Andrew's lucky. He just has to look cute and he gets what he needs. I guess for the most part, Mark and I have survived with the little French we know (Mine is much more limited than his). We've eaten well and gotten from point A to point B with, what feels like, a few key phrases and lots of hand gestures. Well, there was that time when our landlord misunderstood that it was our dishwasher that wasn't working, not our clothes washing machine and couldn't seem to figure out why we were having problems.

In terms of speaking French, I can greet you, order a meal, tell you how old my son is and identify around 50 nouns from animals to food (some much more valuable than others.) But when it comes to understanding it when it's spoken back to me, I've got a long way to go. It doesn't even seem like the same language. Even with the simple word "yes" pronounced "we", I had to recognize that its casually spoken here as "way". When I'm prompted to respond in French, I still immediately go to my Spanish archives and regularly pull out my "senors", "donde estas" and "muy biens" on a daily basis. The numbers have been the worst! So happy I have my fingers with me.

Anyway, English is very widely spoken here which I was expecting, but maybe didn't fully appreciate. This is exactly the reason why any acquisition of French I had has plateaued. There's something about the way I either look or the way I say "bonjour" that indicates I am an English speaker. It's not uncommon for storeowners or wait staff to speak back in English. At least I am trying, right?

I've been asked for directions a handful of times. I always find this so humorous. The first time, I was walking to the subway alone and with headphones in which I guess make me look like I know where I'm going, since it was a rare moment my face wasn't buried in a map. By the time I realized that this person was approaching me and I got my headphones out of my ears, they had stopped talking. I gave him the universal signal for "say that again" (which I'm not really sure what that is) and concentrated so hard on what he was saying (assuming it was in French) that it all went over my head. My face must have said it all because he could tell I was no help and turned to the next passerby-er. As my brain caught up with the verbal processing I realized he WAS speaking English and was asking how to simply get to the same subway station I was going to. Aye. Talk about lost in translation.

Just a day later, though, when I was out for a run, I was approached by another English speaker asking how to get to a certain street. Fortunately we were on that street, I actually knew it, AND I was able to tell him this. I feel like I broke even with my direction (or lack thereof) sense.

So that brings me to running. Something I've always loved about my travels is that, no matter what new location I find myself in, running always centers me and makes me feel like I belong. You don't need to talk to run and, in my opinion, it's better when you don't. It's the most engaging, yet relaxing way to take in your surroundings, connect with a new environment, and most significantly relate to the people around you, regardless of language. At home I run to clear my mind and problem solve. On vacation, when my mind is cleared and problems are few, running takes on a whole new purpose. It's the one thing I can do to truly feel like I belong here and know my way around. And, of course, I have to acknowledge that running is also a handy tool to counter the butter and chocolate consumption that makes this place so fantastic. After all, I need to still fit into the 7 outfits I brought with me.