Lost in transition

First of all I do have to apologise for the complete lack of blogging over the last few weeks. The aim was a blog a week but it really depends on work load and/or inspiration as to what would be most interesting to blog about. New resolution, made whilst trying to get to sleep on a Sunday night (why is it that on Sunday night your brain comes alive with all the things you could do to improve your life, stops you from going to sleep as you should do for that 8.30 meeting you have on Monday, and you can never remember any of your life changing ideas when you wake up on Monday?) was that I should try and write smaller blogs and keep them light.

So, having just got back from the UK there is something I have noticed. One of the things I find most people complain about in France is that the French are rude. I've lived here for almost five years and I'm finding increasing that when I go back to the UK the Brits aren't exactly very friendly either. The French may not smile but they are at least polite and very strict about greetings and farewells. Take for example the lady who sells me my papers. I arrive in the morning grabbing the papers off the rack and folding them to try and fit into my bag. I greet her with a "Bonjour" which she replies to, then she tells me how much it is, I produce the money, she gives me the change, we exchange "merci"s and I leave saying an "au revoir et bonne journée" which she responds to with "a vous aussi". She doesn't crack a smile and we rarely have any other conversation unless there is a strike on in which case she asks which metro I'm getting and mentions something about her ride to work. The exchange is perfectly polite and friendly.

When back in the UK I find I'm almost expecting something better than this civil exchange and am very disappointed when not only do not get friendliness but all I get is "Yes please!" (i.e. next customer please) and once the monetary transaction is over there's no "bye bye and have a nice day". Not only is it not friendly (the dead beat tone of voice as I'm being served) but it lacks the politeness. Maybe it's me but I get so used to the "Bonjour Madame" when I walk into a shop here and even if they aren't always friendly there is always some kind of "merci, au revoir" and usually a "bonne soirée" or "bonne journée" depending.

On a completely other point, after almost five years of living here I still find the transition between going back to the UK and then returning to France quite difficult. I call it Harry Potter syndrome. Sometimes when I'm back in the UK all the problems of France seem so far away, like for Harry at "Hogwarts" but equally I also feel that I'm detached from all the good things here, like my life in France never existed. When I go back to the UK I slip easily into being a normal Brit. I look very English for one, I sound British and generally act like everyone else. At any moment I could return to the UK and all this time in France would just become a distance memory. What is strange however is that I have in the past felt completely isolated and alone in the UK, more so than being a foreigner in France. The thing is that in France is it clearly obvious that I am foreign and therefore not at all like any one else. When I'm back in the UK I look English but my life is not English, my daily concerns have nothing to do with the UK. I couldn't give a hoot about who is the latest Big Brother candidate to be evicted and what exactly Tony is saying to Gordon. When I get back to the UK it takes a while to settle and get back into English life, it also these days takes time for me to stop talking Franglais and form my sentences properly. But after a few days I'm fine, happy with my family, planning what to stock up on during my next shopping trip into the local town and quite happily accepting my Mum's ten-a-day cups of tea.

Then I return to France with English in my head and feeling totally British again. When I get to the airport and I start speaking French the words sound awkward and misplaced. My voice sounds unfamiliar. I'm totally detached from all my previous worries which had seemed so important to me before leaving for the UK, and it takes time to settle back in. Worryingly it sometimes takes time to settle back into being with Monsieur although more and more over the last year going to the UK without him seems wrong. Whilst I can detach myself from things here in France, being without him in the UK makes me feel like I'm missing a vital body part, but I guess that's love!

Anyway, here I am back in France again looking out the window thinking "Do I really live here?", "Is my life really in Paris?". Of course in a few days I'll be back in the swing of things huffing at the metro being packed or having to queue for food in Monoprix but right now I'm still lost in transition.

La Femme Fatale

Not that I'm going to make a habit of book reviews or anything but I would recommend the book "Two lipsticks and a lover" by Helena Frith Powell and indeed her blog which is rather entertaining. She has also posted a commentary made on it in a report in the Guardian on this image of French women.

In response to this article and Helena's book I would say that whilst I did very much enjoy Helena's book (and I generally tend to steer clear of books about the French or life in France) I do have to say that I respectfully disagree with the image she creates of French women.

I know a lot of French women. I have seen them at their youngest (when I was a teacher in a primary school), during their late teens/early twenties (when I taught at the university) and now in the work place. Whether they have lovers and indeed what exactly goes on in their bedrooms I couldn't really tell simply because even my close French friends aren't that explicit about their love lives. You can forget a Carrie-and-the-SATC-girls image of French girls all around a table at lunch talking about every detail of their love lives because in my experience, and unless I am yet to be initiated into the inner circles of girls where this in fact does go on, this just doesn't happen.

As for the lipstick part, I think that applies to older women, and even then not all of them. The women I know don't wear that much makeup. I would say that they do tend to enhance their eyes more but as for the rest of their makeup it is really barely visible. Another thing you will rarely see, in stark contrast to my last visit to the UK, is fake tans. A fake tan would stand out a mile in France. I'm not saying you won't find a few leathery looking ladies but this side of August, people aren't that tanned. Most people have olive colored skin which tans naturally and anyone who blatantly doesn't tan (i.e. moi) would look rather suspicious if sometimes they looked tanned and other times they were pale, without having the excuse of the odd weekend in St Tropez.

Not every woman that I know is gorgeously slim. Its true that there are perhaps less overweight people in France but most of them are rather normal shaped although a lot of girls I know lament the fact that they are no longer a size 38 (British 10, US 6) and that they are having trouble shifting the 5 kilos they feel they should lose.

I will say in their favour that most French women I know do dress well and pay attention to the way they look especially in the working world. That said there were a few girls I used to teach at university to whom I wanted strongly suggest the use of a hairbrush and a good conditioner every once in while! On the subject of conditioner I do find it very ironic that in the land of Laboratoire Ganier and L'Oréal, to name but a few, there is an abundance of shampoo but you can rarely find the corresponding conditioner.

French women dress safely. They wear conservative colours and tend to add a splash of colour with a scarf (that old chestnut) or some nice jewellery. A black polo neck is a wardrobe staple as it is easily chick but also because the moment the temperature drops a degree everyone must cover their necks for fear of catching cold. Anyone who has lived in France for a long time will note their tendency to buy black things, the number of black garments in my own wardrobe has certainly increased over the years. Back in the UK I noticed how many bright things there were, and whilst it was nice to see, I knew I couldn't buy such things because back in France it might look out of place.

French women like most women like clothes and take pride in what they wear. They don't all wear Chanel but they do seem to take care that they wear what suits them and it is never apparent whether what they wear is Chanel or H&M. That is another point, displaying wealth is considered vulgar. I know friends who have Yves Saint Laurent suits for example but you whist you can tell it is a good suit, it is not flaunted. One friend who I was convinced wore nothing but the most expensive clothes, told me that she always buys clothes from either H&M or Zara.

In France, it is important for a woman to be seductive. That requires paying attention to how one looks, what one wears, how one acts and what perfume one uses. It is not always about comfort either. Whilst I'm rather partial to the M&S underwear myself, I have to come to learn the value of having nice, sexy underwear to keep things interesting once in a while. Last time I was in a lingerie shop the woman behind me in the queue was holding a red lacy set and she was a slim, beautiful woman who was easily between 50 and 60, so seduction is clearly not just for the young!

It is true that, in my experience, French women are a lot more smartly dressed and you rarely see people popping out to grab a baguette in their tracksuits for example, something which I do quite often. One lazy Sunday, I had put on my tracksuit because I had no intention of doing anything particular and didn't want to have to dress up to go into town. A friend popped by my flat to see me. Seeing what I was wearing, he said "oh, have you been exercising?", and seemed bemused when I said I hadn't. I've also had some strange looks at the bakery when, again at the weekend, I have run out with freshly washed but still wet hair, a tracksuit and trainers, to grab a few morning croissants. The strange looks came from the impeccably dressed old ladies, on their way back from church, who were picking up their cakes for afternoon tea. I could never figure out whether it was because I was dressed in a tracksuit or whether I had wet hair and they were amazed that I was exposing myself to the risk of catching cold.

Comparing my French friends with my English friends would be like saying a good bottle of St Emillion is better than a fine Islay whisky (for example), the two just don't compare. I'll admit it is difficult to make female friends in France; it takes time and the right context. For instance, if you meet a female friend through a male friend don't expect her to warm to you, but if you take a class or some other social activity, you can make female friends. However, once you do make friends with this supposedly illustrious, seductive creature, you will find that French women are fun, warm, intelligent, love to laugh, generous and very loyal friends. Yes they are to be admired because they are beautiful and charming but as every self respecting French woman knows every woman has her own charm and uses it at her will, English women can be just as seductive and charming as well!

Petite Anglaise

I write as a Petite Anglaise convertee. I shall first explain how I discovered the blog of Petite Anglaise. I was browsing a French newspaper one morning when I came upon an article detailing her court case against her former employer. The article mentioned her blog and being very bored at the time, I immediately looked it up. I have to say the synopsis did not impress me much - English secretary, with partner for eight years, has a child, leaves partner for man she met on blog and (at the time I started reading) had recently been fired and also dumped by "Lover". Bloody great, I thought, what did she go and mess it up for? Admittedly this was more a reflection on myself, my own hopes and dreams about establishing my life in France, rather than a personal attack on Petite. You see, whilst I wasn't always a Francophile, since moving here in 2003 I have fallen in love with the country, and later in love with a Frenchman, and I was at the point in my relationship when I was very much wondering whether it would all work and whether love and a lasting relationship was possible between a French person and an English person or could love not survive the cultural differences. In a way I resented Petite for proving that such a relationship could not work (again, my fault not hers). I then started reading all her blog entries from the beginning to find out what on earth had happened. I have to say that through reading the blog I was converted into being a modest Petite Anglaise fan and I thoroughly enjoyed her accounts of Paris and her writing style. I will even admit that the Petite Anglaise site was one of the main reasons for this blog, although I wanted to blog just to express my opinion and had no intention of revealing so much personal details. Anyway having read the blog I wanted to read the book to find out what exactly was the story behind the blog.

I did enjoy the book on the whole. The first few chapters I felt that Catherine's usual writing style had clearly been jazzed up (somewhat necessarily) by the over use of a thesaurus but as the story got going, her natural narrative style appeared and I did enjoy the rest of the book.

Like other blog readers I was somewhat disappointed that the book did not go on to reveal the inside story as to what happened when she was fired and what has happened since but I appreciate that at the time of writing she wanted to end the book on a positive note and therefore I think it was well done.

There have been those who have judged the book for showing a rather superficial, selfish, immature character. At one point I have to say that I myself did cringe at some points thinking "How can a 34 year old be so naïve?" but I corrected my own judgment by reasoning that in fact age does not equal wisdom and only life experience teaches you what decisions to make later on. Yes it is easy to judge those who have cheated on a partner and/or left them, but the old proverb of "don’t judge a person until you have walked a mile in their shoes" applies in such a situation, and in light of my own experiences it is easier to judge how Catherine should have acted but it is only by living those experiences that you learn the hard lessons.

The truth is in writing the book Catherine has laid bare parts of her real life and therefore laid her life and not just her writing open to judgment from anyone and everyone. As I continue to read the blog it would appear that Catherine/Petite and her fans react very aggressively to the slightest criticism made by commentators or those who have written reviews on Amazon and I think Catherine should be a bit more thick skinned. Easier to say if you haven't written a book I suppose but even so, given the thousands of adoring fans which log onto to Petite's website everyday, it is my opinion that she should be proud of what she has achieved, be pleased with all this support, take the constructive criticism on the nose as it is intended and ignore the other vicious criticisms. But that said, once again, I am judging Catherine's reactions by what I myself have learnt from life - easy to say, not so easy to take on board!

So I would advise anyone who is wondering about life in France to read Catherine's blog and book, they are both enjoyable reads and I look forward to Catherine's next book when, hopefully, she will truly establish herself as a writer.

Joy and praise

The time is soon approaching for our yearly appraisals at work. I'm not too apprehensive, however as feedback is necessary and generally constructive. Nonetheless, now that I work in an office, I often think back on my first work appraisals - when I taught in the schools.

Anyone who has taught knows how incredibly rewarding it is to be a teacher and see the your students achieve something and know that you have had something to do with it. That said, children can also be very unforgiving and never happy with the work you have given to them, and which you have tried to make it as interesting as possible. There are some who will be glad of the work you have spent hours preparing and others who at the end of the day will say that they weren't happy with one thing or another. Three years of teaching both children and students taught me that you can never please everyone.

One particular incident comes to mind when it comes to talking about being evaluated in ones work. When I was teaching the children, although I knew they had had at least one other English/American teacher before me, they seemed to have forgotten what they had been taught. I found out from the children that their last teacher was called Mary-Ann and that she was American. One day, when I was going through basic greetings, I said to them "oh you must know how to reply to the question "How are you?". Was it not one of the things Mary-Ann taught you last year?". Some of the children looked rather blank and others shook their heads vehemently. One girl piped up "No! Mary-Anne didn't teach us anything, she just re-applied her make-up and made us smell her feet".
"Oh really?" I said, more than mildly skeptical about these accusations.
"Yes" said the girl earnestly, and cupping her hand in front of her face as if she was holding a compact make-up mirror, she continued, "She used to stop in the middle of the teaching and check her eye make-up, and other times she would put her foot up on the table and make us smell her feet and then she would count her toes". Ah this explained it a little. I found it funny how the girl had interpreted the teacher's actions. I made a mental note to myself to check my make-up before entering the school and when teaching them how to count, to stick to using my fingers! I often worried given that after a year of being taught by her, all these children would remember of Mary-Ann was how she used to check her make-up (or most probably had a problem with a contact lens) or once tried to teach them how to count by pointing out that she had ten toes as well as ten fingers. I knew I was far from a perfect teacher and had no doubt that whatever I did these children would tell some wildly exaggerated story about how I taught to the next teacher.

I turned out that I needn't have worried. A year later I was having drinks with some friends when a friend of a friend came to join us and was introduced to me. "Pierre teaches English in the school near La Victoire", Jack said. Pierre was French and had lived in the US for several years, having returned to France to qualify as a teacher he now taught English. "Oh, I know the one, I used to work there, my name is Rose" I said.
"Rose?" said Pierre, "so you're Rose?"
"Yes" I said feeling slightly apprehensive, "why, what have they said about me?"
"Oh no nothing bad, they love you!! I was once teaching them about the magic e – the fact that putting an e at the end of certain words changes the sound – and drew a flower and pointed out that you don't pronounce it 'Roz' you pronounce it 'Rose'. Then upon hearing the word the children said "Rose, like Rose". "Yes" I said, "the flower", to which they replied that it was not only a flower but that they had had a teacher called Rose. When I asked what you were like they said how nice you were and then started chanting some song you had taught them". Pierre then hummed the tune of the song.
"They said I was nice?" I said, still unconvinced, "they didn't say anything about me making them do horrible things, or, any other strange criticisms?"
"Oh no! One girl did mention something about a certain Mary-Ann however".
I rolled my eyes and smiled and told him about what the children had said about Mary-Ann.

Phew! Not only had I escaped being remembered as some ugly witch with strange teaching methods but on top of that they had remembered the song I had taught them on expressing how they were feeling (happy, sad, tired, good etc.). They may have forgotten everything else I had ever taught them and claim total ignorance as regards being able to speak English but at least they had remembered something!

29 February

Monsieur and I decided to wander up to Sacré Coeur on Montmatre. It is Sunday afternoon and the sun is shining. As we make our way along the cobbled roads, blissfully unaware of the crowds of tourists around us, I suddenly thought about something, "You know" I said, "this year February has one extra day, which means that this year is a leap year. How do you say leap year in French?" I ask. He thinks about this for a minute and replies "année bissextile". "Well" I continue "in England and I think in America as well, in a leap year, traditionally woman ask men to marry them" I say trying to catch his regard. "Oh look, there's a table free" he said, totally ignoring what I just said and steering me towards a small table in front of one of the many cafés surrounding Place du Tertre.

Several hours later, having enjoyed our hot drinks and watched the painters trying to hustle the tourists into having their portrait done we wander round to the Sacré Coeur. As we turn the corner we see a small park from which we have a great view onto the Paris rooftops and notably the Eiffel tower.

The sun is now setting turning the misty sky of Paris into a dusty pink color. We are sat on a bench, my head resting on his shoulder. Behind us a busker is playing the Spanish guitar. The moment is perfectly romantic. I lift my head to plant a kiss on his cheek and gaze at this lovely Frenchman who I love so much. "Mon chéri" I say "I have something important to ask you…". He looks at me quizzically. I pause for a while, for dramatic effect, trying to stop myself from smiling. I breathe in as if taking the plunge, "Well…Do you think we should take the funicular down the hill or walk?" I say, now letting my mouth smile and burst out laughing. He throws me a look, rolls his eyes, flings his arm around my shoulders and pulls me towards him to plant a kiss on my forehead. "You didn't have me worried you know" he said.
This is totally us, the most romantic city in the world, in a romantic place in the city at sunset and we are laughing and joking with each other.
"I know what you were trying to make me think you were going to ask but I know that despite what you said earlier you won't ask me to marry you this year"
"How's that?"
"Well, you do know that if you ask me to marry you then you'll have to buy me a nice ring and you won't get that ring you have your eye on". He has a point, I do have a ring in mind, about which I drop not-so-subtle hints.
"So", he continues "I know I'm safe for at least a year, if this is a year that you have to ask me to marry you. I don't have to ask you to marry me for another year or so".
"But you are thinking that one day you might ask me to marry you?" I say, pouncing on this last comment.
He throws me another side-ways look, smiles and kisses me again. I snuggle into him and continue to gaze at the Eiffel tower.
What's French for "quit whilst you are ahead"?

Dear readers...

Oh hello! Erm, I'm beginning to realize that there have been quite a few visits to this blog, something which is a little unexpected. I don't know how it is you have come to read this blog, whether it is because I have left comments on petite's page and people have clicked the link to see who I am or people have found it for other reasons but I would be interested in finding out who you are and how you have come across my page and more especially what you think (even if it is harsh – I can take it I'm a big girl and if anyone does have anything particularly nasty to say, they are not at all obliged to read my blog!).

I think given the interest I should perhaps explain a few things.

Firstly as you can see, I'm not very good at the upkeep of my blog (as I am not very good at the upkeep of many things in life!) and don't really know a lot about blogging (why do I feel like Julie Andrews as Maria Von Trapp when I say this?), you may have gathered this from my "why blogger" post and the blogging crisis I had a few months ago. I do have a camera but don't get much of a chance at taking pictures and posting them. I can happily oblige if people think my blog lacks pictures.

Secondly, this is not really a personal diary. I used to keep a diary and used to cringe when rereading it, and this was a diary I used to keep hidden under a cupboard so lord knows I don't want to be going on about my personal life in the public arena. No one in my personal circle aside from Monsieur knows about this blog (and he doesn't seem to read it) and so its not a letter home or a way of communicating to my nearest and dearest about what I do here in France (they get it first hand anyway through e-mails and telephone calls). I'm quite happy to share certain details of my private life given that I'm writing under a pen name but the aim of this blog is to write short (ok then long) comments about my life in France, should this interest anyone who happens upon it. Personal blogs can be very interesting, (I very much enjoying reading some of them and if anyone has any others to recommend I would like to know). I especially like anecdotes of family life but I myself only write things that I think might interest people and I don't kid myself into thinking that other people would really care about my life (not that I'm criticizing anyone for doing so). My other reason is that I personally feel that if you put your personal life in the public arena, people will then decide to judge you on it, something which I absolutely do not want. For me this is a private blog (hence why I have limited the comment option but you are quite free to e-mail me), its use and content may change over time but for now I prefer just to make my own observations on my life in France and the experiences I have had.

Thirdly, I'm not a writer. I have an idea of a book in my head, based on a very strange experience I had during my Erasmus year but if I had wanted to be a writer surely I would have written the book by now. I quite enjoy recounting anecdotes of things I find strange or amusing here in France so I try to make my entries like magazine articles. Like many bloggers I'm testing my writing abilities. Maybe one day I'll write my book but right now I have many other personal and professional projects.

Finally, I have a job (watched me get dooced now!). In my job there are times when I have a huge workload and other times when I have nothing to do so have time to kill until the next mountain of work arrives. I usually write my blogs in word and then copy and paste them into the blog at times when work is quiet. The fact that I work and also that I try to make sure I have something at least half interesting to say before I blog means that I don't blog that often. I try to give as little detail as possible on who I am and absolutely no detail on where I work because I don't want to jeopardize my personal and professional life in any way.

Apart from that I can tell you that I am British, in my twenties, I have lived in France for around 5 years. I came to France firstly for an Erasmus year and then returned to relive what I had experienced during that fabulous Erasmus year. I am here principally because I unexpectedly fell in love with this country and still love France (despite its faults). Monsieur is another reason why I stay here especially in spite of the awful employment market but I met him after I had been living here several years. I have been a language teacher in a school and in the University in Bordeaux and now I work in Paris. I seem to have set myself a challenge to make life work in France, accomplish studies, build a career, fall in love and make that love last, build a family with the man I love … live life in general! I do love England, it is what I have known for twenty years of my life, I don't exclude ever returning to England but for as long as possible, for as much as is possible I want to make my life in France.

As I said above you can't comment on my posts unless you are a fellow blogger, but if you are another expat, blogger, or anyone else (with sincere intentions) who would like to correspond you may of course e-mail me. I comment on French life and the French people as I know them. I have great respect and love for the French and do not wish anything I have written here to be taken as being offensive. Living in France makes me very aware of the faults and peculiarities of the English as well and I'm sure someone in the opposite situation would have things to say about English life.

So there you have it, à vous maintenant!

(P.S. I clearly have a tendency to over-use brackets and digress immensely, but that's me!)

Expat politics

I was on the train once, happily settled into my seat, magazine on the fold away table in front of me, munching on my sandwich when a fellow passenger came and took his seat beside me. I have to say that he took a while to put his bag and coat on the overhead shelf, take out his computer and the documents he would probably be working on and put a smaller bag under the seat. The whole time this exercise was accompanied by much huffing and puffing and muttering to himself….in English. It was clear that I was next to another Expat.

I would classify expats into four categories:
1) the pensioners – those who are retired and have bought a second home in France and come to live there during their retirement,
2) the working expats – who have been sent here with their families and maybe choose to stay
3) the French lovers – those who have met someone French and have moved with them to France or alternatively those who were here for a temporary period, have met their French partners and now chose to stay,
4) the student – either those on a year abroad or those who having finished a year abroad come here after graduation for a year or two "whilst they decide what to do with their lives" and who can very often fall in love with a French person and then fall into category 3.

Categories 1 and 2 may want to meet other expats because they can't or don't want to learn French and find it easier to have other English speaking friends. Those in categories 3 or 4 may have some expat friends but generally as they want to intergrate into French society, they don't want to meet with other expats. I fall into the 3/4 category, I used to study here, then I came back and started work and now I have met someone. During the years I have spent here I have made other expat friends but don't usually actively seek out other expats.

Often when expats do meet up we can often talk about the French and compare our view of French life. The result of this is that these commentaries can seem rather negative and even insulting. However, we are all here because we love France or the French but as with love, you love but you don't always have to like nor to completely understand. I say this because my blog is exactly that, I love France and I love many things about the French but there are lots of things I find strange and therefore comment on. Consider this as a disclaimer for any harsh comments I might make.

The other problem I sometimes face, when an expats speaks French very well, is discerning when I am in front of an English speaking person and in what language to speak to him or her in. Of course when the conversation starts we speak French but at what point do we give up the act? Some expats have lived her so long that there accent is very light so it is difficult to be sure exactly where they are from. Indeed, if nothing is said, but you think the person next to you/in front of you is English, how do you let the person know?

With the guy on the train I could obviously tell he was English and he was making no attempts to hide it, in fact I would say he wanted those around him to know. I was reading a French magazine and despite my obvious English rose looks, I could have passed for a French person (or at least I like to think so) but I decided I wanted to indicate that I was in fact English. Firstly I rummaged in my bag and took out an English novel (with a WH Smiths sticker) also, whenever he bumped into me as he was settling down or moving during the journey, to his "excuse-moi" I replied "don't worry". Eventually he did click on to the fact that I was British, asked me a question directly in English which then led to us having a conversation for the rest of the journey. We spoke about our respective lives in France. Whenever I do meet an expat I'm fascinated to find out why they are here, for how long and what they do. Naturally, and as mentioned above we did spend a lot of the time talking about the French in the work place and criticizing the system. At the end of the trip I was quite concerned that any French passengers who had overheard and understood our conversation might have thought "well if you don't like the French way of life, why stay here?" and could have been a little insulted.

Finally, there is the situation when you are the secret expat, where you are around English speaking expats who chat in public freely and discussing all sorts of subjects believing that those around them can't understand. Metros and buses are great places for overhearing tourists and other English speakers chat as if they were the only ones there. The issue in such a situation is at what point do you let them know that you are English and can understand or do you stay quiet and listen to what they are saying. On the one hand it is quite interesting, on the other it can be quite embarrassing when it happens to you. I was once on the tram in Bordeaux with a friend discussing in detail the weekends events and a bit of boy trouble when the guy sat next to my friend stood up and said "excuse me, my stop is next" in a very distinct British accent. My friend and I looked at each other shocked realizing what we had been discussing. They guy smiled knowingly and said "don't worry girls, I'm sure it will all work out".