"Alors, vas-y--tu vas conduire en France!"
And with that, he idled the Pugeot into neutral, stepped out of the car, and came around to escort me out of the passenger's seat and into the driver's. In a slightly muted-by-exhaustion state of panic, I blurted out a halting:
"Mais non . . . ça fait longtemps depuis que je conduisse une voiture manuelle . . . je ne sais comment conduire ici . . ."
But the damage was done: when asked if I had one, I had answered that yes, I did have a permet de conduire. So yesterday I did what I had years ago assured myself that I was too scared to ever do: I drove in Fance.
Thankfully, we were in the outskirts rather than in Paris proper, but nonetheless, it did make for a bemusing beginning to my sejour with my friends in the French countyside. This family is one of those that I have, over the years, been severely spoiled by each time I have the delightful occasion to see them again. So it was a joy to be in their home with them for these past 2 days . . .
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