Nous pouvons parler en français!

Paris's Latin Quarter

For better or for worse, I took five semesters of French at UNC. I say “for worse” because the French department is notoriously difficult, and my GPA took a hit (I earned mostly B+’s, my only B’s at UNC). But I say “for better” because after two and a half years of rigorous classes, I speak passable French, enough to address Boo in French, order food, read menus and signs, ask for directions, and have short conversations about mundane topics. I chose to travel to mostly French-speaking places this past month because my GPA can’t have taken a hit for nothing, dammit!

The hardest thing about trying to speak another language with a native speaker is understanding what they are saying. I usually have no problem getting my point across, but they speak so fast and with colloquialisms not taught in textbooks that I end up staring like an idiot until they either take pity on me and ask “English?” or, if they don’t speak English, they stare blankly back at me until I ask them, in French, if they speak English and they say no. We then proceed to have a stilted conversation in bad English and bad French until each of us gets what we need from the interaction.

Oddly enough, I preferred the conversations with people who didn’t speak English, because we both were just forced to muddle our way through and neither one of us was at a real advantage. I stopped worrying about proper grammar and accent and just tried to talk. I had a conversation with a man named Ishmael in the Parc de Bruxelles; he was from Morocco and spoke French (French is one of the official languages of Morocco), Spanish, and some Arabic. He greeted me with “bonjour, ça va?” and was surprised when I replied. We proceeded to have a brief conversation about where we were from, languages, and what we were both doing in Brussels (vacation).

During my first few days in Brussels, I felt so embarrassed every time I tried and failed to have a conversation in French that I wanted to stop trying. The reactions of the locals were mixed, but generally fell into three categories: impatience, indifference, and encouragement. Most people were the latter; a waiter at a restaurant told me that I wasn’t bad, I just needed to practice, and so he would only speak to me in French for the rest of my visit.

It is certainly not easy to put yourself out there. I looked like an idiot several times. I was self-conscious and embarrassed several times. But I tried! And I have greater empathy for those who come to the U.S. without speaking English. In Paris, after my French had been warmed up for a week and a half, I stumbled once while asking for a menu and the waiter asked me if I’d prefer English. I said sure, if he didn’t mind, but that I could also speak French. He brought me a French menu and winked at me. “J’ai besoin de practicer mon français, c’est vrai!”