Speaking French in France

My wife and I have come to France for our honeymoon. We spent the first days in Paris, went to Rouen for a few days, and returned to Paris for the last four days of our trip.

I have spoken French as much as possible during this trip. It has gone reasonably well. I never took French in school. Spanish was the language I tried to learn in high school. I learned whatever French I know when I lived in a small village in Provence for a year many years ago.

So, this trip I dusted my French off and tried it on, like a garment that had been in storage in the attic for a long time. Would it fit? Or would it feel awkward, too small, as it were, ungainly and uncomfortable?

French is an incredibly difficult language to speak correctly. Some words and phrases seem to have been created by a linguistic sadist. In any case, speak it I did and have been.

I have made myself understood. Not always, to be sure, but for the most part. It’s when I get tired from speaking, listening, concentrating, and so on, that the tongue begins to rebel and things get slurry and I get those tilted-head looks that say, What-are-you-saying? Other times, though, I can actually communicate.

If, like me, you’re not fluent in French but, let’s say, somewhat capable, then you have to work hard when you speak and, especially, when you listen to the person you’re speaking to. Some words I know, others come to me after a kind of tape delay, others I guess at and still others I absolutely don’t know. A lot of what I do is in context. If I’m in a boulangerie, a store that sells bread, I’m pretty sure the conversation won’t be about spark plugs or shoes.

It all goes very fast, of course. French is a language that the French love to speak rapidly, sometimes like a comet, and I often find myself racing to catch up, trying to catch words that are flying off or picking up phrases and words off the ground that have been hurtled off.

Then there is the French tendency to use, on occasion, English words as part of their speech. I remember the first time I heard a Parisian say, “Passez un bon week-end” to someone. “Have a good weekend.” I racked my brain for what “week-end” meant, thinking it was a French word—why would the proud French employ an English word?—until, finally, I had the ah-ha moment. That throws you off.

Some phrases mystify me. Twice in stores after asking for something, the person behind the counter said, “Avec souci?” Befuddlement. The word souci means “care” or “worry.” I knew that. One well-known French expression is sans souci—without a care. So—what the hell is this? Later, I looked it up, and it’s a phrase that means, “Anything else?” So, I encounter this kind of thing.¹

My ability and accent waver in quality. Some days, like a baseball pitcher, I perform better than others. Who knows why? Some days my accent is passable. Other times, I sound like I’m talking underwater.

I think speaking any foreign language is a kind of magic. What I couldn’t understand before, that seemed pure mystery, is now like a locked door I’ve opened. Now I have access to what’s inside.

I have even made a few jokes in French. And gotten a few laughs.

In a store in Rouen with my wife, the cashier asked us, as we were about to pay for something,

“Est-ce que vous avez une carte de fidélité?”

Meaning, “Do you have a loyalty card?” This is the French version of our membership card, the sort of thing you get at a coffee shop that will give you a free cup of coffee after so many you pay for. It’s called a fidélité.

“Non,” I tell her, glancing at my wife affectionately, “mais je suis fidèle.”

“No, but I’m loyal.”

She laughed. Well, smiled, actually.

Making people laugh or smile in another language makes you feel like you can do most anything.

I’ve also figured out a way to deflect the Parisian tendency to speak to you in English, even when you first speak to them in French. This was not the case in Rouen, where people seemed quite happy to stay with French. Rarely would they reply in English. I’m sure they could tell I wasn’t French. That was easy to see. But they went with it.

Not so in Paris. Not as much anyway.

Yesterday, we were on the Left Bank, and we stopped at a cafe. I ordered some coffee and tea. In French. The waiter came back with the coffee and tea and said to me, “Here is your tea.”

I looked at him and said, “Vous parlez bien l’anglais.” “You speak English well.”

He nodded, blushed a bit. Then he paused. I could see him thinking. What has just happened?

1. Update. A friend, native French speaker Olivier Bourderionnet, has informed me that what the person behind the counter probably said was , “Avec ceci?” Which means, “And with this…?” So, further proof I am an unreliable narrator when it comes to speaking and understanding French.