If reality about my future life in France had not yet set in, it sure as heck did now. Sitting in seat 43F, on a one-way ticket, made living in France as an “assistante de langue vivante” a reality.
As people continued to file down the aisle, I wished, hoped, and prayed that the seat next to me would remain vacant, for despite my prior intentions of “packing light and buying local,” I was currently surrounded by three huge carry-ons. The absence of a body would mean that I could comfortably enjoy the flight with all of my material goods (most of which I will probably never use) stored under the two seats that I claimed for myself. So, as I was praying for vacancy, an attractive, nay, very attractive gentleman approached my row. In spite of his charm—he was French so naturally he oozed charm—I still hoped that he would not be sitting directly next to me. The distinguished gentleman checked his ticket, glanced at the seat number, and took his place in seat 43 D! Whoo! Issue avoided—my bags could have a free ride! Of course I did not immediately put my bags beneath the vacant seat, I instead waited for the plane to begin its taxi to the runway and then I made my introduction. Well, actually, we both made our introduction. As the plane began its long crawl to the runway, we simultaneously realized that we would have a vacant seat between us and could benefit from its use. The suave—at this point unnamed—French man leaned in and said in beautifully accented English, “I guess no one will be joining us.” I was immediately enamored. I leaned in and said, “My name is Rachel.” He responded in tow and told me his name was Bruno—hmm…Bruno, so elegant, so distinguished, so…French. We began talking and became very good travel companions. Bruno shared stories about his life and I about mine. He gave me suggestions about where to travel in France and I informed him that New Jersey is actually a separate state from New York—yes, perhaps I had less exciting information to share.
Bruno was a gentleman in every sense of the word. He offered me some of his Chardonnay that he desired to purchase in spite of the steep price--$6 for a bottle containing about half a glass of wine. At dinner, Bruno wished me bon appetite and we both toasted to one another’s health. An interesting note was that at dinner I was conscientious of my eating habits and tried to “eat like a European.” For me, “eating like a European”—which consists of a mélange of rules that originate from years of French class and courses on “French business etiquette and the shall do’s and shall not’s of dinner party dining”—is keeping your fork in your left hand when cutting with the right (to avoid inefficiently changing hands), to use bread as—for lack of a more beautiful term—a mop, and to save the salad for last. So in spite of my traditional way of eating I made sure I saved my salad until last and avoided the “dance of the utensils” by uncomfortably eating with the fork in my left hand (which on a side note, caused me to discreetly drop a piece of lettuce beneath the “shared” middle seat). So there I was, eating as what I perceived to be as “European” and Monsieur Bruno, well, he ate as an “American”: Salad first, bread untouched, and fork in right hand. Were my perceptions about “eating as a European” false, or could Bruno be trying to “eat as an American” in the same vein as I was trying impress him with my “worldly” dining etiquette?
Continuing with his gentlemanly manners, Bruno also offered me the vacant seat, saying I could lounge across both of them for more comfort. I kindly blushed and thanked him before offering him the same. Bruno smiled and said, “You are much smaller than myself and can easily fit if you’d like.”
HE IS AWESOME!
In spite of Bruno’s kind offer, I preferred not to sprawl out across two seats—playing to the stereotype of the “grand” American, you know the one who buys Hummers and owns a home with five extra bedrooms because they need “a lot of space.” Needless to say, I appreciated the offer and was very fortunate to have Bruno as my travel companion.
The next morning over our airplane breakfast (which despite my taste in good food, I absolutely adore airplane fare—must be my fascination with mini-portion, aviation cooking), I disclosed the fact that it was my birthday. Bruno, being the gentleman he was, wished me a happy birthday and gave me suggestions about where to dine in Paris. After our conversation he asked for my e-mail address so he could “further look into a great place to dine.”
When we arrived at the gate after landing, I said good bye to Bruno and thanked him for his advice, help, and for his company. Bruno did the same and we parted ways. Since his is a citizen of Europe, his wait in customs was very brief and we lost sight of one another. After making it through customs myself—which was significantly shorter than I expected—I located a luggage cart (vital for the mammoth suitcases I needed to maneuver) and waited for my luggage to appear on the carousel. While scanning the carousel for luggage I was also scanning the crowd for Bruno. My eyes finally fell on the tall, well-dressed, French man who was standing a few feet away holding two luggage carts. In my heart I knew that the second cart was for me, but not wanting to jump to any conclusions or make any assumptions I remained with my cart and did not approach Bruno. How horrible would that have been to go up to the kind man and say, “Hey, I saw you standing over there with two carts and of course the second one must be for me.” So I stood there, alone, periodically checking to see if Bruno found me (yes, he was scanning the crowd as well). If he had, I would have abandoned my cart and made my way towards him, unassumingly of course. Then, his luggage arrived and off he went, leaving the second cart behind. Au revoir, Bruno!
Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to Bruno who smilingly said, “I just wanted to wish you a very happy birthday and a good time in France. I will send you an e-mail about dinner after noon today and if you ever need anything don’t hesitate to contact me.” I expressed my gratitude and told him how fortunate I was to have had the opportunity of meeting him. In French fashion we said au revoir with “la bise” a kiss on each cheek and promised “a bientôt” /to “see each other soon” (by e-mail). With that, Bruno turned on his heel, waved good bye, and walked out of the airport.
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