We shoulder our packs, and head on our way. The only problem is, we don't know which way our way is.
The people in London had been amazingly helpful and friendly to us. If we had a question we could ask any of the people bustling off to work or wherever they were going, and they'd stop to give us directions. If they didn't know the directions they'd find them for us. (I must admit I wasn't exactly broken hearted about stopping a gorgeous well dressed man with blondish red hair asking him where some street or another was.) Daren and I felt we had one country down, and three to go.
We were rather rudely awakened. Yeah, it was true we had been to one country. But it was one country where the people are known for being very proper. And I suppose it makes sense, if you're being a proper human being you would help a couple stranded tourists. In France, the attitude reigned supreme.
We could not find our way out of the Metro (subway station) and asked a lady at the information booth for help. She shrugged us off. We couldn't possibly expect her to know English or help us with directions could we? Yeah, I'm being bitter but I feel as though it was freaking an information booth in Paris. At Disney world they have to speak what seven languages to sweep up trash? It's not as though we wandered out in the middle of some town where people still had sheep living in their kitchens. It was Paris. We pointed at our itinerary, hoping she would understand the street names and be able to point us to an exit. She just shrugged us off again, this time with an attitude.
I admit, I took five years of French in High School but at that point in time it had been 5 years since I had used any of it beyond "Est-ce que tu danse nu avec ton chien?" (Do you dance naked with your dog) or "Tu couches avec ton mere." (You sleep with your mother!) And although I would have liked to say such things, it did not seem the best thing to do at that moment.
Eventually we found an Italian tourist who happened to speak French and English and he told us where the exit was. Cool, so we had an exit. But where would we go from there? We found a huge map and were staring at it, trying to make sense of it. After fifteen minutes or so, I decide my itinerary must be wrong. I try to call Keven in the US. I had emailed him copies of our reservations and every other bloody thing in the world, in case something like this happened. The fun thing was, apparently 1-877 numbers are not toll free outside of the US. So, I'm slapping change in the payphone. Oops, that's all British pounds and pense. I don't have a single cent in Euros. Sure, I have all sorts of paper money, but that's not exactly going to work in a payphone. So I scrounge through my bag, dumping half of my underwear, tampons, and everything else women don't want to admit exist on the floor. I find my credit card and go to stand up, smacking my head on the bottom of the payphone.
As I'm dialing the number, rubbing my head and nearly in tears of frustration Daren squeals that she found the street and it was very nearby. That's news I can live with.