Does Anyone Here Speak French?

Forget Brett Favre! On September 15, I came out of retirement. Of course, you didn't hear anything in the mainstream media; that's why I have this blog. It happened like this.

Ellen, as you may know, was in Columbus for her best friend's wedding. She was scheduled to return on Monday morning, the 15th, in time to teach her first class of Introductory French to NATO staffers and dependents in the evening. Hurricane Ike sent strong winds into Ohio, and Delta Airlines responded with all the efficiency of FEMA. At one point, Ben was on the phone with a Delta agent who asked him if he could come to pick Ellen in Cincinnati. Ben carefully explained that no he couldn't, since he lives in the Netherlands, Ellen's destination. The agent then asked again if Ben could pick her up. It went downhill from there.

Carol and I casually mentioned to Ben that if the school wanted us, we know enough French to teach the first class. I don't think Ben gave this much thought until he called the director of the adult ed program and she went into a tizzie and asked Ben if he knew anyone who could fill in for Ellen. "Welllll...", he said. Just like that,we were enlisted as French teachers.

We went over Ellen's lesson plan with her on the phone, found her printed handouts and the textbook and crammed together for the entire afternoon. After a quick dinner, Ben drove us to the NATO post in Brunnsum where he works and we presented ourselves for duty.

The scene of our adventure in teaching.

We were both a little nervous. We have over fifty (!!!) years of teaching experience between us, but not so much as five minutes of teaching French. But really, we were going no further than introductions, ordering from a menu, reciting the alphabet and counting to ten. (Carol and I figured that we know enough to teach up to lesson eight or nine in Ellen's twelve-week class.)

Our class of eleven adults wandered in one by one. There were Brits, Americans, Czechs, one Spaniard and one Turk. At seven o'clock Carol asked them to brainstorm French words that we all use in our everyday speech (croissant, deja vu, debut, etc.). We were off and running. It wasn't exciting, but we made it through two hours. No students were harmed. At the end, the class applauded. You go looking for adventure, and you find it in unlikely places.

Like Punxsutawney Phil, I looked around afterwards, saw my shadow and opted to return to my den of retirement without a glance backward.

The scene of our next, more traditional, adventure.

The Wednesday following our venture into teaching abroad, Ellen and Ben and Wesley had an appointment with the pediatrician, so Carol and I were on the early train out of Eygelshoven, bound for Bruges (Broozh, as the French-speaking Belgians say, Brookeh, if you want to impress the Flemish-speaking locals).

I was amused as our train pulled out of Brussels for the last leg to Bruges. A group of German women sat across from us, and they were in a happy mood - lots of chatter and laughter. You couldn’t help smiling. Then as we came to each stop, it seemed that one or two more women entered our car and joined them. Each time, the newcomer would kiss each woman in the group, three times on the left cheek, three times on the right. What a great math problem, I thought. Five women present, a new woman enters and kisses each woman three times on each cheek. How many kisses exchanged? At the next stop, three women enter, and kiss all present on each cheek. How many...?

We had a lovely day wandering around the tiny cobblestone streets and seeing the town from a cruise boat on the canals.

The bell tower, which you'll recognize if you saw the movie.

The view of Bruges from our canal tour boat.

Another of our favorite activities.

City Hall, Bruges

A week later, Ellen, Carol, Wes and I piled into the Civic (it was cozy) and headed for Brussels. (Poor Ben had to return to work.) It was a swift hour on the highway from tiny, quiet Eygelshoven to big, bustling Brussels. Then it was another hour slogging our way through Brussels traffic to the Centrum. We were all feeling a little grumpy (except good-natured Wes) when we finally parked the car and started to walk around. We dispelled the grumpiness with a time-honored cure.

Food and Belgian beer put us back in a good mood.

For lunch, Carol and I took Wes to a cool sidewalk café. Ellen's treat was to buy a French magazine and go to her favorite salad bar all alone - no baby, no diapers, no bottles - and enjoy her privacy. G'amma, Papá and Wes had a pretty good time, too.

Brussels Centrum was fun, but we couldn't get over how crowded the city was. All the buildings looked sad and tired, in need of a facelift or a good scrubbing. Given a chance for a do-over, we'd pick Bruges as a place to visit. Still, Brussels had its charms.

Beautiful churches.

Window shopping.

And, of course, Belgian chocolates!