To the left is a picture of what I left behind- the French Riviera, part of my last mini-vacation before I leave London and head on back to the USA.
My stay in Aix-en-Provence was tres magnifique (that's right, after only 4 days I'm fronting like I actually know the language). I was able to fully capitalize on the extent of my knowledge of the French language: Bonjour, Bon soir, merci, au revoir, oui. My hostess/friend/fellow Trini-gyal (she is actually from the island, me- a mere 1st generation impostor) played interpreter. This was the case almost everywhere I went- I had a travel guide, a friend who spoke the local language. Or at least I was in a place where enough people were English speaking- ahhh the results of cultural imperialism and globalization. All I felt I had to do was arm myself with with a few choice words: Ciao, grazie, dov'e il bano, hola, gracias, adios, you get the picture.
Then, when I got to the airport in Marseille I swaggered into the Departures terminal like a seasoned traveler. Went through security, and walked up to the gates and waited. And waited. And waited. And looked around to the screens that list the departure city, airline and departure time. My flight wasn't listed- anywhere. So after a lot of pacing up and down trying to find the answers to my dilemma, I went back down to the airport police, to the brave Frenchmen who stamped my passport.
After a few exchanges in which I tried to explain that my French was extremely limited, one of the passport control cops went with me to find my gate. And they say the French are snobs! This guy was really nice, even as I struggled to understand and replied in Spanish sometimes (it is a Romance language). He eventually lead me to my proper departure terminal, in a totally different part of the airport. And when he left I couldn't for the life of me remember what was the word for "thanks a lot" in French. So merci beaucoup, friendly officer, wherever you are.
This is why one should always get to the airport early.
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