Forced cameraderie

The forced camaraderie is hard after a while.  I've heard all the stories already.  There are three of us here in a two-room office for 10 hrs a day.  We walk around the block together for lunch.  At the end of the day we go back to the hotel, and have drinks and eat dinner together.  Breakfast the next morning is the three of us together.  This goes on for ten days here.  One of the guys and I are temporary, so we sit at opposite ends of a conference table with our laptops.  He is French and doesn't speak English well.  I speak no French.  That doesn't stop him, though, because he is a very friendly and talkative guy.  I would call it "joie de vivre". He pulls out his translator a lot but his jokes don't always translate.  Plus, he is hard of hearing, so I find myself speaking loudly and slowly and very self-conscience that I look like the parody of the American tourist in a foreign country.  Oh, did I say his personal space is very French, too?  He's just a little too close, and touches a little too much, and when he walks down to my end of the table to tell me something,  I can feel the breeze from his hand gestures when he talks.  I like the guy, but I'll be ready to head to Sierra Leone on Monday.