Je suis perdue, but Ryan is not

Ryan took four years of French across middle and high school. He says he was a solid B student, but that he mostly survived on three phrases (and his charm):

• Je ne sais pas (I don't know).
• Je ne compress pas (I do not understand).
• Je suis perdu (I am lost).

I am biased, but I think he did remarkably well communicating in France. It helped that we mostly got patient waiters who were willing to answer his questions and speak slowly. He even was complimented on his accent by a waitress Bayeux. Our friend Gena's loan of a French phrasebook was clutch.

Our first hour in France and Ryan is trying to figure out how to say "lid" so he could ask for one for my paper cup of tea.  "Lid" wasn't in the phrasebook. So he improvised and settled for chapeau, which means hat. It worked. 

Celebrating our anniversary a few months late, with a special dinner at Au Ptit Bistrot in Bayeux. This dessert included white chocolate, cayenne peppers and raspberries. 

Ryan's favorite thing he ate: A braised pork dish at a Paris restaurant he found on the European version of Yelp (La Fourchette).

A pear and sorbet dessert was my favorite dish of the trip.

Trying to figure out the country of origin for Pelforth Brune. (It's French.)

Ryan even successfully navigated in French how to handle a lost parking ticket (my fault). Mastering perdu was amazing foresight by his younger self.

I, on the other hand, really struggled. Most unfortunately, my one year of college Spanish seems to have overridden any other foreign language skills. I perplexed several clerks and waiters by answering their inquiries with "Si." This prompted one kind waiter to switch to Spanish briefly - before seeing my expression of sheer panic and rephrasing his inquiry in English.

Elizabeth trying to navigate a French menu. 

Waiters always knew I needed the English menu - but Ryan bravely accepted the French one in most restaurants. I also made him do all of my food ordering, which made him feel sexist. I offered to do his ordering for him one day in Spain or Germany (three years of high school German for me, apparently superseded by the Spanish.) He declined, so I told him he is sexist. We'll see if he has evolved in his thinking when we visit Germany next year.

The true low point for me came in Normandy, where I simply merged si and oui together to reply "swee." Ryan was most amused. Luckily no one else witnessed my mortification.