Margaux's Guide Bleu
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I wrote this in 2020 for a creative writing assignment…
This piece is a series of vignettes about my exchange in France that was full of absurd adventures. Looking back on the trip, I learnt many things that transformed into commandments on how to survive France, more specifically Lyon. Therefore, each vignette is introduced with a biblical style commandment in French that relates to the story. The title is inspired by the French travel guide called “Le Guide Bleu” (the blue guide). The piece features a lot of French dialogue which I wanted to be the main feature of the piece. It is meant to reflect my dual identity and the fact that the French have such an issue with the English language. Therefore, I utilised side by side English translation and also for easy and seamless reading for those who do not want to scroll down to a detached glossary The piece is a humorous autobiographical travel piece that highlights the more dubious parts of France that I gently mock.
There is one thing I learnt during my 3 month séjour in Lyon, France: Life is a farce, learn how to act and play the game. My adventures overseas were what one would witness in La Commedia dell’Arte, La Farce Française. Life is banal but hilariously memorable, and one must accept experiences with gusto. I thought that I would feel at home, given that I am French and a fluent French speaker; however, I was made to feel like a clown. Therefore, I learned to play the game, act like the ‘wanky’ French, in order to enjoy my stay.
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Tu ne te feras pas de films dans la tête | Thou shalt not make stories up in one’s head
France has a sordid history with terrorist attacks. In recent years, it has been a target of terrorists who mow people down in the streets, and massacre crowds of innocents at concerts. This chilling fact was always on my mind; any loud noise or brouhaha would send me into a state of palpitations. One night, my friend Caroline and another mate decided to grab some Poutine, a delicious Quebecois dish of French fries, cheese curd and brown gravy. It sounds appalling; however it is delicious, and the best thing after a few drinks. We spent most of the evening walking and sitting on a rooftop in La Croix Rousse overlooking magnificent Lyon and bitching about the annoying people on our exchange. I began to feel cold and bored, and wanted to have a drink at home, so we headed off and took the Metro A.
Twas’ a ‘typical’ ride: People not giving up seats to disabled people and ignoring people with prams. The minute Caroline and I said something in English; we were met with dirty looks. Suddenly, the train stopped abruptly and I flew forward onto Caroline while she fell backwards onto our friend. The lights went out and everyone gasped whilst the train jolted forward and stopped, throwing me backwards. A choir of screams and shrieks ensued as Caroline fell back again. It was still pitch black and we did not know where we were. Through nervous laughter: we yelled, “Attentat?”, French for terrorist attack. We were stuck for over five minutes, with strange noises. Bing bong, clings clang. People were so agitated and I was ready to pull out my phone and text my family ‘au revoir’. Finally, Caroline looked at me and said, “I don’t want to scare you, but remember earlier today when you told me that those odd smells in the city smelt like a toxic gas?” I let out a nervous shriek, Caroline did the same and we both screamed with terror. We were freaked out! Eventually, the train jolted forward and began moving. The lights came back on, and everyone looked startled, confused, and a little traumatised. This truly set the tone for future adventures and mishaps. Whenever I tell someone this story, they do not believe me and probably think it is all in my head.
Tu ne parleras pas en anglais | Thou shalt not speak English
You would think that after my ordeal on the Metro, I would avoid French public transport altogether; however, I soldiered on with complicated day trips. The Lyonnais hate it when one speaks English. If I had a euro for each time I was smirked at and told off for speaking English, I would be rich enough to afford a studio in Le Marais. I thought my trip to Annecy would be different, the citizens would be charmed by my trilingual ways … I was sorely mistaken. I have no volume control; I do not have an inside voice. I believe that I have a very nice and intriguing voice. I have been told that I sound like I sing when I speak. Anyways, I can be very loud, and I try to keep it down when I am in public. On this trip, I was doing my utmost! I was with Caroline and another friend from Germany, who had the opposite problem. He had a mumbling, soft voice. Whenever he spoke to us, we would not turn to face him! We did speak in English at times, because our friend spoke 0 French. We then stopped chatting and went on our phones. We were almost at Annecy station, when a woman in a red coat sitting a few seats in front of us, turned towards us and scowled, “Do you speak French?” We laughed. “Do you not understand what I’m saying? Do I need to speak in English?” I calmly replied, “We do speak French; can we help you?” She put her finger to her lips and shushed us. It was so embarrassing to watch. I asked her politely what she meant, and she glared at me for over a minute. It was terribly uncomfortable and wanted for her to disappear. Suddenly, she yelled aggressively, “I know that you don’t understand French, and you don’t know what you’re doing here, but some of us on this bus are trying to sleep, and you’ve been speaking loudly in English throughout the whole bus ride.” The “in English” part bothered me. I went crimson red and pursed my lips. This usually means that I want to argue a point. Caroline, diplomatic as always, stepped in and apologised. I yawned loudly and said in French, “If only that silly cow knew that you and I can speak perfect French and English, and we weren’t being loud.” The woman did not dare turn around again. I still think about her. She had the balls to speak to us in that way and I kind of admire for it. I want her level of confidence. She is an icon and yet, a relic of France.
Tu ne demanderas pas de carafe d’eau | Thou shalt not ask for a bottle of water
I adore France and being French. I tend to defend the French when Australians accuse them of being cold and arrogant; however, I realise that the French are not perfect, and I despise many things about what they label “mannerism”. Ten out of ten for food, culture and cobblestones. I can think of no other country, where one is in the 21st century whilst in antiquity or the renaissance, minus the bloodshed. The French are not at all “laissez faire” as they proclaim to be. They can instead be narrow-minded philistines, especially the Lyonais, who mock anyone who is not ‘au fait’ with their social/cultural quirks … their rules with carafes of water. Most cafes or fancy Australian restaurants bring a bottle of tap water to the table. This makes sense. To me, there was nothing wrong with asking for a bottle of tap water, but I learnt my lesson the hard way. When I asked for tap water, they would bring me a tiny glass with a droplet of water. This would gaslight me to the extreme. Although, I did not understand this behaviour, I somewhat caught onto their ‘game’ and would chug the water down, and make them constantly refill my glass.
In Geneva, I thought that they would not be stubborn and cheeky like in Lyon … Oh boy was I wrong! Caroline and I were having delicious rich crepes with our Polish friend, and wanted some water. We politely asked the waiter for some. He asked us to repeat ourselves three times. He spoke French, we spoke French, yet he did not seem to understand us. We felt bad, so we pointed to the carafes behind the bar. He chuckled and said :
“Je comprends, mais pourquoi voulez-vous une carafe d’eau ?” | I understand, but why do you want a bottle of water?
Caroline and I look at each other and tried not to react or laugh. I replied:
“Parce-qu’on a soif.” | Because we are thirsty.
He cocked his head to the side and gave me such a look. I immediately felt stupid and began to slouch in my chair. I snorted and gestured to Caroline as in “You take this one.” – Caroline tried to reason with him by explaining that a carafe of water would be most appropriate because it avoided having to refill everyone’s glass. He rolled his eyes and sniggered, but finally brought a carafe over to us. We pissed ourselves laughing like silly schoolchildren as he placed it on the table. The real kicker here is that after 45 minutes of eating, we had finished the carafe and we asked for another. He never came returned.
Tu respecteras l’heure de départ | Thou shall respect the checkout time
Time is an important concept in Switzerland. This makes sense, as they are known for their watches and timepieces. We can thank Jean Calvin for this, as he “enforced” the creation of wristwatches, rather than ornamental wall clocks. I should have known this, being the punctual person I am, but I missed this chapter in history class. I respect time; I am never late and always arrive 5-10 minutes early for appointments.
Although I had my moments in Geneva, like missing the number 5 bus, or being abused by a waiter at Vapiano, because I asked for chips. Overall, I had a grand time. Everyone at the hotel was warm and friendly, and I even gossiped with the staff about the Lyonnais; however, this all changed when I was attacked. This is not a hyperbole, because when you scream someone down in public and tell them off, it is a verbal attack, and I stand by it. We were told that check out was at 12:00pm, which gave us enough time to leave the hotel by 9:30 -10:00, do some last-minute exploring, and then pick up our bags and check out at 11:50. I wore my cutest outfit; my bag was beautifully packed, and Caroline and I were on our way out the hotel door at 10:15. A tall man, who looked like the bloke from Extras and Jojo Rabbit….Stephen Merchant, suddenly accosted me!
“VOUS FAITES QUOI ?” | WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
I almost tripped on his anger and turned around with my foot stepping on to the street just in case. I needed to escape. He proceeded to berate me further and asked why we left our stuff in our room during ‘cleaning hour.’
I was so confused, and thought, ‘Am I in the twilight zone? Are we in the Swiss speaking part of Geneva?’ I tried to reason with him.
“Je n’ai pas compris monsieur. On est des clients, on est en train de sortir pour la journée.” | I do not understand sir. We are guests and are going out today.
“QUELLE EST L’HEURE DE CHECKOUT ? C’EST QUOI ? ” | WHAT IS OUR CHECK OUT TIME? WHAT IS IT?
I tried to explain to him that their checkout time was at noon, and that we would be back at 11:50 to check out.
“Il y a un problème?” | Is there a problem? I ask confused.
He crossed his arms like a spoilt brat, making the concierge blush and the lounging guests in the lobby jump. He was the sheriff in town.
“LE CHECK OUT EST À 11H00 ! ON DOIT NETTOYER VOTRE CHAMBRE ! ON NE PEUT PAS LE FAIRE AVEC VOS MONTAGNES DE BAGGAGES !” | CHECK OUT IS AT 11AM! WE HAVE TO CLEAN YOUR ROOM! WE CANNOT DO THAT WITH YOUR MOUNTAIN OF LUGGAGE!
I retorted and told him that checkout was at noon, and we were told this upon our arrival.
He began to look a little less rabid, turned to the concierge, and had words with him. He then looked up at us trying to hide his embarrassment. He gestured for us to go upstairs.
“Montez à l’étage et prenez vos affaires, laissez-les au concierge et récupérez-les à 15h. S’il vous plaît, et ne laissez rien. Ne refaites pas cela” | Go back upstairs and grab your things and leave them at the concierge and them up at 3pm. Don’t leaving anything behind please. Do not do this again.
My ears were burning, and I wanted to bite him, but Caroline said something witty to him, something that I cannot remember and that she could not confirm. We stomped upstairs and wanted to leave a little surprise, but Caroline yelled with such gusto, making me laugh with tears: “I could spit or pee on the sheets, but I will not, because I was actually raised!”
What Caroline actually meant to say was that she was not raised like an animal.
Tu ne cracheras ni ne pisseras sur ceux qui te manquent de respect
Thou shalt not spit nor piss on those who disrespect you
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