Crossing Over

He's gone but his frustration lingers. I am going to miss my German friend. With the looks of a chubby Einstein, he shared my youth hostel room and shouted in his sleep. It was quite disconcerting being woken in the middle of the night by cries of "Warum haben Sie das noch getan?" I was continually concocting a response so that he'd let me go back to sleep.

I shouldn't be to hard on him though, for he'd put up with a lot. According to him the window didn't close and the curtains wouldn't draw. His door key did work and he decided to sleep in the bathroom.

His problem was that he'd come to France and it just wasn't what he was used to. It’s not that he was prejudice as he was all excited about his forthcoming epic bicycle trip around the country. It's just that he hadn't made the adjustment yet.

I could see his point. My first day was marked by things just not quite working properly - starting with the surly waitress, plus breakfast was weird - only hot milk for your cereal, yuk! And why does the drink always come out of the wrong spout of the push-button coffee machine, the one you didn’t put your cup under. Only the French know.

But I'll get used to it and soon appreciate the laid back enchantment of the country. He will too, once he gets a good night's sleep and an answer to his perpetual question.