When I first came to France, I expected not to be able to understand people, but I never expected that people wouldn't be able to understand ME! I've made some pretty hilarious language errors in the time that I've been here, and some pretty stupid ones too. Voici quelques petites histoires qui vont vous faire rire. (Here are some stories that will make you laugh.)
After the first few weeks, when our pile of dirty laundry had accumulated enough that not a single clean pair of socks was to be had, my roommate and I decided it was time to do a load of laundry. My host mother told us we could run the washing machine overnight and hang up the clothes to dry on the line the next day. Most homes in the south of France don't have dryers because of energy costs and because it's sunny most of the time anyway: perfect for drying clothes. Our host mother told us to check the weather to see if it was going to rain, in which case we would wait another precious day to do the wash… which would mean another day of wearing smelly socks! Crossing my fingers, I typed "weather Aix-en-Provence" into Google and hit enter… voilà! Partly sunny, and no rain for tomorrow. Youpi! Clean clothes were on the horizon. I rushed back into the kitchen to tell my host mother that it wouldn't rain tomorrow, but in my haste I mixed up the verbs "pluvoir" and "pleurer" and ended up blurting out, "Il ne va pas pleurer demain!" which translates to, "It's not going to cry tomorrow!" I was met with a smile and a twinkle in my host mother's eye before I went back to my room. I applaud her decorum: when I realized my mistake several minutes later, I couldn't help but shake my head and let out a chuckle.
More recently, when my college roommate came to visit me over Easter weekend, we went to a cemetery just outside the centre-ville to see Paul Cézanne's tomb. We were both feeling a bit drained from the school week, so it was relaxing to sit on a stone bench next to the mausoleums and just rest. We had a nice chat in French with the keeper of the cemetery, who told us that it is very peaceful and quiet inside the graveyard, without the rush of cars and pedestrians going by. We agreed. When the sun sank low enough that it got a bit chilly, we walked around to Cézanne's grave, which was pretty boring as graves go, and were just rounding the corner when we ran into a French couple who was also looking for Cézanne's tomb.
"Excusez-moi, parlez-vous français? (Excuse me, do you speak French?)" the man asked, who had no doubt heard my roommate and I speaking English.
"Oui, un peu (Yes, a little)," I replied modestly, puffing up my feathers, as I had had eight years of French classes and could manage pretty well, or so I thought.
"Où se trouve le tombeau de Cézanne? (Where is Cézanne's grave?)" he asked. Delighted that I knew the answer, I chirped, "Oh! Jusqu'ici, il y a un placard!" and pointed down the way we had just come.
The man mumbled a "merci" and we moved on. It wasn't until several moments later that I realized how bizarre my response must have sounded to him: I had proudly told him, "Until now, there is a cupboard!"
That sentence may make sense in another context, but as far as I know it nowhere near resembles "It's just right here, there's a plaque," which is what I was trying to say. In this case, I think my finger-pointing---a pretty universal gesture---was what got the job done, and not my terrible directions.
Speaking in French has also affected my English, believe it or not. At the start of our trip to Barcelona, when I was trying to tell my roommate that our host mother said there might be delays at the bus station because of the snow, I told her, "Madame said we should leave now because there are probably going to be retards." My roommate guffawed and said, "Um, what?!" We both laughed and I explained to her that the French word for "delays" is "retards," which is similar in Spanish and Italian, but the word takes on quite a different meaning in English. We both had a good laugh about that one.
In short, language is a funny thing. And clearly, my skills communicating with French people need some work. I've learned that it's advantageous to be quick of tongue and to carry around simple sure-fire phrases in your head so you can respond efficiently without groping too much for the right words. In Italy I learned to say, "non parlo italiano," which got me a few head shakes but which got the job done. At least in that country, I was certain I wouldn't have the slightest clue how to answer anyone's questions! An easy out, if you will, but one that certainly avoided any more ridiculous (yet amusing) language gaffes.
faire une gaffe: to make a blunder, to put one's foot in one's mouth
After the first few weeks, when our pile of dirty laundry had accumulated enough that not a single clean pair of socks was to be had, my roommate and I decided it was time to do a load of laundry. My host mother told us we could run the washing machine overnight and hang up the clothes to dry on the line the next day. Most homes in the south of France don't have dryers because of energy costs and because it's sunny most of the time anyway: perfect for drying clothes. Our host mother told us to check the weather to see if it was going to rain, in which case we would wait another precious day to do the wash… which would mean another day of wearing smelly socks! Crossing my fingers, I typed "weather Aix-en-Provence" into Google and hit enter… voilà! Partly sunny, and no rain for tomorrow. Youpi! Clean clothes were on the horizon. I rushed back into the kitchen to tell my host mother that it wouldn't rain tomorrow, but in my haste I mixed up the verbs "pluvoir" and "pleurer" and ended up blurting out, "Il ne va pas pleurer demain!" which translates to, "It's not going to cry tomorrow!" I was met with a smile and a twinkle in my host mother's eye before I went back to my room. I applaud her decorum: when I realized my mistake several minutes later, I couldn't help but shake my head and let out a chuckle.
More recently, when my college roommate came to visit me over Easter weekend, we went to a cemetery just outside the centre-ville to see Paul Cézanne's tomb. We were both feeling a bit drained from the school week, so it was relaxing to sit on a stone bench next to the mausoleums and just rest. We had a nice chat in French with the keeper of the cemetery, who told us that it is very peaceful and quiet inside the graveyard, without the rush of cars and pedestrians going by. We agreed. When the sun sank low enough that it got a bit chilly, we walked around to Cézanne's grave, which was pretty boring as graves go, and were just rounding the corner when we ran into a French couple who was also looking for Cézanne's tomb.
"Excusez-moi, parlez-vous français? (Excuse me, do you speak French?)" the man asked, who had no doubt heard my roommate and I speaking English.
"Oui, un peu (Yes, a little)," I replied modestly, puffing up my feathers, as I had had eight years of French classes and could manage pretty well, or so I thought.
"Où se trouve le tombeau de Cézanne? (Where is Cézanne's grave?)" he asked. Delighted that I knew the answer, I chirped, "Oh! Jusqu'ici, il y a un placard!" and pointed down the way we had just come.
The man mumbled a "merci" and we moved on. It wasn't until several moments later that I realized how bizarre my response must have sounded to him: I had proudly told him, "Until now, there is a cupboard!"
That sentence may make sense in another context, but as far as I know it nowhere near resembles "It's just right here, there's a plaque," which is what I was trying to say. In this case, I think my finger-pointing---a pretty universal gesture---was what got the job done, and not my terrible directions.
Speaking in French has also affected my English, believe it or not. At the start of our trip to Barcelona, when I was trying to tell my roommate that our host mother said there might be delays at the bus station because of the snow, I told her, "Madame said we should leave now because there are probably going to be retards." My roommate guffawed and said, "Um, what?!" We both laughed and I explained to her that the French word for "delays" is "retards," which is similar in Spanish and Italian, but the word takes on quite a different meaning in English. We both had a good laugh about that one.
In short, language is a funny thing. And clearly, my skills communicating with French people need some work. I've learned that it's advantageous to be quick of tongue and to carry around simple sure-fire phrases in your head so you can respond efficiently without groping too much for the right words. In Italy I learned to say, "non parlo italiano," which got me a few head shakes but which got the job done. At least in that country, I was certain I wouldn't have the slightest clue how to answer anyone's questions! An easy out, if you will, but one that certainly avoided any more ridiculous (yet amusing) language gaffes.
faire une gaffe: to make a blunder, to put one's foot in one's mouth