Translation.

After cruising my way through yesterday (and making note to wear better shoes when its raining) I headed out to Grands Boulevards, a hot spot for night life but common for tourists due to the Hard Rock Cafe owning a prominent place. My crazy Irish friend managed to pick up a job at O'Sullivans, yup, an Irish bar. So I headed along with a Spanish friend and joined the throngs partying their on a Saturday night to constant re-runs of the Top 40.

The highlight of the night was probably while waiting in the queue for the bathroom (which due to lack of toilets and an over capacity pub was quite the wait..) as a group of girls in front of us were having an animated discussion, in French. The only problem was while half of the group were French, the other half were blatantly Americans. There's no mistaking that loud, strong voice and that prominent accent that seems to carry more than any other. I give them credit for doing their best to speak in French but the result wasn't great.

After eavesdropping for a little bit (though you can barely call it eavesdropping with how loud these Yankie girls were speaking...), their attempt to say they lived near here, resulted in them saying they lived on the coast. The poor French girl was utterly confused and trying to use process of elimination to work out what they meant, questioning them with more phrases they didn't understand. Daria, the French girl, looked questioningly at me and after establishing with the American girl what she meant, I was able to explain that she meant she lived near here. This was followed by giggles from Daria, who offered the right translation to the American girl who still didn't seem to understand. However, the conversation went on (because it was going so well, why stop now) with the American saying she loved the South of France. I ended up playing somewhat of a translator for this intriguing conversation, doing my best to tie up the gaping holes left in this American's French. Daria proceeded to ask whether she liked Cannes as that was her hometown. The American girl, seeimgly picking up only on the mention of 'Cannes' and going from there, announced that she didn't like it there as it was too expensive and when she went there, too windy. Or so she meant. She actually said there was a lot of snow.. Daria looked pretty offended and the American girl went back to swaying against the wall so it looked like the conversation was over.

I ended up chatting to Daria who happened to be one of the nicer French girls I've ever met (though coming from outside of Paris may have something to do with it. Its well known, and also a personal feeling of mine, that the further away from Paris people live, or grew up, the nicer they are. Though there are exceptions to this rule. Occasionally.) But perhaps my fondness for her is partial to the fact that she told me my French was good. Gotta respect a good French liar...

I ended up biking home during a torrential downpour in the early hours of the morning and was completely saturated within one block of biking, despite doing it with one hand and holding my umbrella with the other (which, note to self, is very hard on wet cobblestones. There were definitely a couple of 'oh, shit' wobbles here and there). While stopped at a set of lights an unusually friendly French woman told me 'its dangerous to bike in Paris! I only do it in the suburbs'. She told me I was brave but that I should be careful.

I told her I would and proceeded to bike as fast as I could the wrong way down a one way street.