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  5 - My first French in Paris - continued

  The third taxi that took me, after all, turned out to be my very first and last taxi I rode in throughout the whole of my stay in Paris. 

  The driver, a French man in early middle age, was friendly enough to try to listen and understand my French I dared to speak for the first time in my life.

  One thing I noticed first of all in Paris with joy was big trees lining the streets. I spoke about that, but in vain. I was unable to make him understand me. After a while, plucking up courage I tried again and spoke this time about fairly many people I saw sitting in cafes and smoking. "Il y a beaucoup de monde qui fume." Then, he replied, "Oui." and even corrected my pronunciation!

  "D'ou venez-vous?" He asked me.  I was glad. He had some interest in me. 

  "Du Japon." 

  I wanted to go on and explain  that there is not much left any more for me in life so I'm now here in Paris I've long dreamed of visiting. In an effort to make myself come across, I desperately searched my brain for an apt expression in French and came up with the following - "Il ne me reste pas grand-chose comme la vie."

  He responded. 

  "Comment?"

  I said again.

  "Comme la vie."

  And there was no longer any response from him. He just kept on driving in silence and the car went bumping its way along.

  Sadly, I was remembering a Nat King Cole song whose lyrics went in part - "wish my French were good enough, I'd tell you so much more." The song is called, by the way, - Darling, je vous aime  beaucoup. -