I scouted out a restaurant in for dinner in Arles in the Rick Steves guide book. I was prepared for the town to be a little sketchy, so I didn’t want to try and wing it. We got to the small restaurant off of a busy street, it was a tight 16 seater with authentic Provencal meals. Chalkboard menu, no English, and no options for children’s meals.
We sometimes get a rough start at restaurants; the kids make a lot of noise getting settled, then they fight over the menus and scream over each other to tell me what they want. Then I get stressed and they get anxious. I can count on this scenario at every restaurant and I have yet to devise a successful workaround. Sometimes they manage to settle down, other times the night ends in flames (as I mentioned in an earlier post).
In the states, I have given up; we do not take our kids out to eat. But here, I have no choice. Now, after much practice on this trip, we have our typical rough starts, then the boys usually calm down. Indeed, they are learning to deal with the dinner routine.
Typical Americans, we were there just as the restaurant opened, still a late hour to eat for me and the kids. I greeted the waitress in French and ordered our dinners in French. I was speaking my typical Franglish to my kids, getting them to engage with the waitresses and try out their French.
Two other tables were seated, one across the room and one with an older couple directly behind us. Samuel heard them speaking English and immediately turned around to engage them. And he was loud, as usual. They didn’t seem to mind. In comes another couple and they are speaking English, so Samuel strikes up a conversation. Now our three tables are kind of close, so Samuel is acting like we’re all having dinner together. Despite my protests to be quiet, Samuel is holding court with the other two tables. No one seems to mind, but I am getting really nervous that we are being rude.
In comes two ladies with a young girl— and they are across the room from us, speaking English. So Samuel addresses them as well. Then a family with an older child comes in- you guessed it— English speakers. Now, I am looking around the restaurant, which is really just one room with 6 tables in it, and just about everyone is engaged with Samuel, and they’re laughing and speaking English and asking him about our trip.
Now I had noticed one couple who was not speaking English. They were there when we arrived and the man was facing me. I look over from time to time and he has his head bowed down and he’s saying stuff in French to his date. I was really hoping we weren’t being obnoxious at this point.
We were served our dinners and Cooper’s fish dish is garnished with some small sea-snail, whelk -looking shellfish. He starts picking at it with the little fork, and I am thinking he’s going to flick it across the room- embarrassing, right? Not as much as putting the critter on the pointy end of the shell and turning around to put it in the face of the older woman behind us and shout “ew, gross, am I supposed to eat this thing?” Yeah- THAT’S embarrassing. But she laughs, and now Cooper is practically in her lap and they are both making jokes and laughing and he’s not even at our table anymore, and I have no idea what they’re talking about.
Samuel starts to get up, and I ask-“where are you going?” He said- oh I wanted to talk to that other table of Americans over there and ask them where they’re from. I said, “Samuel, this isn’t a cocktail party, it’s a restaurant. Let them eat in peace.” Not that there was any in the restaurant now anyway.
In the middle of this mayhem, the other couple behind us, who don’t seem bothered by Cooper’s behavior, turns around toward us and the lady asks me if I was in Avingon the previous day. When I said yes, she said “oh I thought I saw you walking around with the Rick Steves guidebook!” Oh— now it makes sense. I asked her if she’s read about this restaurant in the same book and of course she says, “oh yes! we love Rick Steves.”
So now I am really feeling sorry for the French couple over on the other side of the room. They’re probably trying to have a date night and Rick Steves has ruined it for them. The place is full of American tourists who read about the restaurant in the guidebook and turned up to have a party.
Well, by the end of the meal, the whole restaurant (except for that poor French couple) is all chummy, and we’re trading travel plans and saying our goodbyes after our shared meal. Everyone tells me I have lovely children (are they drunk too?) and that I am very brave (yes, I get that a lot, usually after people have observed my children being lovely).
The next morning, we pop into a little cafe to get breakfast and it had a courtyard seating area. As we go out, I realize that the cafe is connected to a hotel and had been recommended by Rick Steves as a great lunch spot. Out comes the older lady (of shellfish fame) and she says hello- she’s staying there (of course). Then a quiet American woman comes up to our table and asks if we had been at the little restaurant last night. I said yes and she said, “my husband and I were there eating dinner.” I didn’t remember seeing here, then I figured out that she was with the French man. Ooooh no.
I said, “oh- was your husband there, speaking French? I was feeling bad because the place was filled with Americans and I thought we were ruining your night.” She said “no, he’s been practicing his English and was loving that so many Americans were there last night because he was enjoying listening in!”
She asked if she could sit with us and we talked for a while as the boys ate their croissants. Apparently she’s in an area of Paris where she doesn’t see a lot of Americans and was feeling nostalgic. She ended up going to the museum with us and helping us with our French for the morning. It was a little serendipity for both of us.
And a note about my Rick Steves book… a lot of times when I travel, I’m worried about looking cool— well, OK, not really cool, but maybe not too dorky— but I am never afraid to whip out my travel books! One of my best friends and travel partner Joy Rowland Brown knows I love my guidebooks and I am not afraid to walk backwards, read aloud from one, or carry it under my arm in full view. I’ve always been a Fodor’s girl. I don’t have all of the same travel principles as Rick Steves, but I think he’s a good guide to follow with my kids because he’s so practical. Now much of is it on an App, I know, but I still like having the book in my hands. Now I’ve gotten the kids into the act and I make them read it out loud when we stop, although they keep asking me if it’s supposed to be funny. Again, curse you Horrible Histories!
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