Speaking the Lingua Franca

 

 

The author coming out of a French tunnel near Hill 64.

I recently returned from a tour of World War I battlefields. It was a wonderful, exhilarating ten days, and I will be sharing a lot of what I learned here over the next few months. Yes, all this information will end up in at least one historical novel. 

My husband booked this trip in January, as a gift for my 60th birthday. I don't know a whole lot of women who would swoon over a trip to see WWI battlefields as opposed to a romantic getaway to, say, Hawaii or Paris, but I am one of them. I love to learn, and the tour my husband chose was led by experts and historians whom I could pepper with questions to my heart's desire.

---

A WWI soldier's kit

Wanting to take full advantage of the trip, I began checking out Learn to Speak French CDs from the library. I downloaded others from Audible. I dutifully listened to them, babbling along, on my drive between school and home, and nearly every other time I was in the car. Sometimes my granddaughter would be with me and she would happily babble along, too. After six months, I still felt a little shaky on my conversation skills. I'd learned to discuss food, shopping, and the weather, but didn't have the vocabulary to discuss World War I battle strategies. But I was anxious to try out my new found skills. I thought I could order a bottle of beer or a glass of wine with the best of them.

---

Turns out, my reading skills were pretty good. What little French I'd learned, combined with an ability to use cognates, words that are similar in both languages  because French and English both originate in Latin, helped me read most signs in French. I ended up reading and translating many signs on monuments and in museums for fellow travelers. One, who didn't believe my interpretation, typed an entire plaque into google translate, then announced that I'd gotten it right.

My listening skills were pretty good, too. I was able to follow directions and get us places, and I could follow along with the audio in museum displays, getting about half of what was said and guessing another quarter.

But my ability to speak with the French? Every time I tried, whether to ask a question, order that glass of wine, or purchase something, I got the same response: 

"What?"

I ordered a café au lait, and I got a café au lait! Huzzah!

Turns out, while my brain may be able to come up with the words, my tongue wasn't able to form them properly. One shopkeeper asked me, in French, if I was English. I told him no, I was American. He replied that was strange, because I spoke French with a very heavy English accent. I don't know if the CDs I was using to learn to speak were created for an English audience or if what appeared to be an accent was just my tongue muddying what I said.

Some people bore with me, patiently asking questions and letting me work through my tortured French until we'd reached an understanding. Others swiftly switched to English. All, however, we kind with me. The French are by nature a very polite people, and I appreciated their forbearance as I mangled their lingua Franca.

I hope to be able to do it again soon. In the meantime, I will continue to try to improve my wayward tongue's ability to speak French.