I took German at school. To 7th form, some of you will find hard to believe. All I can remember is a really useless phrase that was the beginning of a speech I had to memorise for an exam. So French...I know nothing. Bonjour and Merci are the extent of my vocabulary. Gary told me that he took French at school so I was lured into a false sense of security.
We have seen one boat we really like, but decided to head to Martinique to see the beneteau 473 that is on the top of our list to make sure we have seen everything before we offer. To get to Martinique we had to fly to San Juan in Porto Rico first, then fly on. An exceptionally expensive journey! We quickly learn that Porto Rico is actually America, and we again brave customs and beg to be let into the states so we can fly on.
We fly into Martinique at 10.30pm. I attempt to tell the taxi driver the name of our hotel, but resort to writing it down. We searched for our hotel on expedia with two criteria. 1: price and 2: vicinity to the airport. The map told us that the hotel was only 7km from the airport. What a lie! After 30 minutes of driving into the middle of nowhere, I begin to question whether the taxi driver is instead taking us to his lair to disembowel us! However, just around the corner and 60 Euro later (!!!) we arrive at our hotel. It is dark and we can't appreciate our surrounding entirely. The hostess is absolutely lovely though. "Bonjour" she says. "Bonjour" I reply with great enthusiasm. She then continues to speak to us quickly in fluent French. At first I wonder whether my "Bonjour" was just a little too convincing and she thinks I'm French, but quickly realise that she doesn't speak a word of English. After some impromptu sign language, we manage to understand enough for her to feel satisfied that she has done her duty at explaining the room's utilities.
We woke to an orchestra of birds and bugs. We looked out our window to find an absolutely fantastic view of the ocean. We are on top of a hill, with 180-degree views. The hotel is charming and so French. We took heaps of photos for you, but unfortunately our camera card got corrupted so we lost them all! So here is a link to the hotel: http://www.tripadvisor.com/Hotel_Review-g147329-d574095-Reviews-Domaine_de_l_Anse_Ramier-Trois_Ilets_Martinique.html
We ventured to the local corner store and bought a bag of baguettes for breakfast. We had a meeting with the broker at 9, so quickly make the uphill slog back to the hotel. As we stumbled into the hotel gates we saw the broker pull up. Sweating and exhausted, we fell into his car and headed for the boat. Thankfully, the broker spoke a little English so we were able to converse to some extent.
After viewing the boat, we decided to head back into the small town and eat lunch. It is about 3pm, a little late, but there are a number of cafes on the beach so we were confident we could find something. The menus are all in French. I ask Gary what things mean, but he is unable to translate. We spent so long attempting to unravel the menu, deciding to go with the "sandwich" as this is the only word we understand, that the kitchen had closed by the time we headed to the counter! None of the other cafes were open either so we headed back to the corner store.
While looking at cheeses and saying "Fromage" very loudly to Gary (is that even French??), a nice French man comes up to me and starts talking...in French. I look bewildered and shake my head. I don't even know how to say, "I can't speak French". The words "no comprendo" are all that are coming to mind. Gary is two feet away but does not come to my rescue. The more uncomfortable I look, the more this man talks to me. I end up very rudely running to hide behind Gary. We join the line at the counter and my heart sinks as I see the man is now in front of us in the line. He again turns around and tries to converse. Gary finally says something about "compompa" and the man seems to understand that I have no idea what he is saying. He STILL continues to talk to me in French. I have a feeling that he is lecturing me on how I shouldn't come to France without knowing French, that I should go back to where I came from. He then points at the French sticks that I am holding and says "deux baguette" and looks at me. "Deux baguette" I reply. His face lights up and he says again "deux baguette". When I get to the front of the line, I say to the lady "duex baguette" and she laughs then says something non comprehensible. I leave the shop feeling mortified and wishing I had taken French at school. I berate Gary about not saving me, but apparently his French lessons were also a waste of time!
Our next obstacle was attempting to order a taxi for 6am the following morning. I confidently told Gary that of course the taxi people will speak English, and I ring the number and say "Parlez-vous anglais?” Apparently no one in Martinique speaks English. I hand the phone to Gary and again run away. He has little success either. I resort to knocking on the flat next to us and again attempt my one French sentence (thanks Dad!). Thankfully she understands me! but she too has little luck with the taxi company who can't understand the French woman on our bad skype line. We decide to attempt to converse with the French Hostess and ask her to get us a taxi. This again consists of sign language and misunderstandings. But she finally understands and calls us a taxi. She then points at a piece of paper that we surmise is the bill. Gary runs off to get his wallet and I am stuck with the lovely French Lady. She begins telling me something and pointing at the top of the door. I am stumped at what the top of the door has to do with anything. I shake my head, but all she can do is to continue to point at the top of the door. By some miracle I realise she is telling me to put the keys through the slats in the top of the door when we leave in the morning. "Oui! Oui!" I say and point at the set of keys on her desk. She is overjoyed that I have understood her and throws her arms in the air. Gary finally returns after what has felt like an eternity. We pay our bill and go to leave. She again points at the top of the door and I say "Oui!, Oui". But my newfound confidence in French is shattered as I hear what is then coming out of my mouth as we walk out......"Auf wiedersehen"....What an idiot!
No comments:
Post a Comment