French Makes Me Nervous

Or at least it does sometimes. It is frustrating not being fluent in a language. I am proud of the French I know, as well as the bits of Italian and deeply buried Spanish, but that is not the same as fluency.

It's not like I haven't had plenty of practice this trip. So far I have managed to negotiate getting our money back from the mousey apartment's owner (as well as the agency that booked it). I rented a new apartment. I negotiated with a French Bank to withdraw the funds needed for said new apartment. I signed a contract with our non-English speaking landlord and even joked about mice. I braved a French post office and successfully mailed special envelopes. I managed to get us help at the Apple repair shop and bought a new keyboard when the top case on Cody's computer died. I bought us food, negotiated the fresh market, read signs and learned new words.

But I always had to think first. (Cody and Jayme say I squint and look off into the distance when accessing the French dictionary in my head.) Most words don't come to me naturally for most encounters. Hello, Goodbye and Have a nice day are easy. Arranging to meet the landlord to get our deposit back and hand back the keys is not. I write notes down, prompts for the conversation, ask him to speak more slowly please and we manage.

But I would so like to do more than manage. I hate not knowing the language. Not being able to understand the tinny voice on the metro loudspeaker that apologizes that the train is late because there has been a suicide on line 8. Not being able to always tell how much something costs without looking at the receipt. Not being able to get the joke or joke back. And not being able to talk beyond the level of a preschool student.

I have taken classes. I probably should take more. I am always far rustier at the beginning of our trips to Paris. By the end I am busting out the French I do know confidently. But a small part of me is still nervous that I will order the wrong food or book us on the wrong train. Or that I won't be able to figure out an alternate way to say something because I don't know the verb or noun.

I think we would need to move here for a year. Then maybe I could attain some level of fluency. We would need to bring the cats and the hens so they would learn French too. And then they could tell us how they prefer living in Oakland, where there is room to roam and the sun shines on the hardwood floors. And I would completely understand every word they said.

Paris Day Something: Sunday June 7th 2009

Time Flies in Paris and Bruges and Paris Again


Ack! Somehow the Sunday before we leave Paris is upon us. I walked through Marché Richard Lenoir today, taking my now familiar circuit to my favorite vendors. 3 weeks has been just enough time for me to be recognized and to have become a regular.

"Bonjour Madame, ça va? You want some cherries. Taste these. They are the sweetest today. And these tomatoes are the best of the season so far. Hello Madame. Two crepes with butter and sugar to go? Have a lovely day."

And then, limiting my purchases to what can be consumed in 3 days, I realized that we have to leave on Wednesday. And that the next market is on Thursday and that I will be on a plane instead of negotiating for fresh produce in my mediocre (but steadily improving) French.

Time has a funny way of tricking you, especially when you are on vacation. Just two days ago we were on a crash tour of Bruges. Time seemed to stop, or at least slow way down.

Bruges is a small city, full of an overwhelming amount of beautiful things to see, and see them we did. The whole city is a Unesco World Heritage site, amazingly preserved, somehow avoiding destruction from centuries of war and is now filled with tourists by day and patient, laid back Bruggians all the time. (I think the mellowness has something to do with the copious amount of cheap and delicious beer available at all times.) We tackled the cobblestoned streets and experienced more in our short two day stay than should have been possible. Beer, chocolate, cathedrals, little boats, canals, fries, swans, holy blood, ancient hospitals, ancient breweries, more relics, statues, paintings. It seemed like we were there for a week or more, but that is tricky time for you.

The high speed train whisked us back to Paris, where we emerged from the metro into a different, but familiar world—out home away from home. The Obamas dined in an old bistro across town, while Cody and I dined on Falafels and fruit.

This afternoon, Cody and I took a long walk, from the Arena of Lutece (an ancient Roman arena, now a park in the 5th), meandering back toward the Hotel de Ville, where we watched Federer handily roll through the first set, on a giant TV set up for all of Paris to watch the French Open. It started to sprinkle so we marched through the Marais, finally ducking out of the rain at Caves St. Gilles. The Open was on tv, the sangria good and strong, the olives delicious, free and plentiful and the mood convivial. This is why I love this town.

Oh and by the way, Cody's hair is like Mary Poppins' purse.

Bon Soirée et Bisous

Paris Day 14: June 1st, 2009

Dix bouteilles de vin + huit heures + nous amies en Paris+ beaucoup de SUPER cuisine a La Table d'Orphee = un jour supreme.