Understanding French

I needed to learn another language in order to learn about myself

I have had a series of technical issues with publishing today. The main issue seems to be trying to attach my photos, so instead, I have added little captions about what you might have seen. Apologies and I hope to have better illustrations next week!

For all my discussions about misunderstanding language and getting my thoughts across in English and American (see this post for example), I am a gazillion times worse at communicating in French. This is despite learning to speak French when I was 6 and speaking French for at least ½ hour every school day until I was 11. After that I spoke French at least three times a week until I was 18. (I am wincing to even type these words, now that I am adding it all up: that is a LOT of hours speaking a second language). But if you put me in front of a real person, and they are judging my words, my thoughts clog up and I can’t seem to get the words from my thinking brain into verbal sentences. 

However, I LOVE France. This love is inherited from my mother who spent a wonderful year during College studying and speaking French in Geneva (Switzerland) and all her spare time travelling around France. Following her graduation, she worked for the French Consulate in Denver Colorado, continuing her love of all things French.

When I was growing up, my mother kept numerous French books at home: art books, quite a bit of literature and even many children’s books. I could just as easily pull a French language book off the shelf as an English language one. Numerous of my childhood storybooks were French; I listened as my mother read to me in French, and as far as I remember, I understood them all.

Imagine a photo of a very old ragged copy of the book ‘Le Petit Prince’

My primary school taught French daily alongside our other studies, so as I mentioned, I grew up learning vocabulary in both languages. Until the advent and use of spell-check, I couldn’t tell you whether grey or gray is the French or English spelling. I know now; “gray” is underlined in bright red on my laptop! But for all this immersion in French language and culture, I still struggle to speak confidently. It is really and truly embarrassing. There is no excuse for it. I have been to France many, many times over the years and instead of getting better, I am getting worse at speaking. 

Imagine a photo of Lake Geneva

Once in my twenties, I visited Geneva, Switzerland with my boyfriend at the time; this was a nod to my mom, who at that point was still alive. When we first arrived, our very small hotel check-in man seemed to have lost our reservation and, following a fancy show of flicking through paper, sighing and sounding inconvenienced, he declined to provide us with a room. I had been getting quite frustrated, and finally, a spew of French vocabulary came from me, something about knowing that they had our reservation because they had confirmed it with me, and that even so, they had extra rooms available, and we we were able to pay up front, so there was no reason not to rent us a room. My boyfriend looked at me with astonishment, and lo and behold we got the room. Honestly, it wasn’t even that great a hotel but we were tired and needed a place to stay.

I have no idea how I came up with those words, but that French was still in my brain somewhere, and it all came out. But even though I had been able to conjure up the vocabulary I needed at just the right time, sadly, it did not bring final triumphant horns of Gabriel and language confidence from then on.  

Imagine a photo of a Blackboard menu written in lovely French curlicue script

Based on my small win, the next night I was ready to order a pizza. I had stopped eating meat a few years earlier, and normally pizza is a pretty safe bet. I still ate cheese and eggs; if all else fails you can always find a plain cheese pizza, right? 

When I selected the pizza that looked like it had no meat (there were a few words I did not recognise and they were not in our french-english translation phrase book; this was decades ago), I checked with the waiter that it was “sans viande” (without meat) and he assured me it was without meat. 

Imagine my surprise when the pizza arrived with oily rounds of pepperoni-looking meat as well as potentially sausage lumps on it. In French, I asked the waiter ever-so-politely if the pizza did not have meat on it, as I had asked for no meat? And he responded ever so politely back that of course it did not have meat on it. I pointed more firmly at the offending meat lumps, and he smiled even more happily, and explained in perfectly understandable french that no, of course it is not meat, that is charcuterie! You idiot, he seemed to be smirking; don’t you know the difference between meat and charcuterie?? Apparently not. My boyfriend had a big dinner that night. 

Fast forward a few decades or so, and following a few years living in Plymouth, England, my partner arranged a research fellowship in Lyon, France, that included housing for a year, so off we went. This fellowship included 6 weeks of language lessons for both of us, and I thought this is it, this is the time when I will finally have the chance to get over my lack of confidence in speaking French. I went to class the first night a bit nervous but brimming with expectation. 

It was a fascinating class. There were adults from all over the world with a variety of experience of French language. We’d been tested ahead of time and put into a class based on our test results. For example, there was one person who could speak fluently, but had limited writing and grammar skills, as he had learned his French working in a school playground, but rarely used the written language. There were a few people who had been together in the class for weeks before we arrived; they were confident and spoke knowledgeably. I was obviously intimidated.

Imagine a photo of a French grammar textbook

The class was held entirely in French, so it didn’t matter that our native languages were all different. Once I had some practice listening and tuned my ear in, I was able to ask questions with some confidence and knew the answers as quickly as the more experienced people. But that was class.

I still had to get along in real life. The one thing I always felt I had in my favour was my pronunciation. Since I learned my French vocabulary so young and was speaking English and French equally from a young age, I was told I spoke very naturally and with a native accent. Apparently, not everyone agreed on this point. 

Soon after we arrived in Lyon, we identified our favourite local boulangerie to pick up our favourite style of baguettes. Most times I got a nice young lady who understood what I asked for. This one day, it was a busy lunchtime and there was an older woman I didn’t recognise at the counter. I asked for our usual two ‘baguettes traditionnes’. She looked puzzled and asked again, Pardon? I repeated the words, maybe a bit more softly. QUOI? she asked loudly, with that unique French pout expression on her face. Augh, I was mortified as I could feel the line of hungry people waiting behind me to hurry up and just get my baguettes! 

Eventually, the young lady who usually helped me came to my rescue. I got my two baguettes and slinked away. I was terrified to go back and it took me a couple of weeks to be brave enough to try asking for the specific baguettes we loved. I was not always understood when I asked for the baguettes; whereas, my English partner could ask loudly and with less then perfect pronunciation, and they always seemed to understand him. 

To my relief, after a few months of eating entirely too many baguettes and butter, we had to cut ourselves off from going to the boulangerie before we turned into perfectly round humans. I could now focus on buying vegetables which I pronounced more easily, or at least I was able to be understood at the markets. 

But I never did become fluent or confident speaking French that year. I did learn a few expressions that have helped me navigate my way since. We have been back to Lyon several times, and I manage to make myself understood. 

This last week we visited longtime friends for a lovely relaxed few days in another region of France. Our visit was filled with the sounds of French language, and the lovely murmur of the marketplaces with the vendors and customers conducting their business. I loved the hum of activity, the displays of gorgeous fresh foods, and the daily focus on sitting down to share good food with friends.  

Imagine two photos: A French country marketplace and a cup of coffee & pain au chocolate

Since our time there last week I realised, after all these years, that my inability to form sentences in French has less to do with it being French, and more about my natural difficulty forming any verbal message when I believe I am being judged. Speaking in French just adds to the stress that blocks my path to words.

I now realise I need to stop worrying about being judged, and instead relax, enjoy the place I am in, and not worry about how others think I speak. It is OK that I am quiet at times and don’t have the words in French. I don’t always have them for conversations in American or English either. Now I know what I need to do, and that it will take some practice. But I am so relieved to have finally figured out what the block has been. And for now I am delighted with that. 

Thanks for reading this week, and hope to have real photos to share with you next week.

How about you? Do you have difficulty with a second language? Do you get frustrated when you can’t say what you want to say? I’d love to hear about your experiences!!!

Until next time,

xx Sabrina