The King's English, but Does It Matter?

Most people in Europe, especially in the big cities, can speak English. We could have made our way through this entire trip in English. Wanting a fuller, more authentic experience, though, we studied some of the native tongues. Laura already knew a little French. I knew Spanish. And we studied some Italian. We were ready to build bridges through words.

Once we learned a little French in Paris, we got cocky. We could order breakfast with confidence: Bonjour! Un pain au chocolat. We felt positively Parisian. In retrospect, we probably should have tacked on a s’il vous plaît for politeness. And been a bit more humble.

The Seething Streets of Europe

The Arc de Triomphe stands at the head of the Champs-Elysses, the Parisian avenue famed for its shopping venues. We took a metro to the avenue’s foot, Place de la Concorde. A convertible gray Ferrari zoomed past, testament to the wealth of the area’s clientele. I couldn’t pull out my phone in time to snap a picture, but I did get one of a subsequent Lamborghini for hire:

A missing letter from a protective eyewear shop tickled my sophomoric sense of humor:

A Pen Diversion

As you’d expect from a country that birthed Botticelli, Michelangelo, and Leonardo da Vinci, Italy produces some of the world’s most beautiful pens. When planning this trip, I marked two places as “must see”:

• Casa della Stilografica
• The Visconti flagship store

The first, Casa della Stilografica, carries a range of pens from a range of countries. This trip, however, focused on Italian pens. I found the shop on Via Cavour, and its meager selection surprised me. When the shopkeeper understood that I was looking for fountain pens, however, she said, “There is another,” and redirected me across the street. They have two locations on the same street.

Culture Nudge

In Europe, “Fast service is considered rude service,” per Rick Steves¹. In France, “It’s often frustrating to get even minor issues resolved,” claims blogger Diane². Before Karen and Chad got ugly with customer service in America, Americans got ugly in Europe. Life moves at different paces, or so I’ve read. Different continents. Different cultures. We have learned that we should expect life in Europe to be different.

We haven’t arrived in Europe yet, and haven’t experienced any culture shock . . . yet. But we’ve gotten a little culture nudge that indicates we’d better reframe our expectations. Twice now, we’ve received email cancellations for events we’ve booked. Both times, luckily, they’ve offered us alternate times for the same experiences, which we have thankfully snatched.

Europe: The Final Countdown

In three weeks, we board a Embraer E175, which is apparently an airplane and not a coffee grinder, and fly to JFK. We’ll fill a few hours dining, lounging, and slouching across chairs designed for discomfort. Just before our nerves snap from ennui, we’ll file onto an Airbus A330-300, which is precisely what it sounds like, with 286 other travelers. Next stop? Gay Paree.

We’ve been planning this trip for over a year. None of us have ever been to Europe, and we’re hoping not to perpetuate the Ugly American stereotype. We’ve signed up for Babbel, bought and read shelves from Rick Steves, and ordered adapters from Apple for our phones. We’ve learned not to wear shorts in cathedrals or shirts with logos. My wife even ordered me some scarves, as if a ribbon snaked under my chin would prevent me from ordering a blank vine with poison for dinner. I told my French coworker that I’d be wearing a beret, and he snorted and said I’d be the only one. I guess I’ll have to resort to toting a baguette everywhere to blend in.