“No One Speaks English in Paris.” Well, Not Exactly

Our hotel in Amsterdam had arranged our transportation to the train station. It wasn’t far, but traffic was congested. Once there, we boarded the Thalys, the high-speed train from Amsterdam to Paris with a single stop in Brussels (it’s now called the Eurostar). 

My wife had taken French in high school and college, but I think we were both slightly apprehensive about Paris. I’d been told that no one in Paris spoke English except English-speaking tourists, “and if even if a French person does, they’ll never admit it and just stare at you with a blank look.” I’d also been told, “They don’t like Americans.”

 

I would learn a French word, or, more precisely, a phrase. It would get branded on my brain the entire time we were in Paris.

To continue reading, please see my post today at Tweetspeak Poetry.

Photograph: the Louvre at night, via Unsplash.

Some Thursday Readings

 

Tipping Your Kayak – poem by Sarah Chestnut at The Rabbit Room.

 

Poetry as Reclamation – Huma Sheikh at Writer’s Digest.

 

Soft words – poem by Sonja Benskin Mesher.

 

“Nightwind,” poem by John Clare – Sally Thomas at Poems Ancient and Modern.

 

Sharing the Grail – poem by David Whyte.

 

“There Will Be Stars,” poem by Sara Teasdale – Sally Thomas at Poems Ancient and Modern.