Stuck in France, Part II

“ExCUSE me, would you mind if we watched the fashion channel?” said Ash.

They slowly turned around to face us. “We’re both Dutch,” said the older one in a slow, methodical voice. “The Netherlands is playing Argentina in the World Cup Finals, and we’re not changing the channel.”

Ash has a dead-pan expression, unrivaled in any country. She looked perturbed. And just a bit bitchy. And, did I notice the beginnings of a pout?

So, we were stuck. Having missed the ferry, there was no way to return to the UK at 8 pm: no planes, no car to drive through the tunnel, no magic carpets, no trains, no genie. We had to stay in France for the night, and all rooms were booked at every hotel we called. We thought of sleeping in the ferry terminal, but the floor was cold, hard tile, and we had brought nothing but handbags and good walking shoes. Eventually we found a seedy hotel in the outskirts of town (with a $30 taxi ride one way, mind you, because the US dollar isn’t very strong, these days, against the Euro), with one room vacant. We took it. Minus tooth brushes, we bought two welcome kits, complete with condoms (“preservatif fin lubrifie avac reservoir”- gotta love that reservoir tip!) and hunkered in for the night.

The room was atrocious. Ash was sure that the lumpy mattresses had bedbugs, and I tried to assure her otherwise. “I need a stiff shot of hard liquor,” I said, so we trudged back to the lobby in hopes of finding some alcohol to help us out of the doldrums. The closest thing the receptionist could offer was a beer. We accepted.

At least there was a plasma-screen television in the lobby, and at least Holland was playing Argentina. Two men were watching the game.

Ash., trying to make a joke that would make me laugh, said to the men in a loud, prissy voice, “Excuse me, guys, would you mind switching to the fashion channel?”

Silence. No response from the geezers, whose eyes were glued to the screen. They were ignoring us. And they certainly weren’t laughing.

Ash used a louder voice, this time. “ExCUSE me, but could we watch the fashion channel?”

They slowly turned around to face us. “We’re both Dutch,” said the older one in a slow, methodical voice. “The Netherlands is playing Argentina in the World Cup Finals, and we’re not changing the channel.”

Ash has a dead-pan expression, unrivaled in any country. She looked perturbed. And just a bit bitchy. And, did I notice the beginnings of a pout?

“She’s just joking,” I interjected, trying to ease the tension and slapping her arm good naturedly as if to say, “It’s all jolly good fun,mates!”

The Holland fans were not amused. They turned back to the screen. So much for a sense of humor. Their faces were stone. Ash had forgotten the “No talking during the football game” rule of the world.

Behind them, Ash and I snickered over our warm beers.

“What does P.B. stand for?” I asked at half time, trying to be friendly. (Notice I waited till half-time, mind you. I’m quite mannerly when I choose.) After a beat, slowly and with great patience, the ugly spokesman for Holland craned his neck around to inform me that it stands for ‘Le Pays- Bas’, “the low country”, and that it’s the French term for The Netherlands.

“Oh,” I say.

I never took French, I want to tell him. I never took French because I’m Mennonite. I never took French because I’m Mennonite and I attended a one-room school house and were we only allowed to learn Scriptures in the language of the Old Country. I wanted to say that Menno Simmons was from Holland, too, so he and I were probably  distant relatives, if we go back on the family tree far enough.

But, I don’t think this Dutch guy is Mennonite. Mennonites don’t watch football.

Ash and I decided then and there to cheer for Argentina. Loudly. We were two American gals in France cheering for Argentina just because they were playing against Holland.

Oh. And yeah. Most of the Argentinean players were a lot hotter than those from that strange and foreign country called P.B.

Comments

[Flying Monk]

2 American gals in France, watching soccer(!!) on Tv with a bunch of Dutch guys... This could be the scenario for a new reality show!
Sorry to hear that you were "lost in translation" in my home land, while I'm far away...
I look forward to be your guide one day, to show you a bit more than a crappy hotel in north of France...! Cheers Shamash!

[shamash]

Hi, Flying Monk! You're right: it would have been a great reality show, believe me. I wish someone had been filming us: you can't make this stuff up!

Good to hear from you!!!!

[Lamamamajama]

I needed a good laugh! My life has become too intense lately and it is good to see that you are blogging away.
Hey, I read about some flooding in PA, NY, stc. and am hoping your fam is ok.

[shamash]

Hi, LMJ! I'll have to check out the flooding situation. At the moment, I'm not listening or reading the news much. Cheers, mate! ;-)

[Jeremy]

Ok, just laughed out loud at your Menno digs. I never took French (or watched football), either, even though Canada is officially bilingual (with a few million French-speakers). We even had French friends from the neighbouring Catholic towns, but that was clearly not taken into account.

Instead, we had to take German -- regular "high" German, rather than the "Low German" our grandparents still spoke. I don't think they wanted us understanding when the older folks gossiping about us. It was used as a secret code we weren't privy to.

[Michiel]

LOL. I apologise for my stiff countrymen if you'll apologise for yours ;)

[shamash]

Hi, Michiel. Believe me: I am constantly apologizing for my countrymen- almost as much as I am apologizing for our President. :-(