H2 has learned one word in French this past week. M'aidez. Which means, "help me!" Which is the international call for assistance when, I don't know, say your super yacht is going down in the Mediterranean.
But I had to whip that little gem out in a much less chic, and less life threatening, situation. At a toll booth. Yup, oh so hi-so.
I call it the Vinci Highway. I don't know how to describe it. It is an expensive highway to travel, but people drive fast and it seems like every 3000 meters there is an "aire" to stop and gas up (rather, diesel), get some food, and use a toilet. There is also a toilet at each and every, very frequent toll booth. In between the "aires," there is an emergency telephone. The telephone (and various signs announcing each telephone about 1,000 meters apart) says "SOS." Which I believe means, "save our souls." A broken down car, I would think, would be more along the "m'aidez" level of emergency, and "save our souls" would require a priest. Be that as it may, you are never far from a church here in France.
I digress.
We drove across France. The southern portion of it in one day. Lee is addicted to his GPS on his phone. I believe in reading the signs on the road. Together, we got flipped off only once - and that was in the Mediterranean. I think the other car was just welcoming us to Provence. We got sidetracked due to construction; once we got on the highway, I said, "don't do that again." We stayed on the Vinci.
Every great highway comes at great expense. Which is why it cost us more than $100 in tolls. But let's get to that first toll booth.
We stopped at a booth to get on the highway to get our ticket. A toll booth is called a "peage." It took me about 3 days to figure that out. Just kidding. It only took me several hours to get it. So you get a ticket at the "on ramp," which isn't a ramp, but just a ticket booth in the middle of the highway. At the next toll booth you insert your ticket and then you are charged based on usage, kilometers driven. Tell THAT to the City of Portland!! No, really, don't give them any ideas.
We rolled up to the toll booth. With the sign that was lit up with what looks like a ticket with a magnetic strip. Hey, we have one of those!! It is all spelled out for you... 1) Insertez ticket. Check. 2) Insertez card. Check. 2) Insertez card. Check - we did that. 2) Insertez card. Merde, it is not working. Line of cars behind us. Lee starts asking me what to do. Not a French human in site, except for the car behind us. Uuuuh... press the call button?
Ringing... lovely French lady telling me to hold. Voice of irritated "peage" person comes on the line. And I literally yell in French, "Hello! I don't speak French very well. We are Americans. M'aidez! M'aidez!" I hear the voice tell me to insert the ticket. "I did that! We don't have a card!!" Irritated background voice yells at the irritated frontground voice. Magically, the crossing bar goes up and we drive off.
Okay, we got it figured out. Steep learning curve; it will only happen once. Because THAT is not an appropriate lesson to teach our children, to continue to cheat the toll booth system. Had I been completely poor and in college, sans children - different story.
The rest of the trip (which felt like 30 more toll booths) we had no issues at all.
But what I did have was the voice of my 10 year old son imitating me saying, "M'aidez! M'aidez!" every single time we pulled up to a toll booth. THIS is what he learns in French. That little brat.
No comments:
Post a Comment