Somewhere between Bruxelles and Paris

So, deja vu or what? Here I am on the Thalys again, fighting a losing battle with the connectivity which is dropping out every three minutes. All around me I see people staring whisfully at their screens as they wait for a page to load.

I have troffed my platter of fromage francais and am now sipping some vin rouge, which is, quite disturbingly, described on the bottle as “spicy and greedy”. The suited trolly dolly guy offered me a choice of a mini bottle of German or French wine. I would have chosen the German one but thought that he would smack me over the head with it if I dared to insult Fronch vino in such a manner.

A man behind me has just spent 45 minutes on the phone to his computer support. “Ja, all the boxes are unchecked. Ja I’ve selected the Thalys network. Nee, it’s just not working.” I wanted to turn around and say, “DUDE there’s no network at the moment; you’re 20 meters underneath Brussels!” But I didn’t because he’s very, very big and mean looking.

So, since my recent trip to Morocco, where I was forced to parlez Francias at the best of my limited ability, I thought that my Francais had improved enough to enable me to converse fluently with the trolley dolly boys. Unfortunately, it was not the case. Oh the shame! I had to answer in English when they spoke to me. It seems the only french phrases I have perfected are a shrill and simple, “Non! Merci!”, accompanied by hand shooing motions and averted eyes, and a hopeful sounding “Avez vous une chambre pour la nuit?”.

Somewhere in Auteuil-Passy

There’s a man drilling continuously in the hallway and a machine drilling continuously outside my window. According to the hotel brochure, my room has been soundproofed. I think this is because there is carpet on the walls. If I lean out of the window dangerously far I can see the Eiffel Tower. I did think I had nabbed myself a hotel in close proximity to it when I checked last night but, on closer inspection, I realised that it was just a crane and not the tower.

I’ve noticed that the French have a thing for pharmacies. They are everywhere. I guess that’s because French people really love to lather themselves in massive amounts of perfume. Perhaps this is something to do with the baths and showers which leave me confused. I have a mini bath, and a shower, but the shower is not attached to the wall. I never understand this: Am I supposed to stand up and hold the shower over my head? Am I supposed to sit down in the bath and use the shower? Am I supposed to take a bath and then use the shower? The first gives me arm ache, the second just feels wrong and the third is a pointless waste of time and water and all three fail to make me feel clean or refreshed!

Last night I went to get some dinner and just like last time I was in Paris, I was struck with an overwhelming urge to eat sushi. So, I found a couple of places on the gps but each one I passed was completely empty. Maybe it’s the credit craquement. Eating alone is one thing, but eating alone in an empty restaurant might result in me trying to slash my wrists with a sharpened chopstick, or at least drinking too much sake to remember how to get home. So in the end I settled on a nice Fronch corner bistro. After some Fronglais, it emerged that yes, there was a table pour une and no I don’t want to sit right in the back as far away from anyone as possible and ok yes I could sit in the fenetre thank you very much.

I managed ok with the menu and just as I was getting out my dictionary to look up what ciboulette was, a waitress came bounding up and said “Do you want me to translate anyfin for ya.” in the widest cockney accent I’d ever heard. At the other end of the window, there were some fat Americans yacking on and on. When a waitress asked if they wanted desert, fat lady said, “Oh no, I am full. How do you say ‘full’ in French.” The waitress replied “Sature”. Yes, they were both indeed saturated.

Right, I’m off to schmooze with the suited and the booted now. Au revoir, mes amis!