Cultural diplomacy

In the cab, the cab driver spoke in French and must have been asked me where I wanted to go. I said the hotel name. And gave him the address I’d written (good to be prepared, non?)

“Est-ce que vous parlez anglais?” I asked (this was one of the three French phrases that I knew).

“Ah, a lee-tle bit,” he replied.

We attempted some small talk during the 15 minutes ride. The usual: where I came from; first time here in Canada?

He looked like he was in his mid-50s. He was munching on a sandwich as he drove. Somehow that prompted me to ask what was his work hours was like.

Until eleven, he said.

I wanted to ask more but felt it might be intrusive.

Reached the hotel. Smooth ride. Paid and tipped him.

“Merci,” we said.

We both smiled.

[Adapted from this post]

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