We have great seats; three rows from the front and dead centre. To get to them however, we need to pass a small group of twenty-something Frenchmen who are conversing animatedly. ‘Excusez moi.’ I say to the fellow on the end of the row, and they all stand to let us pass. ‘Merci.’ I add as we pass them.‘Ne rien.’ replies the first fellow. And I chuckle all the way to my seat; his response was immediate, it didn’t even strike him as novel that the rosbif spoke to him in French, in the English capital. Oblivious, he just took the exchange at face value, which pleases me, for that is true hospitality, no?
6 comments:
You are a model of graciousness.
What's with the food insults? They call Germans something along the lines of bangers & mash.
August
The French are obsessed with food. Obsessed.
Puss
Not being a fan of the French, along with my English sister in law who is so openly prejudice against any French or Irish man, I would think that being in England, they would have spoken English to you-maybe it is the current mindset in America these days about speaking English.....
But, you are gracious.
Frankly, I'm stunned that you were treated hospitably by the French, since I've always find them to be boors.
Then again, I'm not a young woman with a physique honed by dancing....
Everybody loves a 'tschuss' in Berlin.
Parisians may be a bit gruff, but that fake buddy 'have a nice day' obsequiousness creeping in over here is far worse in my book. I don't blame them for being protective of their highly enviable history, culture and style. Vive la difference.
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