of kiss, whisper and giggle. Karl and I had no such inclination and yet were forced by proximity to witness theirs. Awkwardly we shared a small space on the stuffy bus seat, sitting stiff and silent as they smooched away. I stared out the window at the endless Belgian fields, and Karl stared at me, apparently not knowing what to say or how to say it.

When we finally arrived in Paris, I realized that Helga had it out for me. She shot me several nasty looks while we were waiti

When I was in my twenties, I flew from New York to Germany to light a fire under my disappointing Internet relationship with a guy named Karl. He was a kind fellow, this German, and had thoughtfully arranged a bus trip for us to Paris for a weekend during my stay. I looked forward to this diversion from our awkward visit. Heck, who doesn’t want to see Paris?

I especially welcomed the idea of Karl’s friend Helga and her British boyfriend, Henry, coming along with us. I’d never met them before and I didn’t speak more than a hundred words of German. Since everyone spoke English, though, I wasn’t too worried about communication.

My mistake!

When Karl first introduced me to Henry and Helga, they offered mushy handshakes and smirky smiles. I gave them my best “happy to meet you” in German, which I’d practiced carefully for just such an occasion. They nodded impatiently – yes, whatever - and turned as one away from me to speak in German to Karl.

When we boarded the bus, Karl and I found seats and Henry and Helga sat directly across the aisle. The tour bus operator explained Einstein’s theory of relativity, I think, or perhaps told the location of the exits. I’m not sure, because he was (surprise, surprise) speaking German. To say that this bus trip was excruciatingly long would be an injustice to time’s inexhaustible ability to drag its feet when it so pleases. In real time we’re talking six or seven hours. In my mind, though, I had entered a vacuum where time stood excruciatingly still.

It’s not that I expected the tour operator and bus passengers to speak English for my benefit. I did hope, though, that Karl, Henry and Helga might utter an English phrase or two now and again - just for fun. Helga was especially reluctant to do so. Karl did talk to me a bit – as official boyfriend he was obligated, I suppose.

After a while, Henry and Helga retreated into a private couple-world of kiss, whisper and giggle. Karl and I had no such inclination and yet were forced by proximity to witness theirs. Awkwardly we shared a small space on the stuffy bus seat, sitting stiff and silent as they smooched away. I stared out the window at the endless Belgian fields, and Karl stared at me, apparently not knowing what to say or how to say it.

When we finally arrived in Paris, I realized that Helga had it out for me. She shot me several nasty looks while we were waitin

r met them before and I didn’t speak more than a hundred words of German. Since everyone spoke English, though, I wasn’t too worried about communication.

My mistake!

When Karl first introduced me to Henry and Helga, they offered mushy handshakes and smirky smiles. I gave them my best “happy to meet you” in German, which I’d practiced carefully for just such an occasion. They nodded impatiently – yes, whatever - and turned as one away from me to speak in German to Karl.

When we boarded the bus, Karl and I found seats and Henry and Helga sat directly across the aisle. The tour bus operator explained Einstein’s theory of relativity, I think, or perhaps told the location of the exits. I’m not sure, because he was (surprise, surprise) speaking German. To say that this bus trip was excruciatingly long would be an injustice to time’s inexhaustible ability to drag its feet when it so pleases. In real time we’re talking six or seven hours. In my mind, though, I had entered a vacuum where time stood excruciatingly still.

It’s not that I expected the tour operator and bus passengers to speak English for my benefit. I did hope, though, that Karl, Henry and Helga might utter an English phrase or two now and again - just for fun. Helga was especially reluctant to do so. Karl did talk to me a bit – as official boyfriend he was obligated, I suppose.

After a while, Henry and Helga retreated into a private couple-world of kiss, whisper and giggle. Karl and I had no such inclination and yet were forced by proximity to witness theirs. Awkwardly we shared a small space on the stuffy bus seat, sitting stiff and silent as they smooched away. I stared out the window at the endless Belgian fields, and Karl stared at me, apparently not knowing what to say or how to say it.

When we finally arrived in Paris, I realized that Helga had it out for me. She shot me several nasty looks while we were waiti

When we boarded the bus, Karl and I found seats and Henry and Helga sat directly across the aisle. The tour bus operator explained Einstein’s theory of relativity, I think, or perhaps told the location of the exits. I’m not sure, because he was (surprise, surprise) speaking German. To say that this bus trip was excruciatingly long would be an injustice to time’s inexhaustible ability to drag its feet when it so pleases. In real time we’re talking six or seven hours. In my mind, though, I had entered a vacuum where time stood excruciatingly still.

It’s not that I expected the tour operator and bus passengers to speak English for my benefit. I did hope, though, that Karl, Henry and Helga might utter an English phrase or two now and again - just for fun. Helga was especially reluctant to do so. Karl did talk to me a bit – as official boyfriend he was obligated, I suppose.

After a while, Henry and Helga retreated into a private couple-world of kiss, whisper and giggle. Karl and I had no such inclination and yet were forced by proximity to witness theirs. Awkwardly we shared a small space on the stuffy bus seat, sitting stiff and silent as they smooched away. I stared out the window at the endless Belgian fields, and Karl stared at me, apparently not knowing what to say or how to say it.

When we finally arrived in Paris, I realized that Helga had it out for me. She shot me several nasty looks while we were waiti

ind, though, I had entered a vacuum where time stood excruciatingly still.

It’s not that I expected the tour operator and bus passengers to speak English for my benefit. I did hope, though, that Karl, Henry and Helga might utter an English phrase or two now and again - just for fun. Helga was especially reluctant to do so. Karl did talk to me a bit – as official boyfriend he was obligated, I suppose.

After a while, Henry and Helga retreated into a private couple-world of kiss, whisper and giggle. Karl and I had no such inclination and yet were forced by proximity to witness theirs. Awkwardly we shared a small space on the stuffy bus seat, sitting stiff and silent as they smooched away. I stared out the window at the endless Belgian fields, and Karl stared at me, apparently not knowing what to say or how to say it.

When we finally arrived in Paris, I realized that Helga had it out for me. She shot me several nasty looks while we were waiti

of kiss, whisper and giggle. Karl and I had no such inclination and yet were forced by proximity to witness theirs. Awkwardly we shared a small space on the stuffy bus seat, sitting stiff and silent as they smooched away. I stared out the window at the endless Belgian fields, and Karl stared at me, apparently not knowing what to say or how to say it.

When we finally arrived in Paris, I realized that Helga had it out for me. She shot me several nasty looks while we were waiting to catch the Metro to our hotel. Boarding the subway train, she deliberately stepped on the heel of my shoe, scraping the back of my ankle hard. On the train she ignored me, speaking brashly to the others and bursting out in sharp laughter at intervals just long enough to make me cringe with paranoia. Neither Karl nor Henry seemed to notice or care.

Then the situation worsened. Left alone for a moment while the boys used the bathroom, Helga and I stood in silent face-off. I smiled my most disarming smile and tried to say “I like your outfit” in German, figuring flattery might break her down. No luck. She sighed derisively, shook her head, and turned away from me.

I surrendered quickly, remaining as pleasant as possible to everyone yet feeling miserable inside. It’s always bothered me when someone inexplicably doesn’t like me, and this was no exception. To make matters worse, I now had culture shock on top of culture shock, for I was in yet another new country – this one notorious for its indigenous xenophobes.

Verbally armed with nothing more than sil vous plait, I spoke to Parisian waitress and shopkeeper alike in the English-with-a-French-accent people use when they can't speak French at all. To my surprise, I was well received by the locals. Perhaps their behavior seemed akin to warmth only because I’d grown used to chilly Helga, but either way, I wasn’t complaining.

For the rest of the day and into that evening, Helga raged on. She used every opportunity to subtly snub, snicker, and sigh in my general direction. She laughed when I ordered food. She smiled when I stumbled. She rolled her eyes and walked three steps ahead; she single-handedly directed both our city tour and conversational tone. Henry seemed too love-struck to care, and Karl was wimpy - helpless as a rag and just as mute.

By the morning of day two I was beginning to visibly wither from mental strain. When Ka