France Part Deux!!

It didn’t end there though. Once day we went to Rouen, with the intention of seeing the sites, soaking up the atmosphere and ultimately visiting the cathedral. We had split into groups at one point during the afternoon, and met up again on the main square. Mrs Day explained that we were going to go into the cathedral, but first someone needed to go find out how much it cost to get in. Thinking about it now, as I write this, I think it maybe wasn’t a coincidence that she chose me, though at the time I didn’t link it to the veal incident at all. Anyway, she took me and my mate Richard Johnston to one side, and in hushed tones and using various hand signals – I think she was maybe a fan of Allo Allo - explained to us that we were to go over to the entrance and ask the woman standing there how much it cost, and whether it was cheaper for a group. I suppose you could say that this was similar to giving a five year old a phrase book really.

So, off we went, whispering to each other along the way that neither of us had the foggiest what we were going to say. As we got to within about 15 feet of the entrance the old woman straightened up a little, and held out her hand expectantly. We mumbled something in pigeon French about “Entrer” and “Combien” then pointed back at where the rest of our group was standing and not looking in the least bit suspicious. She mumbled something back at us that we didn’t catch, and then she pointed at the rather impressive range of half full carrier bags on the floor behind her, before mumbling something else. We decided that a tactical retreat was in order, and went back to tell our teacher that the woman obviously spoke with a strong accent or something.

Judging by the look of disappointment on her face, Mrs Day didn’t believe the accent story one bit, and set off to ask for herself. Something, that being the teacher, she should probably have done in the first place. I mean there must be a part of the Geneva Convention about getting schoolkids to haggle for you. After a few seconds conversation Mrs Day realised what I am sure is now abundantly clear to everyone; the woman on the door wasn’t quite what you would term an official employee of the cathedral, in fact she wasn’t an official employee or resident of anywhere for that matter, unless “tramp” is a job. So, rather sheepishly Mrs Day came back and we went to the cathedral as planned, without further incident thankfully.

And that is pretty much that as far as my early experiences of France go. Not much to show for the first 18 years of my life really, but needless to say I began to make up for it almost immediately after arriving on the campsite. Most of the interesting stuff I intend to save for my future autobiography obviously, but I will share a couple of little stories with you at a later date!

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