I’m going to consider this my “lost weekend” where I learned no French, ate pizza, and drank beer and scotch and nary a drop of wine. The family upstairs had a visitor in from London, a girl named Angeline who knows their daughters, and was visiting just for the weekend. I met her on Friday at the dinner the family was hosting. OK, yes, I had wine at the dinner but that was Friday and I’m thinking Saturday and Sunday. I hadn’t understood that the day before that the father had said she spoke English or that she was living in London since he railed it off rat-a-tat style while hurrying down a hill. So you can only imagine my relief when I explained to her that I had only been learning French since December and she replied simply, “we’ll use English then.” I could have proposed marriage on the spot. She was definitely the highlight of Friday outside of being called a “bad boy,” by the Moldovan. I’m not saying anything but what I will say is this, it was a total accident that lead to the whole “bad boy” comment.
I wake up on Saturday and have no plans except to steal the company car, fix the bike, and ride said bike. I start to head into town when I see Angeline down by the Cave so I stop and she’s waiting for a friend. She asks me what I’m doing that night and I fought all my normal retorts of seeing how many hookers I can get into the trunk or the like and simply state that I have no plans. She proposes we get a drink and I’m all for it. I don’t know if I lived in Los Angeles too long or just know too many flakey people because I half expected her to not show but there she was knocking on my door at seven.
We head out and we’re already laughing which is good. I can be remotely charming in English but with French I’m still a bit, more than a bit, of a Neanderthal.
“You pretty. Eyes. Smell of…” as I point to Jasmin just before pulling out my date club.
She tells me of a small town up the way called Eguisheim that she had seen earlier and it’s either that or we go to the really tacky Safari Bar in Issenheim. We are there in a matter of minutes and the town is, of course, charming as all get out. I think this is the whole town as we stroll along the main street until she turns down a small alleyway and into another world. My god it’s beautiful. The old homes and shudders and lamps and aged glass all tilted over a cobbled road no wider than your average car. Homes ride alongside small restaurants and bars and some bars and restaurants look like homes. We finally decide on Auberge du Rempart and she takes me through the smallish bar area that leads out into a fountained terrace. We talk over my beer and her tomato juice and I tell you, if there wasn’t such an age and intellectual issue I’d pursue this woman with everything I had, me, of course being the one older and obviously less intelligent. We eventually make our way back to the car and so far I haven’t had to speak a word of French and I know I should feel bad for writing this but I felt relieved.
She had asked the lady at Rempart where she thought we should go next and the lady told her a village name that sounds just like this village but with an I instead of an E. We blaze around looking for said town but never find it but we do find the same exit a few times and a couple of turnabouts recognize us as we confusingly circled them. I really didn’t care. She was fun and I enjoyed myself and I’m sure I’ll see her again. The night closes the door and I have to get ready for the next day of Strasbourg with Apolline. Apolline and Angeline, this is something I’d normally screw up.
No comments:
Post a Comment