In Paris airport, early Saturday morning. I'd slept badly on the flight and dreamed that Rachel Getting Married was just a bad dream. I awoke to a stark realisation of the truth. It made me feel sick. Possibly that was the wine though.
I was tired and hungry and Paris airport on Saturday morning appeared to contain no food in it. It had some exorbitantly priced fancy boxes containing designer comestibles laid out on space age shelving. But no food.
Then I saw the sign for the restaurants. Asian, French, Italian the sign said. All I had to do was simply follow it. Past the Prada and Boss shops, soulless and uninviting, round by the toilets, up the stairs and voila! The restaurants. Ils sont la. But they didn't look very open. On the contrary.
"La restaurant. C'est ferme?", I asked an airporty woman.
This is how I always speak in French. I just make a statement and then, cleverly, add a question mark on the end. This is easy in writing, but in speech it's harder. You have to add a question mark via the medium of the questioning tone. It's a rare skill which is virtually unteachable.
"Non, non, non", she assured me. "C'est ouvert", pointing at what you see in the picture.
Are you with me here, dear reader? It doesn't look very fucking ouvert does it!
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