Monday was business as usual, so I taught my classes over in Asnières, and after, headed to Anvers to give a lesson to my unmotivated Sri Lankan student. I arrived at her apartment at 5 in the evening (for the class scheduled at that time), but she wasn't there. I called, and she assured me that she was only ten minutes away. So, I waited...and waited...and waited.
After 45 minutes, I finally, walked out of the apartment, ready to go home, when I saw my student sprinting down the street, calling, "Sorry, sorry, sorry."
So, we ended up having our lesson, and not unsurprisingly, she seemed very distracted. I kept pushing her to conjugate her verbs, but her heart just really wasn't in it, and at about 6:15, she announced that the lesson should end because we should go out to eat at her restaurant. She had to be in to work at 7, and why shouldn't I come along for dinner?
I agreed, and we took the bus over to the restaurant.
She immediately went to work behind the bar and brewed me some caramel tea. Meanwhile, the waiter, a 26-year-old electrical engineering student who has only recently arrived from India, also came out and offered to start me out with some "sweets." Which turned out to be a plate of deep-friend zucchini and spicy sauce.
People in France tend to be really late eaters, so though I arrived at 7, it was only me in the restaurant. It wasn't too disappointing, because my student and the waiter had plenty of fun goofing around, making jokes, and teaching me the Tamoul alphabet that had been taped to one of the walls. (Sadly, I didn't retain much, but they assured me that the pronounciation was okay.)
The restaurant used to be a French restaurant, if I remember correctly, but they're doing their best to Indian-ify it. When my student arrived last night, she brought with her some "pictures." They were large pieces of fabric with scenes depicting the life of Vishnu, the Hindu god, on them. I asked why he was blue, and the waiter said, "Well, because he drank poison!"
When, after nearly an hour, still no one had arrived, they started taking all sorts of pictures for me. Here's one picture my student took of me looking like a school marm. In my defense, it was cold, so I wrapped my scarf around me. Still, I look nice and awkward sitting at my table all alone.
But eventually, the main meal came. My student ordered Tandoori chicken and nan fromage for me. The meal was really delicious and cooked by someone called Abdullah, a faceless chef, being he never made it out of the kitchen. I was very impressed with the food, and my student and the waiter both sat around and watched me eat, saying "What do you think?" after each bite. They told me that the nan should be eaten with the hands, which seems contrary to everything I've learned in France, but as they say: when in India, do as the Indians.
We were really enjoying ourselves, but a little after 8, the woman who owns the restaurant arrived. Then, all hands were on deck, so to speak. No more joking. Just polishing the silverware, putting salt shakers on the tables, rearranging the sugar bowls.
I got up to leave when I heard the owner began arguing with the waiter. I walked up to pay (but my student refused to let me, saying I could "next time"). I have to say I was slightly relieved after the 3 course meal they had set in front of me. So, I thanked her, and was almost out the door before the ower caught me and said, "Sorry to make things uncomfortable for you. His mother is very ill. We need to send him to India, but we must see how."
I told her I wasn't upset, that I understood, and that I would certainly be back.
But I really did have to run in order to catch my train at 8:40, so I said my goodbyes and hopped on the metro that took me to the train station.
And finally, an hour and a half later, I made it home and slept with a stomach more full than I think it's ever been.
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