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| Check Out My Europe-Trotting Legs | What?! You Can’t Get By in English at Charles de Gaulle, France’s Largest International Airport?

14 min read


After several rounds of the utterly useless-life cycle of “sleep > eat > sleep some more > eat some more”—the kind you complain about at the time and miss afterward—the long twelve-hour journey from Hanoi to Paris, France, was finally over.

The thud of the landing gear hitting the runway also sounded the opening bell for my three-month journey around Europe, and I couldn’t wait to see the legendary romance of Paris. Little did I know that the first thing waiting to greet me would be one of those legendary, inexplicable French encounters—right inside Charles de Gaulle Airport.
If I had to sum up France at the time in two short syllables, they would probably have been “Fa-Q”!

【 看我的歐行腿】 蝦咪！戴高樂這堂堂法國最大國際機場，講英文不能通？02
[I mean, French kids are pretty Q—cute. You know the truth in your heart.]

 

This story takes us back to the afternoon of June 29, 2012, when I—a girl making her fearless first foray into Europe (I still counted as a girl back then)—arrived alone in Franceto begin an 85-day journey through 16 European countries.。

 

The first time is always a little scary. My biggest concern about France was naturally public safety. I was so worried that, at my very first stop in Paris, some masterful street magician would make all my travel money vanish in one spectacular sleight of hand (see this post for safety tips to keep in mind when traveling around Europe），that I completely overlooked another reason so many people turn pale at the mere mention of France—and forgot to prepare any tactics for the confrontation….

 

The target was none other than—the French!
(What a coincidence! Everyone I met in France was French!)
(Not true—there were Chinese people and tourists too!)

 

【 看我的歐行腿】 蝦咪！戴高樂這堂堂法國最大國際機場，講英文不能通？03
[You can’t scare me.]

 

My Vietnam Airlines flight landed at the famous Charles de Gaulle Airport in France (although, in my ignorance, I once thought I would see LEGO there…and continued believing that for a full decade). It is Paris’s largest international airport and one of Europe’s major gateways, second only to London Heathrow in passenger traffic. An airport this big was bound to be packed with travelers and have all sorts of complicated comings and goings…or so I warily imagined. (My pre-trip imagination had no limits.)

 

So I mentally pulled out my crystal ball and calculated on my fingers:The first challenge I would face might be immigration officers rigorously questioning my travel plans; the second would be keeping my belongings safe, so I needed to get my life-sustaining luggage back by my side as quickly as possible, lest she end up stranded and attract unwanted attention—or else I would be the one stranded on the streets.

 

Fortunately, at this point in the story I still had two Taiwanese girls with me. We had met only a few hours earlier while taking the same Vietnam Airlines flight and transferring in Hanoi. The airline-arranged one-day layover tour of Hanoi had prompted us, complete strangers at first, to look out for one another.We shared the same destination. Even though we would part ways after leaving the airport and begin our own separate stories, at that moment we occupied the same time and space and shared the same memories. That kind of connection is called travel.

【 看我的歐行腿】 蝦咪！戴高樂這堂堂法國最大國際機場，講英文不能通？05
[A heartwarming preview of the ending—but was this an arrangement of fate, an emotional entanglement, or was there more to the story? What was the truth? Stay tuned.]

 

(Wait! Why did this suddenly get sentimental? Put your stern face back on—I haven’t finished being angry yet!)

 

The expressionless immigration officer asked me to show proof of my return flight. Generous soul that I am, I presented not only that but also a rough itinerary for my entire 85-day trip, respectfully offered with both hands. The officer flipped through my documents and glanced at me several times. Just as a chill had traveled halfway up my spine from my tailbone and cold sweat was about to drip down, the officer suddenly said nothing and forcefully thumped a stamp into my little green passport. First challenge cleared: just like that, I had successfully entered Europe,which showed that if your documents are complete, immigration is no obstacle at all!

 

【 看我的歐行腿】 蝦咪！戴高樂這堂堂法國最大國際機場，講英文不能通？06
[Woo-hoo—my journey is about to begin! (No additional costume needed for this hobbit.)]

 

Thrilled, I met up with the two Taiwanese girls outside immigration, though I had not forgotten the second challenge tucked away in the back of my mind: getting my luggage as quickly as possible. We chatted about the immigration officers’ stern faces while excitedly preparing to ride the escalator down to baggage claim. The instant I stepped onto it, I suddenly caught sight of something hanging from the ceiling flashing past overhead
“Hey! That’s the sign showing the baggage-carousel numbers for each flight! But I didn’t see our number in time…”
“I didn’t see it either.”
“It’s fine—the carousel area should have it.”

 

That was technically true: every baggage carousel displayed the flight number whose luggage it was currently spitting out. But unlike the electronic board above the escalator, there was no complete directory matching every flight to its carousel.The one above the escalator was actually the only one!

 

If this had been Kinmen Airport, fine—I could have walked one lap and definitely found my flight. But hello, this was Charles de Gaulle, the biggest airport in France! The endless row of baggage carousels now looked like a vast sea of stars. We had lost our compass in the middle of the ocean and could not find our flight anywhere. Worse, signs pointed off into the distance, showing that the airport had separate baggage-claim zones in different sections. Standing inside the enormous Charles de Gaulle Airport, we suddenly had no idea where to begin.

 

【 看我的歐行腿】 蝦咪！戴高樂這堂堂法國最大國際機場，講英文不能通？07
[No wonder thread-lifting treatments are so popular. I need someone to implant a thread of reason in me.]

To find my life-support suitcase as quickly as possible,my sharp eyes immediately spotted the prominently suspended “Information Desk” informationservicecounter(those last two words were clearly redundant here). I practically teleported to the counter in a few giant strides. Several travelers were gathered around it in a very casual, free-form approximation of a queue. Some asked questions in French while others waited to speak. At last, the traveler before me finished and left, and I quickly said, “I’d like to ask where I can collect the baggage from my flight.”

At that very moment, another human suddenly popped up beside me and began asking a question in French, apparently also about the location of some luggage. The sole staff member behind the counter frowned as she answered him. Seeing this, the scattered tourists began acting as if they were in a buzzer round, competing to see who could get the lady at the counter to call on them first. (Pick me! Pick me!) Meanwhile,I stood there for nearly five minutes, repeatedly trying to speak and repeatedly being ignored.(Looks like I won’t be invited back on the show next time.)

 

[I need you to look at me—just once is enough….]

 

Eventually, my concern for my luggage exhausted the last of my patience. I held my boarding pass directly in front of her eyes and asked, “Excuse me”—the perfect “Excuse me” to accompany an eye roll and a dainty lotus-finger gesture—“where do I collect my luggage?”At last, I received my first response from her, but without so much as looking me in the eye, she uttered two syllables: “Tuan-tuan.”

 

“Sorry?” Tuan what tuan? For a moment, I thought my English was simply too poor to understand her.

 

“Tuan-tuan.” Once again, she reluctantly opened her mouth and spat out the same two syllables. If you were speaking Chinese, I might suggest visiting him at Taipei Zoo, but here in Paris, that answer left me utterly baffled—and wanting to smack you on the head.

 

Yes, refusing to give up, I asked yet again, even adding the request, “Excuse me, do you speak English?”

 

And so I received one more “Tuan-tuan,” this time in an impatient tone. A French traveler standing nearby even joined the chorus of people calling for “Tuan-tuan.” The overlapping cries of “Tuan-tuan” circled endlessly in my head as I tried to decode them using my limited vocabulary, butmy instincts told me this was French. How on earth was I supposed to guess?(If I could guess that, I might as well have summoned a spirit to reveal my baggage-carousel number from the start!)And of course, my instincts later proved entirely correct.

 

[This is giving me a headache—someone please give me a translation gadget!]
An information-desk employee at an international airport could understand my question in English but couldn’t say the most basic numbers in English?That made absolutely no sense!

 

Fortunately, the other two Taiwanese girls split up to find different ground-service staff and cleverly asked them to write the number down on paper,finally cracking the crucial code: “Tuan-tuan” = “33.”At last, we found the baggage carousel and completed this round of Airport Escape.

 

[We finally retrieved our darling luggage. What a long, long road.]

 

I could not believe an information-desk employee at a French international airport could be so unprofessional. For a while, I even slapped the label “French people are arrogant and refuse to speak English” onto everyone I met in France. Later, when I saw a report saying that Charles de Gaulle had topped CNN’s 2011 list of the world’s most hated airports, I became even more convinced that the French were unquestionably “Fa-Q.”

 

A few days into the trip, however, I began learning a few French greetings. Before speaking, I tried opening with the French “Bonjour” or “excusez-moi.” Gradually, I noticed the plot beginning to change. French people no longer looked at me with blank expressions; instead, they became friendly and eager to help. When I wore a smile, people would even approach me while I was looking things up on the street and ask whether I needed assistance.

 

This change made me reconsider the Tuan-tuan incident at the airport. Was that employee an exception among the French, or was there another reason?

 

 

Once I developed the habit of greeting people in the local language before speaking English as I traveled through France—and even through other European countries—I met fewer and fewer people who were unwilling to acknowledge me. Even when their English was poor, they were willing to stop, listen to me, and help think of a solution. Ridiculous incidents like “Tuan-tuan” rarely happened again, and good luck seemed to be coming my way.

 

That was when I realized: show respect and try to fit in first, and respect will be returned.

 

Are French people really arrogant? Do they refuse to speak English?
When we are guests in someone else’s country, perhaps trying to speak their language is the essential respect we outsiders should bring with us.I think I had found my strategy for handling “Fa-Q.”

 

Even if you cannot hold a conversation in the local language, learning one or two opening phrases can instantly bring people closer. (It’s like how a foreign visitor to Taiwan can delight and amaze us simply by saying “你好.”)

 

And so I came to believe thatgood fortune is not merely luck—it is the good luck created when our own respect meets the goodwill of others.

 

✈ Travel date: 2012/6/29

 

| Watch My European Legs Go | France in 9 Days Series
● France: Not What You Imagined?
● France Day 1 – What?! You Can’t Get By in English at Charles de Gaulle, France’s Biggest International Airport?
● France Day 1 – The Palace of Versailles in Paris, France: Breaking Through the Blocked Historical Connections in My Brain
● France Day 2 – Without Getting Thoroughly Lost, How Could I Ever Discover the Old-World Charm of the Palais Garnier in Paris?
● France Day 2 – The Historic Road Between the Arc de Triomphe and the Champs-Élysées in Paris—and My Lamentable Ignorance of History
● France Day 3 – The Louvre in Paris: That Faint Smile Hidden Away in a Gilded Palace
● France Day 3 – My Own Impression of Paris! Impressionist Masterpieces at the Musée de l’Orangerie and Musée d’Orsay
● France Day 4 – Mont-Saint-Michel, France: So This Is Where the Hole in My Head Came From
● France Day 5 – Two Holy Sites in One Parisian Day: Two Sides of Paris at Sacré-Cœur and Notre-Dame
● France Days 1–5 – The Eiffel Tower: Five Views of This Magical Beacon in Paris, France
● France Day 6 – Avignon, the Ancient Provençal City Even More Beautiful at Sunset
● France Day 7 – Living It Up in the Lavender Fields and Red City of Provence, Southern France
● France Day 8 – Arles in Southern France: The Ancient Roman Empire Through My Eyes and Van Gogh’s Brush
● France Day 8 – Another Ancient Roman Town in Southern France: Does Nimes Blend the Old and New Well?
● France Day 9 – That Year, I Became Part of the Festival d’Avignon in Southern France….

| Watch My European Legs Go | 85 Days, 16 Countries Around EuropeComplete List of More Articles

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CREYA 可以呀 - Traveling In Life 在生活中旅行
旅行、徒步、嚐鮮、運動、生活。相信把每天過得精彩，那麼張開眼的每一天都是趟全新的旅程。