I share a certain desire of adventure with the French. For example, I am burning with curiosity when I order a local delicacy with my "cute" accent, like marinated legs of the queen of murky waters soaked in the tears of a sad fairy (in a low price level Czech restaurant, this dish would probably be called frogs legs with brown sauce), and they, in the presence of a girl born in one of the countries located to the right of Paris, allegedly inhaling a certain whiff of the exciting eastern atmosphere. I will lose some of my reputation of a woman of steel by claiming that in my country I do not fall asleep to the sound of machine guns and do not drink a litre of vodka a day, however, as soon as my friends find out that the bottle of Bordeaux is empty due to me, I will fix my reputation a little bit. Conversation intertwined with various cheerful board games, such as secret removal of chips from the plate continues in French until I mix up a preposition or gender. Afterwards the native speakers indulgently switch to English, the mutilation of which certainly does not bother them.
Their exaggerated national consciousness (it would not hurt to donate a little bit to many Czechs) can sometimes make me really angry. Recently, a Parisian taxi driver did not want to tune into a radio station with the live broadcast of the soccer match of the European Championship between the Czech Republic and France, because "the fact that their team is undoubtedly the best, therefore will win not only this match but also the entire championship, is as clear as day". The certainty in his voice astonished me to say the least but I chose to remain silent, I was not going to spoil my mood by discussing this topic (eventually we lost so my arguments would have probably not worked).
Football is not the only sport in which the French excel. If striking was in the Olympics, it would be a good candidate for the gold. This discipline is carefully trained here since childhood. Every time when they announce at the airport that the air traffic controllers are extending their lunch break because they did not get a one hundred franc rise, and therefore we take off a few hours later, I wonder if a strike-spoiler is a regular profession, is well paid and whether I could be potentially talented for this job.
Do not be fooled, I have definitely not lost my love for France. It brings me some pleasant surprises every time. What would you say to duck with orange? I won’t say no.
