When Nathan and I first met and later got off the cruise ship, we went traveling, in our first bid to eat our way around the world. We went to Europe, because neither of us had ever really traveled before, and it was easy, and at that time, it wasn't too expensive.
In those days, we had no dietary proclivities, so we ate everything. There wasn't a bakery that we passed that we didn't stop to try the local specialty, with an emphasis on chocolate, bread, and pastries. Crepes in France, in Portugal there was this chocolate cake stuff that we ate almost every day, pide and gozleme in Turkey, pizza and pasta and other delightful things in Italy (even the train stations in Italy had great food). In Spain, we ate these really disgusting sugared egg yolk things that I thought would be lemon...imagine my disappointment.
We were looking for the "real" Europe, the old-timey, romantic place that you can see in some movies. We finally found it in Belgium (along with some really great windmills), in a place called Bruges (if any of you have ever seen the movie "In Bruges", they filmed it there, but the main character's interpretation of Bruges as the most boring place on the face of the planet, and our interpretation was somewhat different).
In Bruges, we found a shop with some of the best waffles we had ever tasted. Belgian waffles, right? They had big pieces of sugar in them and they were dense and sweet and we went to that shop every day.
We eventually had to leave Bruges, but we kept looking for those great waffles. One day we were in Chamonix, in France, on our way over the mountains to Italy, over the Alps. Nathan was desperate for a waffle, a crepe just wouldn't do. We were asking around, looking in different shops. Of course, I spoke french, so I would do most of the talking, but I taught Nathan the word for waffle -- "gauffre" -- and he could say it pretty well, and so we split up and he went on ahead to search out the perfect confection.
I came upon him a few minutes later, totally frustrated with some shop owner who Nathan figured was being deliberately dense. The shop owner couldn't understand Nathan's french.
Now, the French people don't speak all that much english, or they didn't when we were there. For us, the reputation of the French as being rude was totally wrong. As long I spoke french, they were absolutely welcoming and lovely (they think the Canadian accent is very funny). They just get uncomfortable when they have to speak a language they don't know well.
So I could just imagine what the poor French shop owner was thinking when Nathan was trying to communicate with him. Because Nathan wasn't speaking in sentences. Just the one word.
"Gauffre".
In North America, when approached by a foreigner speaking another language, or a poor example of english, we try to encourage them along and figure out what they're saying. For instance, if someone came to a restaurant saying "waffle", the owner would think "Gee, maybe this guy wants a waffle". Not in France.
Nathan: "Gauffre".
French shop owner: "Quoi?"
Nathan: "Gauffre".
French shop owner: "Espece d'anglais de merde!" (waving hands around)
Nathan: "Gauffre".
There were no waffles in Chamonix.
The reason that I relate this story is because waffles have made their way around the world. It's ironic that we couldn't find one in France, very close to Belgium, a neighbour, really, but in SE Asia, where there is barely the tradition of eating wheat, there are waffles all over. Bangkok is the waffle capital, I would say. Coconut waffles, raisin waffles, waffles on a stick, hotdogs in waffles, shrimp waffles...they're all over, smelling up the metro and the streets...it's very pleasant, really.
Nathan has no trouble ordering waffles here. He just has to point.
In those days, we had no dietary proclivities, so we ate everything. There wasn't a bakery that we passed that we didn't stop to try the local specialty, with an emphasis on chocolate, bread, and pastries. Crepes in France, in Portugal there was this chocolate cake stuff that we ate almost every day, pide and gozleme in Turkey, pizza and pasta and other delightful things in Italy (even the train stations in Italy had great food). In Spain, we ate these really disgusting sugared egg yolk things that I thought would be lemon...imagine my disappointment.
We were looking for the "real" Europe, the old-timey, romantic place that you can see in some movies. We finally found it in Belgium (along with some really great windmills), in a place called Bruges (if any of you have ever seen the movie "In Bruges", they filmed it there, but the main character's interpretation of Bruges as the most boring place on the face of the planet, and our interpretation was somewhat different).
In Bruges, we found a shop with some of the best waffles we had ever tasted. Belgian waffles, right? They had big pieces of sugar in them and they were dense and sweet and we went to that shop every day.
We eventually had to leave Bruges, but we kept looking for those great waffles. One day we were in Chamonix, in France, on our way over the mountains to Italy, over the Alps. Nathan was desperate for a waffle, a crepe just wouldn't do. We were asking around, looking in different shops. Of course, I spoke french, so I would do most of the talking, but I taught Nathan the word for waffle -- "gauffre" -- and he could say it pretty well, and so we split up and he went on ahead to search out the perfect confection.
I came upon him a few minutes later, totally frustrated with some shop owner who Nathan figured was being deliberately dense. The shop owner couldn't understand Nathan's french.
Now, the French people don't speak all that much english, or they didn't when we were there. For us, the reputation of the French as being rude was totally wrong. As long I spoke french, they were absolutely welcoming and lovely (they think the Canadian accent is very funny). They just get uncomfortable when they have to speak a language they don't know well.
So I could just imagine what the poor French shop owner was thinking when Nathan was trying to communicate with him. Because Nathan wasn't speaking in sentences. Just the one word.
"Gauffre".
In North America, when approached by a foreigner speaking another language, or a poor example of english, we try to encourage them along and figure out what they're saying. For instance, if someone came to a restaurant saying "waffle", the owner would think "Gee, maybe this guy wants a waffle". Not in France.
Nathan: "Gauffre".
French shop owner: "Quoi?"
Nathan: "Gauffre".
French shop owner: "Espece d'anglais de merde!" (waving hands around)
Nathan: "Gauffre".
There were no waffles in Chamonix.
The reason that I relate this story is because waffles have made their way around the world. It's ironic that we couldn't find one in France, very close to Belgium, a neighbour, really, but in SE Asia, where there is barely the tradition of eating wheat, there are waffles all over. Bangkok is the waffle capital, I would say. Coconut waffles, raisin waffles, waffles on a stick, hotdogs in waffles, shrimp waffles...they're all over, smelling up the metro and the streets...it's very pleasant, really.
Nathan has no trouble ordering waffles here. He just has to point.
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2 comments:
I love how your blog has evolved -- your stories that tie together experiences from different travels are wonderful. Glad to hear Nathan's communication skills are more successful now than ever. ;)
Found your post from a Google search for "Chamonix waffles." We've had waffles in Belgium, but the ones we had from a little stand in Chamonix was the best we've ever had , bar none. Sorry you didn't discover it during your trip! Crispy on the outside and undescribably perfect on the inside. Hence our Google search. :)
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