A Taste of French Hospitality

Annoyed with our delayed flight to Paris, I pulled out my Enzymology notes to grab a few extra minutes of studying while waiting on the plane. Glancing over old PowerPoint presentations, I overheard the passenger sitting next to me ramble fluent French into her cell phone. When she had finished her conversation, I turned to her and asked, "Excuse me, but are you French?"

"Yes," she replied in flawless English and hint of a smile upon recognizing my American accent.

"I couldn't help but notice that you were speaking French a moment ago," I sheepishly replied. "Have you heard anything about the transportation strike in Paris?"

"I just got off the phone with my Dad," she replied. "He said that the city is a mess right now, and the taxis are taking full advantage of an unfair situation. If you aren't careful, they'll cheat you out of money very easily."

Nodding with understanding, I quickly introduced myself and Craig to our newfound acquaintance. Though we spent a lot of time talking to this young lady, neither Craig nor I can currently remember her name. I remember her as "Sophie" while Craig swears her name was "Camille" -- so for the sake of compromise, I will call her "Soca".

As our conversation progressed, we learned that Soca was a student majoring in political science. She had spent the past weekend visiting friends in London before heading back to Paris for a busy week of school and work.

"What do American's think of our new president, Nicolas Sarkozy?" Soca asked.

Believe it or not, this was actually a trick question. Americans have the notorious reputation of being completely ignorant of politics and culture outside of their own country. (In fact, many don't even realize that the major currency of Europe is the "Euro".) So by stating that I had no idea that France even elected a new president, I would once again confirm that Americans are stupid when it comes to global affairs.

Thankfully, Craig came to my rescue and replied, "We appreciate that President Sarkozy is making an effort to build ties with the United States."

Craig has always been well-informed of global events, and this was yet another time that he has saved me from making an ignorant faux pas. Smiling at his well-spoken opinion, Soca stated, "Sarkozy gets a lot of criticism for his policies, but I think that he has done a lot for our foreign relationships."

As Craig and Soca continued to discuss world politics, I folded up my tray table as I felt the plane lurch forward towards the runway. "Ladies and gentlemen," the pilot announced over the intercom. "We have now been cleared for take-off and will be departing shortly for Paris Charles De Gaulle. Thank you for your patience."

Almost on cue, the cabin lights switched off, and the plane began its rapid acceleration down the runway. As the plane climbed higher into the night sky, I laid my head on Craig's shoulder and instantly fell asleep.

However, my in-flight nap was short-lived as I was unexpectedly jolted awake as the plane crashed back to earth. With a startled gasp, I asked, "What happened?!"

"We landed," Craig replied dryly.

Pulling me close as my heart raced against my chest, Craig whispered, "We're finally in Paris."

With heavy winds and biting sheets of sleet falling from the sky, the plane's descent into Paris was a bit rocky from the high levels of turbulence. Ironically, I slept through the entire storm until our plane was forced to make a sharp landing and bounced dangerously on the landing strip. Climbing out of our seats as the pilot apologized for his rough landing, Craig and I ducked into the biting sleet storm and ran to the airport arrival gate. Once inside, we began to brush off our carry-on bags and looked around for the French passport control stations.

Spotting Soca nearby, Craig motioned to her and suggested an offer that would help all three of us to survive the Parisian transportation strike. "Would you like to split a cab with Julia and I?" he asked. "If you could negotiate a reasonable price with a taxi driver, then we could all get to the city at only a third of the price of hiring a cab alone."

Seeing the logic in splitting the taxi fare from the airport, Soca readily agreed to wait for us past the passport control gates so that we could travel together. Thrilled with our luck of finding a native French translator to deal with the taxi driver, I thanked my lucky stars that I was dating a resourceful guy that knows how to make friends in a difficult situation.

Passing through French customs without any mishaps, Craig and I found Soca speaking rapid French to an attendant at the airport information kiosk. Translating her conversation to us soon afterwards, Soca mentioned that the wait for a taxi would be roughly 30 minutes and that our only option would be to wait in line near the airport exit.

Rolling Craig's suitcase to the "taxi line", the three of us chatted while waiting for the next cab to become available. Luckily, we only waited about 15 minutes before making it to the front of the line and crawling into an idling taxi. Handing over addresses and haggling prices in French, Soca was eventually satisfied with the taxi service, and the cab driver pulled away from the airport.

The drive into Paris took about a half hour, but I was amused by watching French traffic weave across lanes at a speedy pace with no obvious order or logic. It wasn't easy to see the city from the taxi windows, but Craig and Soca were too engaged in another conversation on world politics to notice that we were quickly approaching Paris. As the cab driver maneuvered through the Parisian city streets, I spotted the Moulin Rouge only minutes before the taxi stopped in front of our hotel.

Clutching our coats, Craig and I thanked Soca many times before leaving the taxi. Wanting to express our gratitude, we handed her enough money to cover the cost of the taxi ride to our hotel as well as the rest of her trip home. Not wanting to accept the extra money at first, we insisted until she could only smile and thank us for our gift.

As the taxi pulled away, Craig mentioned to me, "I've always heard that the French are rather hostile to travelers, but I think that girl has just proven them wrong. The French are clearly some of the friendliest people I've ever met."