Here's what happened to me years ago when in Paris:
I was lost and needed to ask for directions. I was due to meet my wife at a café near the Eiffel Tower.
I stopped a man in the street. He looked, and in fact was, French. This surprised me. I did not expect to find any French people in Paris; the place is always full of tourists.
I pointed to the map I had in hand and said in a French accent hoping he would understand, "scoouse moi monsieur ... were eez zee direction to zee Effelle
Toweer? You know ... Effelle ... Toweer!"
He got a little irritated. I could tell straight away by his demeanour and the fact that he went a little red in the face.
"Why you speak to me in zee French accent?" he asked, "Are you take zee Mickey Mouse of my speaking?"
"Non ... non ... monsieur. Pardonne zee moi!" I replied still in character. Now I started there was no point in changing tack in mid-stream. "I do not intend zee insult to you. I just ask for zee directions!"
He was not convinced with my apology. I wonder why. He stomped his foot and said emphatically, "I will not tell you. Ask zis man passing zee by here."
A
passing man stopped. He was not French, but a visiting tourist. You find them everywhere in Paris.
"Buon giorno," he said with a smile, "Come sono di assistance for you?"
Before I said anything the French man addressed him first.
"Allo my Italian friend. How 'appy I am
to see you. Veree 'appy! Mamma mia ... canna you 'elp zis man 'ere? 'E izz a tooreest from zee Engle and. 'E wantsa to go to zee
Eiffella Towera. I no tell 'im bee causa I no likee 'im!"
The Italian tourist frowned a little and said, "Ei ... why you speaka to me in funny Italian accent? You taking zee pizza of me?"
"No ... no ... signore ..." continued the Frenchman still in character, "I no taking zee pizza offa you ... I take zee pizza offa zis English man 'ere!!! 'E no speaka zee Frenchy and 'e aske me zee direction to zee Eiffella Towera!"
I realised that an argument was about to take place between those too. There was a gendarme not far away. I withdrew a little and asked another passer-by for directions.
"Och aye ... ye ken," he said in a strong Glaswegian accent, "watsa matter with them two? I'll gie 'em a skelpit lug!"
I explained that they were two foreigners fighting and there was no reason why we should be involved in the fight; especially with a policeman not so far away.
We withdrew a little further as he mumbled, "Aye ... Whit's fur ye'll no go by ye!"
I asked him, in perfect English because I did not want to be the recipient of a Glasgow kiss, the way to the Eiffel Tower.
"Ah dinnae ken from 'ere pal," he said, "Yer aff yer heid going there! It's a dreich day! And anyway, there's nothin to see in the Eiffel Tower. It's all made of Meccano pieces ye ken! The place at dis ma nut in."
Basically, he discouraged me from even trying to go there. He suggested we go for a drink instead.
"There's a pure dead brilliant pub down there. Let's go for a pint or two of Newcastle Brown," he continued with a smile, "let's get oot our face ... aye!"
He convinced me. I went to the pub with him, and let my wife find her own way back to the hotel.
