As you know, noon is only halfway through the day. So, as I proceeded through my day, I made it to a wine museum. It went in-depth the process and bottling and labels ....How wine came to be, essentially. I made my stroll around the city and made little pit stops along the way. I return to my hostel in the center of the beautiful town of Bordeaux and made eye contact with the Beautiful owner resembling the Beauty and the Beast Prince with a surfer's twist. He was in the corner of the cafe on 40 of the hostel. Unfortunately, that was the only time I saw him again. But, hey! That was enough for me;)) Then I made my way to one of the most beautiful churches and oldest of the city. It was barricaded by policeman dressed in similar uniforms that American SWAT teams wear. They held glass Shields and were standing in front of barricades and colossal vans. None of them spoke English; I'm still not certain what was going on, all I know is some of them were from Paris which is at least a three-hour drive away. That's not terrifying at all for a young American in a foreign country where Isis is on the move. Phoning my best friend, I managed to make it to another church and just balled in the pew. After Mass, which was 35 minutes longer than a typical Catholic Mass (not just because it was in a different language), I breathed and took off, in pursuit of a wine bar to enjoy the culture of Bordeaux. It's my only night here and I need to get the most of it, a pep talked myself. Google Maps failed me again and I ended up not finding the place with 5 star rating. Instead, I circled my current location and found a hole in the wall Wine Bar. The Frenchman behind the bar was much older, but much kinder than I'd encountered at other food shops in the city. He pour me a glass of red wine and was able to understand a little bit of my English. In between helping other customers, he passed me a piece of cheese. Here, to compliment. It was a strong piece of Parmesan that complemented the wine beautifully. He didn't even charge me for it. He suggested I said next to a gentleman eating hummus and drinking wine at one of the petite booths. A man with a gentle face and a colorful scarf looked up through his thick oval rimmed glasses. "Bonjour." Oh shit, I thought. He read my face and replied, "You no know French?" Sheepishly, I replied, "no, English is my only language. " His style was hipster mixed with intellect. My guess for his age was possibly 36. He studied me as I did him and certainly couldn't translate his conclusion. I did, however, notice his eyes returned to the blue pieces in my hair more than once. Not sure he was into the "edgier type," but anyone that knows me would laugh at Stephanie and edgy being used in the same sentence. His eyes were kind, which were reinforced by his next gesture: "Here, I help you," he said leaning over the table, while maintaining eye contact. "Ju ma pair is my name is." Staring at him like he was speaking a different language (HA!) ,I stuttered nervously, "Ju ma paa-ir?" "Wee. Now what is your name, say it." "Stephanie." "Oh? That is a French name, Stephanie." He exaggerated my name with a bold French accent. "Woah, really? I didn't know my name was French." "Slowly, slow with your English, Stephanie." There he goes with special pronunciation. Gosh, French really is an appealing language. "Yes, I talk really fast. Oh-- I mean, I. talk. really. fast. Sorry." Laughing at my unnatural slowed speech, he continued with his lesson. "Como tu pair? Your name is?" "Oh." "Repeat it." "Oh," laughing I continued, "yeah, como tu pair?" "Ju ma pair, Landry." Another French-ass name, I thought. New Orleans actually has a famous restaurant chain called Landry's, I thought to myself. My Cajun culture is coming in handy. Smiling, I continued conversation as I could. I turned to Google translate when we had trouble. There was a table of French girls, at arms reach to my left, his right that were observing our interactions. Quite certain they were judging the "stupid American," I timidly continued with the lesson stating, "Tu pair Landry, Ju ma pair, Stephanie." "Yay!!" The girls sang. "Very (ved-ey) good," the blonde with bangs praised. Feeling my cheeks warm, I timidly said, "thank you." Smiling and laughing, they looked at Landry, whom beamed at his work. They left the shop a bit later, but Landry and I continued to talk (or attempt to). He is an artist and a chef-- of course he is! He began showing me some of his art work-- he's quite good. He asked what I did, aside from being an aupair. I glowed about my writing and showed him one of my poems, translated into French, courtesy of Google Translate. "Oh, wow," he responded. "Do you.... do you want a drink?" "Is the shop not closing?" I said, looking around the shop in which we were currently the only inhabitants, aside from the owner that fed me cheese. "No," he said laughing. "Yes," I smiled. I guess he didn't really hear me because we talked a bit longer, but neither of us got another drink. Knowing I had to wake at 4:30am for my bus back to Madrid, I gathered my things. "Merci... for everything," I said to my new French friend. Then he responded something he had yet to teach me. Puzzled, I gave him a look. "It means, good luck. Good luck, Stephanie." Smiling, I thanked him in English and French again and walked out of the wine shop and his life. Words from my lesson: Tu- you Eel-he or she New- we Miel- honey Formage-cheese Landry Je i Tu. You Paton=spring Il he she Nous we Vous you all of us or "y'all" I taught him, proudly. Ils they E-ver=wint Auton-fall It-eh=summer Pawn=bread Returning to my Hostel, there was a party scheduled to start around 1 and the clock read 11:37 pm. Exhausted emotionally from the safety threat and intellectually from the language lesson, not to mention, last night I slept on a bus (kinda), I made the executive decision to shower and head to my bunk.WHAT? Stephanie, who are you? You're not going to try to dance with some beautiful Frenchman or dare to french kiss a French? I'm dating myself, remember? ;)
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AuthorChef Steph cooking up trouble. If she can't find anything real, she bakes real good sweets. Chocolate really may mend a broken heart... Archives
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