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Our first day in France

May 29, 2011 Leave a comment

Traveling from the west coast of the US to France is no short trip.  Jen and I had to be up early for the drive to the airport.  After flying across the US and catching our second flight, we didn’t arrive in Paris until the next morning.  I am always envious of people who can sleep on a plane, but I rarely get anything more than a few fitful minutes of rest.

After being picked up at the airport and taken to our apartment in the western suburbs of Paris, we went with some of the staff from the church for lunch at a local cafe.  At this point, I am pretty tired and my goal is just to stay awake.   But a nice lunch sounds good, so we as we walk through our town I am just happy that I am going to get to eat.

After sitting down at our table, I look down at my menu.  I was fairly confident that I would find something on there that I will recognize and like to eat, even though I didn’t really know any French at this point.  It was mostly sandwiches, so I thought I could figure it out.  Boy was I wrong.  I looked over the menu multiple times to try and figure out something to eat.  But there was not one thing that I could recognize.  There wasn’t a word on there that made any sense to my tired brain.

One thing you should know about Jen is that she loves to take her time poring over a menu to decide what she is going to eat.  So, as much as I needed help, she was concentrating on figuring out what she wanted to eat.  The other people at lunch with us were in a conversation and didn’t notice my plight.  So here I am, tired and hungry, at a cafe, and I think I might starve.

Eventually I pester Jen enough for her to decide to help me out and we find something that I will eat.  As I am sitting there, I come to the realization how much I like to eat, especially at restaurants.   On the walk home, I tell Jen that the French lessons need to start soon and I want to learn every food related term that I can.  I am happy to report that in a short time I could not only figure out a menu, but I could order (in my horribly accented French) for myself.  If nothing else, I wouldn’t starve while we lived in France, which was good for me.

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