An American in Provence

Due to my earlier than necessary arrival in Aubagne each morning, I have spend my strike mornings in a cafe near the bar, called appropriate CAFE I HATE THE SNCF. No, actually it is the Cafe Locomotive. I go in each morning, and by now the serveuse knows me so well, she just asks the usual? Yep. I always order a Café au lait, grand. I sit there, drink my coffee, read the paper, and take much needed bathroom breaks for half an hour before the next stage in getting to work. Cost: 2.50€. It is a regular cafe, with blaring MTV and smoky area. She is very nice, such as the time I totally forgot my money, and she told me I could bring it the next day. The next day, she said I didn't have to pay it. (though I did). It is the one part of Strike days that I don't mind so much.

Apparently, according to the guide books, if you want to blend in as a true French and not some hick tourist, you are supposed to call it a crème instead of a café au lait. Why? I don't know. The minute I open my mouth to order the coffee, whether I say crème or cafe olay, they know I am not French. Ah well.

I would like a Cafy Olay please.