Chinon et Fete de la Musique!

Music: MC Solaar
Movie: Harry Potter et L'Ordre du Phénix
Book: White Tiger

Every year at the end of June, France puts on her Vanilla Ice sunglasses, neon checkered pants, and high ankle kicks for some good old fashioned harmonica-accordian-whatever-you-like music fest. In Tours, La Rue Nationale, the major street that runs through the city, trades in the noise of every day car traffic for a dissonant sound of quite another kind: good old fashioned, mettalica-latin-indian-classic-african-drum-beat rock and roll!

At every bar, restaurant, street corner and crosswalk, there parked one, two, sometimes even three bands blaring their tunes in an all out guitar-pick fight. And as the night sauntered along, the mess that was once intangible took on the loveliest forms: puke, puke...drunken dancing...and puke. Not my own, I
I'm glad I left when I did (around midnight) because had I stayed longer, the remembrance of the evening would not have been quite so pleasant. But my friends who ventured out a bit later came back with the loveliest stories...

I met up with the girls around 930 (2130) at Tutti Gusti, the best icecream store in Tours (rocks a mad delicious white choco cappaccino). The lady, who to my abashment, now recognizes me immediately, gave me a taste of this nutella softserve, which was like having cherubs envoyed directly from heaven to dance in my mouth. Then, holding onto our cones, we happened upon this circle of African drumming, with a large throng of people gathered round -and it was so cool- that of course I couldn't help but join in, and before you knew it, my friends and I had formed a congo line and, with the encouragement of our grand audience, stuck our icecream in the air and danced through the crowd in style. We soon realized that dancing; in addition to being a great accompaniament to the music around us, was also the key to getting past huge masses. Get at least 4 other people, grab onto eachothers purses (in a linear, orderly manner), and put a little bop to your swing. It was like having Moses by our side - besides the little bit of gawking, it worked like a charm. Good times.

Then on Saturday, I went to Chinon via train. They are known for their kick-butt red wine, which I had sampled in Tours and liked a lot. The day began with a very intense kayaking trip on the Cher river. The water had looked so calm - but it became quite a different story one hour later, arms exhausted, me and Amber having run, several times, into a thicket of old trees on the bank. Though we were tempted to turn around and go in the direction of the current - non! - we persevered and made it around the entire trail. hurrah! Afterwards, we went to this "wine museum" which was the biggest waste of money in my life and it still makes me upset to think about it. Jenna, Amber, Maddy and I walked into this old, dark room - the entrance to the museum (mind you, this place was recommended to us by the very official office de tourisme.) Warning bells went off in all of our heads, but we proceeded to give our money to the man with a huge, curly moustache à la Moulin Rouge. He had another friend with the same moustache. Also pictures of his head cut out and pasted onto other bodies on the wall behind him.
He told us to go outside and then pointed to this really shady, narrow stairway into this dungeon like area, where there were these moving manneuquins miming out the process of making wine barrels. Only problem was - it smelled so bad there (like rotting human bodies and soggy disease-ridden birds), that I felt like I was going to throw up. Also, the moving mannequins were missing fingers, arms, legs, and eyes. We got out of there fast..like 30 seconds later fast...and with 5 euros-less, ran away as fast as we could. We all felt like such stupid tourists...until one of us pointed out the brighter side of things...at least we weren't murdered by the crazy man with the moustache and left to rot in that dingy cellar where we were far enough away from civilization that our screams would be left unnoticed...

And now for the big news!!!! readddyyy!!!!??? I'll be prob going here again on Bastille day - but this weekend is different. It is the weekend to dust off my mickey ears, strap on my fanny pack, and sport an obscenely large camera. Also duct tape my wallet onto my stomache. Paris for the ever-excited tourist! Here I come! Yours Truly!

Moby Dick

throat parched from tea and speaking, eyes red from cigarette smoke, head mushy with thoughts of water...

The past 2.5 hours I've spent in the upstairs room of Serpent, taking turns reading chapters aloud (each in French, then English) from Moby Dick with some newfound friends. There's a reading circle here once a week, and I've invited myself in. Pendant the earlier part of the day, I went to language school, wrote a terribly composed French paper about the horrific existence of a boy with eyes on the back of his head. Then I returned home, got in bed, and finished the second half of Kite Runner, cried it a bit. I was so emotionally and mentally dazed from the profound journey, that I had to go outdoors - get rid of my zombie state. I brought along my laptop in hopes of getting in some writing, found myself at Serpent after running into a couple of friends at Place Plume, and then proceeded to immerse myself in another watery journey of quite a different kind.

Now it is nearing midnight - and I feel like I should begin my walk home - out of Centre Ville, over the Loire - but the music here is so delicious, the water in my creepy Orangina cup so refreshing (creepy because Orangina, for some reason, finds it clever to market bestiality all over Tours [example 1] [example 2] ...yum...) - I do not want to return chez moi. But return I must. au revoir!

Le Serpent Volant

Read: The Kite Runner (soooo excited)
Tune: French Jazz
Film: No film.

Am currently sitting in the coolest find ever - Le Serpent Volant - literally, the flying serpent.
Reasons why this place is not so cool -
1) My friend found it, not me :(
(small tosh tosh reason which does not detract too much from...)

Reasons why this place is cool
1) Per usual - cafe by day, bar by night
2) There are people sitting outside improvising on the harmonica/guitar
3) Not too crowded
4) Wifi
5) France's translator for the Simpsons goes here...
6) Good drinks/good location
7) Hole in the wall
8) (and most importantly) In the five minutes I've been sitting here, I've seen more attractive French men then I've seen during my entire stay thus far. So this is where they go...

I'm thinking about purchasing a guitar/bike. thoughts?

beautiful day, pink nail polish, cafe, the smell of red wine (chinon) and cigarettes...what more can a girl ask for.

obama-sarko

Book: Larousse's French-English Dictionary
Song: I Want to Hold Your Hand
Movie: Good Morning England (tres drole mais comci-comca)

I've been so pre-occupied with stalking old french ladies and eating baguettes that I've only recently forced myself to buckle down on my duties as Rotary Ambassador...

So for the past hour I've been trying to catch up on my French-US public relations knowledge...I'm having trouble finding up to date stuff since most of the major articles are from immediately after Sarkozy's election. I'm beginning to form an idea for my presentation next week about my thoughts on future American-French relations...we will see how that goes. If anyone has ideas, let me know.

My shoulders are a bit sore right now - you wouldn't believe what a girl needs to do to find some wifi around here (which, btw, is pronounced weefee in France). I had to walk all around the city like some poor, lost beggar child stopping at every pseudo-cafe looking joint.

Speaking of American-French relations...I feel like I can confidently pick up a few of the major cultural differences between here and America.

1) The asian culture is super fetishized...like MUCH moreso than it is in America. Any dish, paper, pot, towel, dress that has the resemblance of an orchid or a chopstick or a slightly squinty eye is like 50 times more expensive than it should be.

Also, I think the phrase "politically correct" does not exist.
Whenever I'm walking down the street, I get at least one "wong chai tong ting [insert here other impressions of metal clanging sounds]. Like sometimes by grown men. At first, I had to look around and be like - why are they making those noises... until I soon realized...oh..me? oh...
Also, during class the other day we were learning about different descriptive words to describe peoples' physical appearance. We were reading this one passage written by this guy describing his exchange student. Her eyes, he described as "les yeux (eyes) bridés." We were all like - what kind of eyes? What is bridés?"

Frédéric points at me and goes, "Comme ca!" ("Like that!"), takes his fingers and places them on either side of his eyes, and pulls.
There was this awkward silence during which everyone avoided eye contact with me, being the only Asian in the class. The students from the South were especially uncomfortable. Meanwhile, Frédéric continued to keep his fingers like that, repeating over again "les yeux bridés! les yeux bridés!" Poor man, not having any idea...

2) Fashion - Dreadlocks, MC Hammer pants, Converses (at the cheapest, 90 bucks a pop), and Goth are most definitely in. So are these weird bottoms, I don't know what they are actually called, but they look like skirt-capris-pants...or scaprants, if you will. Finally, aviator sunglasses - much moreso than America. Everyone has them. You should get one too.

3)Food. I think I've gained about ten pounds since I've arrived here. I have no idea why...oh wait, maybe it's because people here only eat bread and cheese and goose liver all the live long day. And the bread isn't the delicious whole grain kind you can pick up at Clark Park's farmer's market after grabbing a $2.95 iced-coffee with soy milk from Green Line. It's the let-me-stuff-this-huge-baguette-with-tons-of-butter-and-sugar-and-sell-it-for-70-cents-so-it-is-the-only-thing-you-can-afford kind. So I don't know how French women are so damn skinny. It completely befuddles me. I think I've seen 3 over-average French women bracket 0-40 years since I've been here. 10 per cent of French adults are obese, compared with UK's 22 per cent, and America's colossal 33 per cent.
So I read part of How French Women Stay So (damn) Skinny..or something like that...I don't remember the exact title. Apprently it's because they walk a lot. This reason I found absolutely unconvincing. Unless they're getting up at 3 AM every day and sprinting the Oregon Trail in its entirety, there's no way that walking around Tours (which isn't that big) does it for them.

Also, the time that people usually eat dinner here is absurd. My host mother usually serves dinner around 9 or 10 PM. I tried to go to a major restaurant in Place Jean Jaures with some of my friends the other day. It was around 7 PM. We asked for a waiter after waiting around for 20 minutes. No one came. They thought we were crazy - who eats dinner that early? Most restaurants fill around 9:30.

4) Staring - Now I'm not talking about the creepy stalker kind you do through the telescope nestled against your bedroom window. I'm talking about the sit outside a cafe kind with your huge dark, reflective sunglasses so that you can watch all the flanerie passing by. I am convinced this is directly related the the aviotor sunglass craze.

And finally...
5) Going Green you thought it was big in America? Try going to a major grocery store here. Seriously, if you even THINK about asking for a plastic bag at the register for your 20 million apples you just bought on sale for 2 euro/pound, you'll get several pairs of dirty looks. That and they'll charge you for it - like 15 cents a bag.


There you go, that's my two cents. I've been having some rip-roaring fun with some new friends around the city - waiting for them to send the pics to me - but for now, here's a pic for your entertainment, compliments of my 13-year-old host brother, Simon who hopes to one day become a world-famous chef. Pre-dinner, he shared his amazing creative talents with me...

Wine, French Grandmas, and Platonic Pick Up Lines...

Song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T8Ub5OGGBAg
Read: The Economist
Movie: The Newsies

Yesterday, a few friends and I went on a trip to the Vouvray wine caves, organized by your's truly. There were seven of us, each someone I had met in the past week. The girls were impressed by my social skills - so I let them in on my method - the 3 approaches to pick up a friend.

1) The Introductory Approach
This is when someone you already know introduces you to someone new. The person you knew then becomes the mutual go-through friend who can remain as the go-through friend until the new friend you know through the go-through friend is no longer new and is the friend you know and can then become the friend you know who introduces you to someone new. This is a nice approach, I feel - very Austen/Montgomery. However, there are a few downsides - the first being, you already have to know someone in order to be introduced to that person's friend who is stranger to you. Second, that friend whom you already know may only have other friends who are like themselves and thus you might end up with a homogeneous bunch of hangouts ...which may be good or bad depending on how much you like that person you know.

2) The Creeper Approach
I will demonstrate via dialogue:

Person A: Hello!
Person B: Hello!
Person A: So, You know about that thing tonight?
Person B: What thing?
Person A: You know, the thing!
Person B: Oh, that thing.
Person A: Yeah - are you going?
Person B: Oh, I might
Person A: Yeah, me too. Are you going with anyone?
Person B: No, I don't think so.
Person A: Yeah, me neither...
Person B: Oh...(awkwardly)...do you want to go together?
Person A: Oh...yeah, that would be cool.

3) The Desperate Approach
a

In order to use this approach, you must either be very confident in yourself, or well...just very desperate.
(Once again, demonstrative dialogue)

Person A: Hi!
Person B: Hello.
Person A: I'm looking for friends! I don't have any friends. Do you want to be my friend!?
(Please note the repetition of the word "friend." The auditory reinforcement will emphasize your overtly-convivial air and persona, if not already obvious.)
Potential Downfall: Don't smile too much if you feel yourself getting nervous or if you have a scary smile. This might frighten the potential friend. Word gets around quickly. A scary smile--> no friends.


Using various combinations of the above three methods, I managed to get the group together :)

Our trip was very lovely. We hopped on the 61 bus at Place Jean Jaures and took it to Vouvray, which is about 9 KM from Tours.
Vouvray is absolutely lovely with rolling green hills, small quaint homes, crumbling stone steps, and...wine. Delicious wine.
Upon arrival at Caves des Producteurs de Vouvray, I was met by many pleasant things. First, there was this nicely sized shop filled with the most delicious looking wines, juices, wine-jellies, and bubbly. Second, there was a very nice tour guide who, I must admit, was one of the few attractive French men I've seen thus far in my visit. He lead us first to a room with traditional wine press machines and gadgets which were mad baller:
Then we entered into the CAVES.
It was cool, damp, and dark - some parts cold enough to freeze some of the wine (will explain later). The tunnels ran underground some 7 km long. One friend told me that a couple of silly tourists wandered into the cave one day and a guide had to go running after them - getting lost in some parts which are pitch black or venturing a particularly windy path would be less than ideal. It was so much fun! We looked at rows and rows of Vouvrays, each bottle turned on its side depending on its age and fermentation process. The caretakers put white tape on each bottle to mark when the bottle was turned. All the bottles are turned by hand - and there are thousands of them! They are also set in crates with a lever you can press to change the inclination of the bottles. Only the bubblies are inclined completely upside down. After a wine has been sitting for a while, the sediment falls to the bottom of the bottom. In order to get the sediment out, the bottles are inclined so that the sediment settles at the neck of the bottle. Then, they are stored at the perfect temperature so that only the liquid at the neck of the bottle is frozen (the sediment part) - the bottles then go through this machine where the frozen capsuls are popped out of the bottles, and then the bottles are re-sealed.
Most if not all Vouvray wines (which are white) use grapes called Chenin Blanc, which are native to the region. There are many different wineries along the Loire river of both reds and whites, but Vouvray is the second largest maker of bubbly, the first being the region of Champagne. Personally, I prefer Vouvray's sparkling wine, of which there are two kinds: First, "Méthode Traditionnelle," or more widely known by its former name of "Méthode Champenoise." This kind has more bubbles and is better for parties, etc.
The second is "Vouvray Petillant” which has finer bubbles. Thus, you can taste more of the wine itself. I liked Vouvray Petillant the best, but bought a bottle of still white for my parents.
After the tour, we had a tasting and I tried seven different wines - brut, sec, demi-sec, stills and sparkling.
The sweeter ones are made with grapes that are picked later in the maturation process, the dry ones with early, younger grapes. I had this one kind that was so sweet, it tasted like honey. It even moved more slowly in the glass - very cool. After finishing the wine, we hit up the shop. Then, with a slightly rosy face and a heavy,clinking plastic bag, I left with the girls walked through the countryside munching a baguette.

On our way back to the bus station, I thought, wouldn't it be cool if I could have a French grandma whom I could visit in Vouvray? Together, we would pick fresh legumes from her garden, laugh at French jokes, and, elbow deep in dough and our noses covered with flour, we would kneed the bread for fresh, brick-oven baked baguettes for that evening's dinner. In the midst of this day-dream, my friend, Amber (who very may well be a kindrid spirit!) and I passed by this smiling elderly French lady standing in a small garden. "Grandma?" I thought. But I didn't want to miss the bus so I hurried on. Sure enough, just as we reached the stop, we saw the 61 rounding the corner...imagine our relief - our persons laden with heavy bags of alcohol. But the bus didn't stop. In slow motion - it passed - our mouths gaping in disbelief - the faces of several dozen school children smashed against the windows, laughing and making faces at us. "Catch the next one - this one's full!" The driver managed to yell at us (in French, of course), before continuing on his way. Right. The next one. In forty minutes. So we all found some shade and sat. But soon I grew restless. One girl suggested that a few of us go on a walk, so, in hopes of seeing that French grandma again, I tagged along.

We took the same path full of lovely small homes and gardens. We approached this one particularly beautiful old home, and I began to think about what it would be like to live there. I was so caught up in my reverie, that I almost did not notice, straight in front of me....GRANDMA!
"Oh my God!" I told Amber. "There she is!"
I stared at Grandma, and was gathering up the courage to speak to her, until she shifted, and I saw behind her...ANOTHER GRANDMA...and they were having a jolly time. 2 french grandmas?! - so joyous I could not speak. So Instead, I stared creepily as I passed - slowing down and smiling at them...until the first grandma could not help but notice me and she spoke - (in French) - "you were the girl I just saw!"
Me: Yes that was me!
Grandma: Oh okay.
Me: My name is Jean!
Grandma: Lovely.
Me: Yes, I am an American student and these are my friends, we are all students, who are here to check out the wine caves.
Grandma: Oh yes. We never go - it is to far to walk...

Then she started telling me about her family and we stood out there and chatted like that for the next 15 minutes or so until my friends and I had to leave. Before we parted, she said something to me which I did not quite understand...but I did pick out the word "encore," which means "again," so...I thought about it...and maybe she said "I hope I see you again!" Which would be REALLY COOOL because I want to go back (maybe a bike trip this time) and be friends with her and the other grandma! Yayyyyy!

bon nuit, bonjour

Yesterday was a day of water and flowers, flies and gypsies, and sun. Lots of sun. But then again, every day is full of sun, (en français, soliel), because right now in Tours, it is dark for only 8 hours a day - the sun does not set until around 10 pm and rises around 6am.

The morning and part of the afternoon was filled by mon classe français, during which we talked about ourselves - how old are you, what is your name, where were you born, what is your nationality...do you like cats...how much do you make a year(to which i answered,-40,000 dollars) ...then we learned the proper way of asking someone if they were single, to which one replies, if answering in the affirmative, "oui, je suis celebataire"...which of course sounds terribly monk-ish, or for the sans-virginity obsessed, quite ghastly...

----for the past 10 minutes, this girl next to me has been watching on youtube a series of prokofiev's violin concertos while flinging her head to every dramatic beat.. resulting in her long hair flicking my arm...oop, there it goes...flick..flick...flick...one moment please while i grab some sheers...
----

BACK. :)

Then we had to guess the answers to the aforementioned questions in regards to our teacher, a 34 year old Parisienne divorcée who found cats comçi comça and played a little soccer - jouer au foot. Then we had to describe his caractère - which included his physical appearance - and someone in my group wanted to use le mot (the word) "skinny" which, in french, sounds quite uncomplimentary... "malgré." I found it reminiscent of, as we say in anglais, "emaciated," and did not want to offend, so I suggested that our group use a less negatively charged mot, hmmm, how about le mot "fit," a lovely euphemism for "skinny." The group agreed. So I looked up the french mot for "fit," in my handy dandy français-anglais dictionnaire, and waited for everyone else to finish.
Another group presented first, and sure enough, when it came to le caractère de Frédéric, they used that terrible word....
"Je suis malgré?!" Frédéric cried.
He gestured at our group, seeking some assurance, and looked straight at me...
"No, I stuttered...umm...tu es...propre." I was nervous at the sudden spotlight.
"Je suis...quoi?" (I am what?) asked Frédéric.
I could not tell if it was because he did not understand what I had said or if I had actually, in my haste, mispronounced "propre" so terribly that I had unknowingly thrown out some other mot from my little saucer of French babble
"Um....propre?" I responded.
"Un phrase complète, s'il vous plait" (a complete phrase, please).
"Tu es propre?"
"What?" cupping his ear.
"TU ES PROPRE!"
"Propre? What is propre?"
And now i didn't want to say it because I had finally realized how shady it would seem if I were telling my single, french teacher, "I think you are fit..."


So after unintentionally hitting on my language instructing and learning how to pick up Pièrres, I went to la musée de beaux-arts, which is about a 10 minute walk from L'institut de Touraine. The museum itself, I found mediocre, but I loved the garden and lay out in the sun for an hour, until I was woken up by a drone of clear-colored flies. So I got up and I walked amongst the wild roses (I think they are becoming my new favorite flower) pink and white and cream and yellow and peach wild roses. I reached an old stone, vine-covered wall. Apparently an elephant used to live behind that wall...

In the wall, there was a wooden gate with a small key-hole filled with spiderwebs. I sat on a bench facing the gate and thought about the Secret Garden, Fairy stories, and nymph tales. My mind really wanted to form a new idea for a children's story but could not come up with a good plot. I just got more and more frustrated with my writer's block (which has been standing strong ever since my arrival) until it was time for me to go home and change for my first French Rotary Club meeting - also, a couple appeared next to me and started making out...and no one wants to see that, especially if they are both old and ugly...

so I walked to center city - centre ville, hopped on the bus, arrived home, and took a hot shower with my new French pommegranate conditioner which apparently is now all the rage...

... but as soon as I was ready to head out the door, I got a phone call from the president of the Tours club, who told me that this week's meeting would be extremely short and that i should come to the next one prepared to give a 15 minute speech in French about my hopes for the future relationship between France and America ....after I expressly told him - JE NE PARLE EN FRANçAISE BIEN ...
Indeed, I felt pretty screwed. So I grabbed my kicks and went on a looong run.

I've been told by a few other students not to go along the rivière ( specifically the Loire River) by myself if I could help it, especially not at night. But this advice was too reminiscent of the advice given to me during my freshmen year at Penn regarding West Philly....and it was not yet night.... so I went running along the rivière.
And it was très jolie! There were lots of gypsies and guys with dreadlocks (perhaps gypsies w dreadlocks?) along the bank, and they looked like they were having so much fun that I wanted to join them. But I'm not yet completely crazy so I practiced some self control and minded my own business. Luckily, soon one of them stopped to speak w me - he shouted out in French, "Hey, what you're doing there looks hard,"...(thank you? I know Im sweaty but I've been running for an hour in hot weather which is prob more than you can say for yourself.... and he was, at first a little creepy, but then turned out to be quite delightful - he asked me if I was having a good time, to which I gave a long response that he understood (!!!!!!!) and then asked me if I would like a cup of coffee, which I was obliged to decline. I continued on my way and got lost in a quartière (but it was okay because i was able to amuse myself with the loveliest narrow cobblestone streets), and an hour before dark, unintentially found my way back to the foot of the main bridge.

There on a old wooden bench sat a homeless man I had seen on the first day of my arrival in Tours. He wore a faded blue tie and carried a plastic bag from one of the most expensive stores in the city.
"Bon nuit!" I told him.
He looked up - it was beginning to dusk. "Bon nuit," he responded, and after a second, added, "Et bonjour."
After a moment's hesitation, "Bonjour," I responded, turned, and ran back home.

"Just as well," I thought to myself. After all, in Tours, it is dark for only 8 hours a day.

la premiere classe

Jeez louiz i must be the oldest person here. i awoke after a very long night of bizarre dreaming - see additional post for a full account - and was met, at the gates of Institut de Touraine, by another nightmare - under-age drunk crazies.. yipeeee...

guy 1 - like omigod where can we party?
girl 1 - I am so excited to get like...DRUNK
guy 1 - we can practice our french
guy 2 - je suis gayyyyy

Actually, a whole bunch of them were gay and really wanted to find a gay bar. And the girls just wanted to hook up w sleazy french guys ...tempting...
... so I decided to hang out w my roommate and her friends - a group of international students from China studying at Bard College in NYC. Now after several ours of hearing only rapid Chinese youd think id want to slice my head open with a cheese knife and stuff it with paté, but they were all so nice i actually had a good time. We all went on a walking tour for about an hour - the cobblestone streets were nothing close to anything i had seen before - even caesars palace in the great land of Las Vegas - surprise surprise - because these streets and these buildings resonated with the very weight of anicent. Très vieux. We passed by so many cool restaurants and so many small shops i have never felt so greedy in my entire life - wanting to guwwle EVERYTHING...all at once.
Upon our return, I rented a mobile for my " month stay - one which could receive calls but not dial unless i also purchased a phoen card. But My newfound friends from China were so patient and waited for me - so i decided to look fr a phone card on the way to lunch.

Me - where do you want to go?
Chinese friends - To a chinese restaurant
Me - ...really?
Chinese friends - yes.
Me - but we are in france...
*Chinese friends already walking down the road to a faux front bombarded by tacky, generic paper lanterns*
Feeling bad for making them wait for so long, i followed. but alas, the restaurant was closed.
OUVRE LES PORTES ( open the doors) - shouted one of my friends
We continued down the cobblestone street, past the delicious aromas of the various FRENCH restaurants..until we got to row of three different restaurants all covered w crappy paper lanterns.
Look- I cried, hungry enough to eat anything by now...
yes yes - they responded and headed toward the middle one..which was the only one of the three that was un restaurant japonaise, not chinoise.
We all sat down, the owner came out, and began to talk rapidly to my Chinese friends in Chinese. I tried to follow their expressions - but it was absolutely impossible - so I whipped out my french-english dictionary to look up the word for pre-paid phone card.
observing my non-participation, one girl leaned over - Our waitress is from Taiwan - she whispered.
Ah, oui? I responded, my go-to response to show interest for any passing comment
We ordered food, which came out to 12 euros for me - about 15 dollars - which is très pricey for mediocre asian food - one plate which came out with patches of duck furr remaining on the skewered meat...

I sat there, drinking my miso soup, thinking
There I was in France, sitting at a Japanese restaurant owned by a Taiwanese lady listening to rapid Chinese while speaking in English, holding up a French-English dictionary, and trying to find the right word for telephone card....which is, as I later found out...*in a french accent* telephone card.