Week II in France

The Indian from England with quasi-American accent was back in Paris. Yay! Guess the French weren’t so happy as the grumpy official at passport control was brusque enough to wipe my helpful (slight nervous?) smile. The taxi driver could speak some English though. Another yay! Not that it was of much use – the splitting headache and his hands-free mobile made quick work of whatever appetite I had for a conversation.

The room was in the main hotel this time, which was much better than I expected. I think I actually got some sleep that night.


New trainer, new course material. And surprise! It’s a change for the good. Goes out to prove how much a difference depth of content, competence and a non-McDonald’s IQ can make! On the flipside, the long days leave no time for exploring Paris.

Met Michal at the training centre. He works for the Polish office of CH2M HILL, and is quite the opposite of the Polish guys at the training last week (more friendly). The one drink before dinner resulted in…. well, few beers now that I have lost count, and back at the bar in the hotel, the part-time boxer-bartender, served us the ghastliest cocktail ever. I think it supplied a year’s worth of sugar that one needs. Maybe he was punched in the wrong place.


Dreading a tough morning-after, it was pleasant yet difficult to wake up next morning. No headache, yay! There was just enough time to shower (though I still looked wrecked), but made it in time. No surprises during the day.
Went for lunch again to this cosy little family-run restaurant. While the publican had offered me this "Indian" pudding the day before (at the behest of their "Sri Lanki" cook I suspect), I was surprised she made the "Jus de Orange" for me. I found out later I was the first customer they made if for. Apparently everyone else either goes for the fizzy orange drink, or the omnipresent Coca-Cola. Ordered the wrong dish though, so had a tough time pushing those slices of ham down my throat. "Coup de Fruits" for the dessert was every bit as delicious as it looked. The warm homely setting of the pub made me long for home. Not that India has such pubs. Or restaurants. Most public places are solely in the male dominion, unless it’s a hip night-club. But I digress. The publican beamed broadly when I thanked her for the orange juice (I think she did understand what I said though she doesn’t understand English – one of those things that’s so human).

And the "Indian" pudding? Oh, I’m quite sure there is no such Indian pudding.


Pizza again. Same place. Another bad choice. Some very salty fish on the pizza, so I guess I could live without salt and sugar for a year now.

1 comment:

  1. Boy!! Paris was supposed to be this beautiful and romantic place (especially the Eiffel Tower).You acquainted us with its practical aspect :-).Must be helluva practical person.