My French Experience

I was walking my bike home from the mall yesterday when a middle-aged woman walking with an elderly woman stopped me with an "Excusez-moi...". I’m sure I gave her a look of horror. My worst subjects in high school were gym and French. Speaking the language intimidates me to this day. Hence the following train of thoughts in my head:
-Oh god, I think she’s a tourist and she’s about to ask me for directions in French.
-Just cut off her question and say "je ne comprend pas". Then start walking.
-No, you should listen to what she has to say and see if you can understand. It looks like that elderly lady is her mother.
-But if I stay, she’ll think I understand French and she’ll expect me an answer to her question. In French.
Funny how many thoughts can go through your head at once. From what I could make out of the woman’s question, she wanted to know if there were any good restaurants around. We were standing on Sparks Street, deserted on a Saturday afternoon. I didn’t want her impression of Ottawa dining to be Yesterday’s Restaurant or the corner Tim Horton’s. So I opened my mouth and French started coming out. It was horribly broken French, with an ear-bleeding Anglo accent. I told her there weren’t very many restaurants here, but that there are many in the marché (at the same time wondering if I had correctly translated "market", or if I had told here there are many restaurants in the walked). Then she asked me how long it would take to get there. Which I was amazed at, because I thought for sure she would answer me back with a "pardon?". But she understood enough to ask a follow-up question! I quickly counted up to fifteen in French in my head and told her fifteen minutes. She thanked me. And I beamed on my bike ride home... while hoping the woman I gave directions to didn’t end up dining at Oregano’s.