Speak Up!!!

Upon arrival in Quebec, we arranged to do a tour of the city with a guide.  Too bad we didn't bring an interpreter.  One who knew sign language.

At first, everything seemed okay.  Our guide was a nice, older gentleman who pointed out all the historic sights as we passed them.

"And there is Joan of Arc gardens......Here is the the Cathedral......This is the American Consulate."

All very interesting, but then we started to ask questions and things got really interesting.

"Are those the remains of the original fort down there, under the boardwalk?"

"What's that?   You want to walk?"

"No" (louder).  "Remains of the fort?" (pointing to the area in question)

"Names of sports?  Well...let's see."

"The original fort.  FORT!!!  REMAINS!!!  RUINS!!! YOU KNOW, MILITARY.  BANG BANG!...Oh, never mind." I finished lamely as he walked away, probably trying to figure out why I wanted to play sports with a broken foot.

"And here is the first school for girls, started by the Urselines in the 1600's...." And then proceeded to give us a fifteen minute history lesson while trying to open the door of the chapel which was locked and labeled as closed till the afternoon.

Hoping to distract him, I foolishly asked a seemingly innocuous question: "Has school started here yet for the year?

"The start of school?  Well, it was in the 1600's that the Urselines opened the first school........"

Dreading a repeat of the same lecture, I tried to head him off at the pass. "NO.  SCHOOL  THIS YEAR.  AUGUST?  SEPTEMBER?"

  I started pantomiming reading a book and writing, like that was actually going to help. (It reminded me of the time in Italy where they turned the air conditioning off for the night and expected you  to open your windows.  BUG SPRAY! I remember my mother shouting at the desk clerk, because speaking really loudly always makes you instantly understandable to someone speaking another language.  YOU KNOW, PSSSSSSSST! (using an imaginary aerosol can) AAAARGH! (Grabbing her throat to mimic a mosquito choking on fumes), CLECH ( tongue out, eyes rolled back in head, head flopping to one side).  Not only did we not get bug spray, I think they slipped some Prozac into our morning coffee, and dear God, I really have become my mother!)

"Today is August 29.  You think it's cool?  Probably a lot hotter where you are from, eh?"

I bowed my head in defeat.

Tim and Rose fared no better.  They asked about the average price for a condo unit he pointed out and he told them about the exchange rate of the Canadian dollar.  Tim asked something about the government, and he responded by showing him the gardens outside the parlaiment and asking him to translate the names of the herbs from French into English.

"OREGANO! BASIL! PARSLEY!" Tim was shouting out names like he was Mr. Greenjeans making a salad.

Mercifully, the tour ended, and we were left to our own devices and the guidebook.  But the fun was not over yet.

The next night, we went out for dinner to a restaurant that was too far to walk to with my boot.  Upon leaving the restaurant, we hailed a cab and climbed in.

"The Frontenac," Tim said, shutting the door.

The driver bent his head toward us, cupping a hand to his ear.

Tim repeated the name of the hotel, a bit louder.

The driver leaned closer, a puzzled look on his face. Rose and I exchanged glances.

"FRONTENAC!"  Tim bellowed, pointing up the hill.

Once again, the driver gestured for him to be louder.

"FRON-TEN-AC!" Rose and I joined in this time, doing our best to be heard...in Miami.

Visions of ending up in Vancouver drifted through my mind, or worse yet, an hour-long disemenation on the difference between the FRONT and the BACK.  Our hands were on the door handles, ready to abandon Tim to his fate when the driver burst out laughing.

"I'm only kidding," he chortled.  I heard you the first time."

NOT FUNNY.