport at
night, got a map from the airport and made my way into the city room using the
metro. I got out of St. Paul’s metro station, which was the closest to my
destination, and I began to trace my way to the hostel. The roads were so close to each other that
before I knew it, I was lost (a trait not very uncommon with me). I found
myself quite a distance away from where I was headed and it took me another
twenty minutes to find my way back to the hostel. By the time I checked into
the hostel, I was too tired to think or speak in French so I just replied ‘No’
when the receptionist asked me if I spoke any French. I took my room key and headed
for my room. The room was a small and stuffy but clean place with a window that
had a nice view. There were four beds downstairs and I saw there was a
staircase leading upstairs but I did not climb up. I had been assigned to bed
number 2 but to my surprise, someone else was already occupying it. I spoke to
the lady on my bed; she claimed that we could stay anywhere and so she asked me
to move upstairs so that she could stay close to her friend who was on the next
bed. I was not having it because I was not ready to move my bag upstairs so I
insisted that she moved to her assigned bed, which she complied with
grudgingly. Just before going to bed, I wanted to charge my phone for a while.
I had brought a UK adaptor only for me to realise that the sockets in France
were different. I was surprised; how come nobody had mentioned that to me? At last,
I had to turn to the girl on the next bed, the friend of the one I had chased
away from my bed, to borrow her adaptor. You see, usually I may have felt so bad
or ashamed for the way I treated her friend to ask her for her adaptor, but I
was too tired to have any feelings at this point. I just plugged my phone in
and fell asleep.
I woke up the next
morning by 4am; I was still a little jetlagged. Normally, the time on my phone
would have changed automatically whenever I traveled to the roaming time but
this time around, it did not. Therefore, I had to keep doing the calculations of
the current time in Paris in my head. I got up, took a shower and left the
hostel by 5.30am to take a quick walk. I strolled down the streets, taking in
the beauty of the city at sunrise and taking pictures as I walked down to the
Bastille. It was indeed a very beautiful place! On my way back to my room, I
found one of the Patisserie where I had planned to buy snacks from, a place
called Miss Manon. So I stopped by to get some breakfast.
“Bonjour! Je voudrais
un gâteau et croissant aux amandes… s'il vous plaît?” (I would like a cake and almond croissant) I began, as if I were
fluent.
The sales girl smiled
and responded so quickly that I found myself saying “Sorry?”
She looked at me with a
smirk and then she replied in English, “What type of cake do you want?”
“Oh!” I said slightly embarrassed
and then I pointed. She asked if I wanted anything else and I started my French
again.
“Oui. Je voudrais une
baguette traditionnelle aussi.” (I would like
a traditional baguette)
She spoke again and
this time, I apologised and told her that I could barely understand her and
that I was still learning French. She smiled again and said she already knew that
and from then onwards, she spoke English to me regardless of whether or not I
spoke French to her. She asked me when I
was leaving Paris and invited me to come over for breakfast the next day before
leaving for the airport and have the baguette then instead. The store opened by
6.30 am and they had one of the best coffee, she said. So I took only the piece
of cake and croissant and promised to return the following day. By the time I
left the store, my confidence in my ability to understand any French had
plummeted.
I went back to the
hostel, had breakfast and set out for my journey. Walking on Pont Marie, one of
the bridges leading to the small island, I made my way towards the Cathedral.
There was a long queue to go up the church tower but I was more interested in
just seeing inside the church so I joined the shorter queue or somehow I walked
past it into the church (I do not remember which one). The Notre-Dame was truly
spectacular, with amazing sculptures, paintings, chapels, windows and most of
all, a captivating history behind it. There were a few signs that read ‘no photos’
so I only took pictures :p. After spending about half an hour in there and
saying some prayers, I left to make my way to Sainte Chapelle, another
beautiful church on the big island. On my way there, I stopped by a shop with ‘Berthillon’
written above it. I had heard that Berthillon ice cream was one of the best in
Paris and even though it was still quite early in the day, I was ready to try
some of it. There was a black man in there selling the ice cream and crêpe.
“Bonjour! Ça va?” I began.
“Bonjour….Ça va et tu?”
He said cheerfully, he seems like a very pleasant fellow.
I needed to know what
flavours of ice cream he had but I did not know how to say this in French so I
switched to English. That was where my troubles began. The man began shaking
his head and saying “Parle français, seulement français…” (speak French, only French)
I tried to explain to
him that my command of the language was poor but he kept smiling and insisting
that I continued with French. I knew he could understand English because the
man who had bought ice cream just before me had spoken English to him throughout.
I figured out that he was trying to encourage me to speak French but I was truly
stuck. And so after trying hard, I ended up placing an order for crêpe whilst
thinking I was ordering for a banana flavoured ice cream.
“No no! I meant Ice
cream!” I had to exclaim when I saw him pouring the flour and banana.
By this time, it was
too late; the crêpe was ready. So I told him that I would pay for the crêpe and
still buy the ice cream. The man refused; he said that ice cream and crêpe do
not go together. No matter how hard I tried to convince him that I would pay
for both and that I would eat one after the other, he was adamant. So I was
left with no other choice but to take the crêpe only and return for the ice
cream later. When I left his shop, I vowed not to speak a word of French to
anybody again that day!
To be continued....
Have a great weekend and week ahead.
Twitter handle: @vivio_gogo
Instagram: @ugochiukah
