Guest Traveler Story - Mercy Mercy

Guest Traveler: Max Griffin*

I arrived via train from Ramstein AFB in Germany where I had been teaching a course in statistics. I felt a bit intimidated since I speak no French. So worried was I, that I had memorized the phrase "I have a reservation" for use when I checked in at my hotel. The desk clerk responded at once in English without batting an eye. In fact, I found everyone I met in France to be delightful and more than happy to speak in English -- perhaps because I at least made the effort to initially attempt to communicate in French using a phrase book.

Now to my story. I checked in to my hotel in the early afternoon and was most eager to begin sight-seeing. It was a short walk -- perhaps a mile -- from my hotel to the Louvre. I memorized the route on my map and found my way with no problem at all. I even passed by the residence of Blaise Pascal, the famous 18th century mathematician.

As I walked along the Seine, enjoying the sights of this marvelous city, I happened to pass a Metro stop. I paused for a cafe au lait and people watched for a bit; I found it amazing that I could spot nationalities by their walk. In fact, the cowboy swagger of Americans was the most distinctive.

Finishing my coffee, I strolled on toward the Louvre, now feeling somewhat conspicuous with my typical American gait. About two blocks from the Louvre entrance, I heard a voice behind me, in a most distinctive Bronx accent, "Excuse me! Excuse me, sir!"

I turned and saw two ladies staring right at me, holding guidebooks in one hand. I pointed to myself and raised my eyebrows and their faces broke into ingratiating smiles. "Do you speak English, sir?"

"Why, yes, I do," I responded, giving them my best Iowa farm boy smile.

I saw relief wash across their faces. "Oh, thank heavens," one exclaimed. "Can you tell us where to find the Metro?" She spoke with a precise and loud intonation, as if volume would improve my comprehension.

Having just seen the Metro stop, I replied, "It's just two blocks down this street." I pointed the way and continued, "You can't miss it."

"Mercy, Mercy!" one exclaimed.

I beamed and nodded to them. "Glad to be of service, madam," said I. It began to dawn on me that these two ladies thought I was a native of this fair city and "mercy" was really "merci." I guessed that my American gait made me seem somehow more approachable than those with the German shuffle or the French prance.

"You speak such good English," exclaimed the lady with the most pronounced Bronx accent. I could barely understand her. "How did you ever learn to speak it so good?"

I beamed at her. "I went to school in Iowa, madam."

She looked blank for a moment, no doubt thinking Iowa was that place where they raise all those potatoes. "Ah, you must have been an exchange student! Well, thank you very much, mon-sewer." The two toddled off to the Metro and I proceeded to the Louvre, having done my good deed for the day.

No doubt the two returned to New York to regale their friends with a tale of the nice French exchange student they met in Paris who learned such good English in Iowa while eating potatoes. At least, I hope so.

*If you are interested in reading more of Max Griffin's work, please go to:

http://mathguy.writing.com/

Calais to Dover- 1985

France was just another stepping stone to get to our destination. We situated ourselves on a ferry which ran from Calais to Dover. All we wanted to do was to get to the other side. I don't think I bothered to look out at the water or to gaze back at France.

Clearing the English customs proved to be a tedious process. The custom's personnel looked at our passports and immediately 'drugs' must have come to mind. We had traveled through countries which were known for such things. I'm sure our appearance didn't help; traveling in the wee Morris didn't do much for our attire. We were asked to step out of the car while it was examined throughly. Mirrors on long poles checked out the undercarriage. All the tires were tapped as was the sides of the car. We waited impatiently as the inspection went on, what a relief when we were told we could get back in the car. Off we drove towards our final destination: London.

parlez vous francais? -1985

Not long after we entered France the sun slid down across the sky and we knew it was time to find a place to pitch our tent. As we circled a corner we saw a lovely meadow sprawled out in front of us. We found a spot hidden from the road; the tent went up easily and we started preparing dinner. A gurgling sound nearby turned out to be a brook running through the meadow. After dinner we sat next to the brook drinking tea and watching the wind play with the flowers. Some cows in a field just beyond us made some polite conversation with each other. If the word 'bliss' could be put into a package and marketed it would resemble this scene.

The rest of our time in France was not as restful. We sped towards Paris where we met up with Stephen's sister, Alison. She was studying in Paris and we bunked with her for a few nights while we took in the sights. Of course we had to go up the Eiffel Tower. I'm not sure why we walked up most of the way, but we did. Unfortunately, Alison stumbled on the way up and injured her knee. She was supposed to be in an orienteering competition the next day but her injury prevented her from participating. Despite the fall, we all enjoyed ourself on top of the Eiffel Tower. We flew paper airplanes down and watched them circle around in flight.



Not being able to speak French was a big hindrance. Note to self: Learn French before going back to France!

What are my favorite memories of the time in France? road side cafes, cute odd shaped cars, and the lovely architecture. The hostel Alison stayed in was a former hotel built 100's of years before. The walls, the windows, and the doors vied to get my attention. They were telling me stories of what once had been. If only I had stopped long enough to listen, I may have written a novel.

zoom zoom zoom-1985

Fast cars, vivacious people and beautiful scenery made up what we saw of Italy. Everyone drove as if they were in a car race. The people dressed like they were going for a fashion show. As for the scenery, I couldn't get enough of it.

We did not take the big motorways. Our decision was once again based on limited finances. We chose the side streets and roads. I think we chose the better path. The side roads gave us a more realistic view of Italy.

The wee Morris found its way to the Mont Blanc Tunnel. It would have been nice to go up into Switzerland, but the little Morris huffed and puffed enough as it was. We decided to go through the tunnel. Bidding 'arrivederci' to Italy- and 'bonjour' to France we were well on our way to reaching our destination.