Looking for a ‘French’ Connection

About the Author: Robin Locker Lacey is a travel consultant for Italy and France, freelance writer, photographer and foodie. Her blog, My Melange, features info on her favorite European cities, travel essays, photos, restaurant and hotel recommendations, recipes and budget travel tips.  As the self-professed Queen of the Carry-on Bag, she offers practical advice on traveling light. She is addicted to social media – you can follow her on Twitter @MyMelange or join her community on Facebook community.

I sat at my table in the tiny wine bar, just steps away from the Pont Neuf bridge in the center of Paris.  The dark and cozy tavern had become my quiet, private haunt during the ten days I’d traveled alone in Paris for the first time.  A place where I’d decompress after a busy day of sightseeing, nosh on some homemade French food and write about the day’s events in my travel journal while enjoying the melodic voices in the local crowd clinking glasses and chatting about their day in French.

But tonight, as I wrote in my journal, devouring a three-inch thick slice of fluffy homemade quiche and a cheap glass of fruity Beaujolais, I picked up on a conversation of two women, speaking English. Their distinct Southern accents told me they were American. Deciding not paying this any mind, I buried my head back into my journal and continued drinking alone.

A bit later, the bar, now void of Parisians who were on their way home for dinner, was filled with only English-speaking voices.  Along with the Southern belles, I heard two male voices at another nearby table speaking English as well. At some point they engaged each other in conversation and I overhead the women mention that they were flight attendants and the men (who had left their wives home), were on a backpacking-boyfriend-getaway. They soon became an American foursome sharing one table.

At this point, Phillipe, the charming bar owner who I had come to know over the past few days, sauntered over to my table and encouraged me to introduce myself, even though he knew my intention was to sit silently and invisibly while scribbling my travel tales.  My first thought was that I’d rather strike up a conversation with some locals rather than meet some Americans. But, I am a gregarious person by nature, and I had been alone for the entire trip so far – so I figured, what the hell.

Looking back now, I can’t recall exactly what was said, but I do know that it was certainly the best night of my trip,  We all shared the common interest of travel, so the stories flowed easily.  We laughed and chatted and drank for hours.

Phillipe left us to socialize and imbibe well past closing time.  He would come over on occasion to check on us, refill our glasses, participate in the conversation and when we were getting too raucous, he’d gently shush us because people lived upstairs.

At some point Phillipe’s friend, a slight, elderly gentlemen and Paris resident for over 80 years, stopped by to join our merry group.  He spent hours entertaining us with interesting life stories in broken English and hand gestures – but somehow we managed to understand.

By the end of the evening, he must have developed a fondness for me, because he graced me with a famous French double-cheek-kiss and affixed a tiny pin of a beer-drinking man perched atop a beer barrel engraved with the word ‘Fischer’, to the lapel of my trenchcoat where it still sits to this day.

I stumbled back to my hotel that night, feeling a bit tipsy, but armed with the knowledge that when you travel you need to have an open mind and sieze every opportunity to engage others – because you just never know if it will become one of your most memorable travel moments.