In case you were wondering, I have indeed made it back safely to Europe. Let's just say that air travel to France in 2008 turned out MUCH better than it did when I first made the long trek out here back in September of last year.
On the way to California I took Delta, while the carrier back to my dad in Annecy was Air France. The first thing you notice when flying AF is that every single flight attendant is a native French speaker, usually, with pretty terrible English. I found myself listening mostly to the French announcements and translating for my neighbors in the window section.
When I was on Delta, we were served lunch 30 minutes after boarding. I overheard on the PA system the two lunch choices, along with the announcement that red/white wine would be served with the meal, compliments of the sky team. Figures when I ordered my very own glass of rouge, the large, American flight attendant carded me. Lady, we're only 30 minutes off the ground from France, STILL IN INTERNATIONAL AIR.
Well, my point here is that flying with a French team dramatically changed that experience. First of all, the flight attendant began speaking to me in French, assuming I was French, while all my neighbors ordered their meals and were asked questions in English. I'd like to think that because I was giving simple, quick answers -- I'm quite efficient when it comes to food and beverage choices -- I think she actually mistook me for a Francophone. Perhaps I should thank the nature of the short replies for not allowing my American accent to betray me. Either way, another group responded to her in heavily accented, slow) French, but she refused to answer in that language, dropping down to their English level.
When we landed in Charles de Gaulle, I wanted to show off my newly-acquired carte de sejour and prove my legal residency in the country. Seeing as how I was practically the only American coming off that flight, the "non-European Union" passport line was extremely short. So when it came my turn to present my papers, the two men working in the both had plenty of time to talk to me without worrying about clogging up the line. But this is France, even if they held back the line, I doubt it'd ever weigh on their consciences.
After looking at my work card -- which clearly states I'm here to work -- the man sitting in the front of the booth asked if I was here as a student.
"No, I'm a visiting teacher," I replied.
"Ahh, what language?" the man quietly standing in the back asked me.
"English," I said, motioning toward my AMERICAN passport.
And then Man No. 2 in the back starts smiling wildly, responding rather sheepishly, "I've always wanted to learn English."
That's when Man No. 1 sitting in the front decided to play wingman and told me I needed to leave me phone number and e-mail so I could have private lessons with his co-worker.
But the creepiest part was when he winked at me, reassuring, "I'm sure he'd pay you well."
What am I, some kind of language whore?! Well, I guess I could have had a worse experience/encounter at the passport control desk, so no further complaints from me...
On the way to California I took Delta, while the carrier back to my dad in Annecy was Air France. The first thing you notice when flying AF is that every single flight attendant is a native French speaker, usually, with pretty terrible English. I found myself listening mostly to the French announcements and translating for my neighbors in the window section.
When I was on Delta, we were served lunch 30 minutes after boarding. I overheard on the PA system the two lunch choices, along with the announcement that red/white wine would be served with the meal, compliments of the sky team. Figures when I ordered my very own glass of rouge, the large, American flight attendant carded me. Lady, we're only 30 minutes off the ground from France, STILL IN INTERNATIONAL AIR.
Well, my point here is that flying with a French team dramatically changed that experience. First of all, the flight attendant began speaking to me in French, assuming I was French, while all my neighbors ordered their meals and were asked questions in English. I'd like to think that because I was giving simple, quick answers -- I'm quite efficient when it comes to food and beverage choices -- I think she actually mistook me for a Francophone. Perhaps I should thank the nature of the short replies for not allowing my American accent to betray me. Either way, another group responded to her in heavily accented, slow) French, but she refused to answer in that language, dropping down to their English level.
When we landed in Charles de Gaulle, I wanted to show off my newly-acquired carte de sejour and prove my legal residency in the country. Seeing as how I was practically the only American coming off that flight, the "non-European Union" passport line was extremely short. So when it came my turn to present my papers, the two men working in the both had plenty of time to talk to me without worrying about clogging up the line. But this is France, even if they held back the line, I doubt it'd ever weigh on their consciences.
After looking at my work card -- which clearly states I'm here to work -- the man sitting in the front of the booth asked if I was here as a student.
"No, I'm a visiting teacher," I replied.
"Ahh, what language?" the man quietly standing in the back asked me.
"English," I said, motioning toward my AMERICAN passport.
And then Man No. 2 in the back starts smiling wildly, responding rather sheepishly, "I've always wanted to learn English."
That's when Man No. 1 sitting in the front decided to play wingman and told me I needed to leave me phone number and e-mail so I could have private lessons with his co-worker.
But the creepiest part was when he winked at me, reassuring, "I'm sure he'd pay you well."
What am I, some kind of language whore?! Well, I guess I could have had a worse experience/encounter at the passport control desk, so no further complaints from me...
1 comment:
LOL language whore. Welcome back to France, my dear!
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