Question often posed, "when did you first fall in love with...."?
Predictably, "oh... on first sight" or some other similarly shallow response.
When exactly did I fall in love with France, or rather the French way of life. Not until I came south. Like the Impressionist painters before me, yes, I was dazzled by the light. I mean who wouldn't be. Here there are over 300 days plus of sunshine. Did that just register with you? Then, you have that French sensibility toward life, no where more than here in the south.
One works to live. The long lunch and a siesta afterwards. The
bonne weekend, the frequent holidays in the sun by the coast.
Au contraire to our "live to work" lifestyle that had comprised most of my adult life stateside.
Village life, it's slower pace. Settling into the familiar rhythms, faces, sounds, smells and tastes. My first time here, in the south of France, and... I was smitten. This really, really is a good life.
And... I resolved, I must have some of this good life for myself, or rather, for ourselves.
And , so it began. About seven years ago, the quest for the "perfect village". One in which we would immerse ourselves, to grab on to some of that "good life".
One small problem however.... neither of us spoke French. Oh, I mean we spoke the polite words, what I call "service French". For a given situation, you know how to ask for what you want, and with a bit of luck, you may just get it right. And... with a bit more luck, you may just understand the response. For instance, "No monsieur, it is not possible have a table yesterday for twelve persons on the roof at seven thirty tonight". I was delighted when I asked,
ou est le toilette? and I understood
tutte et droite, et tourne a gauche, et voila meant straight ahead, turn left and... there it is. And... it really was! Small triumphs, but a start.
Now there is a huge difference between "service French" and a conversation in French. Quickly, we experienced the discomfort of not being able to converse with our new found acquaintances at anything better than the level of a two year old. Hell, I'd been ecstatic with the conversational skills of a two year old. Our only salvation, some of the folks around here speak a bit of English, often little more than our French. But... somehow, with a bit of French, a bit of English, some hand gestures and a round of "charades", we would somehow manage to "communicate".
Fast forward a few years, me/us, even more uncomfortable with our inability to master even the simplest of conversations. Time to address the problem head on. Now, I've always carried this myth if you will, that, given enough time in a culture, I'm capable of "absorbing" the language by... I don't know... I suppose osmosis or something like it. Well... can't say for sure, true or false, but so far.... not so much. Probably just haven't been here for long enough...... yeah.... right. Truthfully, I am more of a verbal learner and Sandy more of a book learner, but I've come to realize there's a bit more to it than just that. I am willing to "wade out there" and make a fool of myself, but often, communication happens. Sandy, on the other hand finds it more difficult to do so, and thus, no communication happens. In any case... we need help, and we need it now!
Sandy takes the initiative, and viola! We are the oldest of say 20 students in French 1 at the local College. Intimidating? Yes! But the two of us quickly adjust to student life and the twice weekly classes and the homework. The discipline and routine are good for us both. The curriculum, for me not so good. I'm back in high school grammar and college level foreign language, neither being fond moments in my memory. I've always been an adept test taker and this skill resurfaced to serve me well. While I can't argue that I learned nothing in the class, I can say with certainty that the grades did not correspond with a greatly improved conversational ability. Sandy on the other hand, with her penchant for "book learning", quickly grasps the basics and begins to build the confidence to try.
But.... we still are not speaking French. As frustrating as this may seem, It quite simply is not the way that foreign languages are taught, not in the US at least.
Sandy, perhaps even a bit more frustrated than ever by the end of the class, decides a different course of action may be in order. She searches the Internet for private tutors, preferably native French speaking. Without too much difficulty, she finds Sylvain, a godsend. A serious, committed and capable teacher if there ever was one. If anyone could, he would most certainly be able to teach us French. Twice weekly. one on two, Sylvain did his best. Us... perhaps not so much. I know it must seem obvious, but to get the most out of such an arrangement, it is best if you let the tutor know what you wish the focus to be . Duh!!! After a few weeks of so so results, none the fault of Sylvain, an aah-ha moment struck us both at about the same time. Hey it's probably best if we let the tutor know what we wish the focus to be. We were unanimous, the focus should be on speaking and listening. Obvious.... right?
Now, I have for many years known of French Language Immersion Schools in the South of France. One such school was located in Nice France. Nice is a great town, easily accessible and with lots of cool things to do. I had always planned to take one of these courses one day, but that day never arrived. I re-proposed this to Sandy at just the right time, and.... yeah... that's probably a great idea. Sign us both up for the Beginners Level, with afternoon Oral Classes. For those who maybe don't understand the term, French Immersion, let me explain. Classes start at 8:30 and break at 12 noon. Re-convene at 2:15 and break at 3:15, five days a week, and here's the kicker. IT'S ALL IN FRENCH!! Yep! No English at all.
If that doesn't do it, nothing will! We are committed. It's March and the classes begin mid May. Let's make the most of this tutor thing and we'll waltz right into the Immersion French, right? Sylvain is a trooper, in fact I'd say he was great. We're learning, I'm sure of it, but, sometimes it's hard to tell for sure. We're speaking more, for sure. And he's got us listening to conversations. But.... I just don't know? It's
tres, tres difficile! April turns into early May and panic begins set in. In about two weeks we'll be in Nice and sitting in class all day every day and we'll be hearing and speaking nothing but French.
Merde! I mean shit!
For the next two weeks, we give it our best and Sylvain gives even more than his best. Are we ready?
Nice France, Monday morning, 8:30, Sandy and I in a room full of newbies, in a school that can best be described as time traveling back to the 1970's schools of my youth. The Director General (really, that was his title) of the school interviews each of us and gives us an exam to gauge our abilities with the French Language. I'm sure I dazzled him with my skills and we were promptly assigned to the beginners class.
There's nothing worse than being presented to a room full of students who all seem to already know one another and with the class underway. The instructor can best be described as a drill instructor, but in the nicest sort of way, if that makes any sense. It was merciless.... nothing but French, all of the time, and coming at you at 100 kilometers per hour. And grammar and more grammar. Now you may not think that is so bad, but I am unable to give you many of the examples of grammatical terms in English, how could I possibly do so in French. Sandy's a bit more versed in grammar, but I think she was feeling much the same as I.
Merde!! I mean shit!!
Yes, it really was horrible. I mean by about 10:30, maybe 11:00 I was just about to "chew my leg off", it was that bad. Lunch was never more dear. Both of us feeling as though we had been assaulted, emerged into the sunshine heading toward the beach, which was only two block away. Half of the way there, a Kebap (Turkish shish-kebap) sandwich shop. Yesss! and a cold drink and down to the promenade for lunch. Sitting on the promenade, looking down on the beach, out towards the sea, munching on our Kebab sandwiches, I think we both looked at one another at about the same time, bewildered looks in our eyes. Each of us thinking, Sandy I think the first to say... "I don't know if I can do this"? Me... "let's just see how the afternoon goes".
Afternoon, oral classes are somewhat more relaxed. In French of course. First class, just me and Sandy and the Instructor, who was perfect. She was not stressful, she was engaging and interested in getting us to tell her more about ourselves, in French of course. It was a relief after the morning. We might just make it after all. Unfortunately for us, subsequent afternoon oral classes placed us with far more advanced speakers often discussing simple concepts like global warming and art appreciation using the French skills of a two year old, maybe. The feelings of success faded as the two weeks progressed.
Mornings were day after day, more of the same. A non stop assault of French, primarily French grammar, much of which is used only for literary purposes. Again, I can't say that we learned nothing, that would be untrue. But as I said earlier, me with my pitiful understanding of grammar and Sandy who was a bit better equipped to tackle it than I, we both quickly became fatigued. Looking back, we both agreed that the principal thought that kept us going for those two weeks was the fact that the school was two blocks from the famed beaches of Nice and that we had a two hour "French lunch". Oh... and for me, the fact that along the route to the beach, there were three patisserie. Every day I could sample a different pastry on my way back to afternoon classes. And then there were the late afternoons spent in the cafes of the Old Town of Nice. Those were very sweet.
I can say with no hesitation that the final day of class was highly anticipated by both of us. It was if I may say, a very joyful, if not relieved, moment.
And, now, down the coast and "slip into the blue" for the next two months.
Time for just a little honesty and self examination. For years we have come to our charming little village, and spoken some French. And, they have in many cases spoken some English. And... guess what... this is France. And just who's fault is it that we can't converse with our friends here in French? And why not?
It's too easy to say that French is
tres, tres difficile, and matter of fact it is a very difficult language. It's too easy to say that it's a lot harder to learn a language at our age in life, and matter of fact, it is much harder. It's easy for me to pretend that I can just simply absorb the language, given sufficient contact. Probably a little true, but most probably not.
What is true is that regardless of what we may feel at this moment, Sandy and I have learned more French than we may think, but not nearly enough to be sufficient. She I think has gained the confidence to try more and more, realizing that she has the basic tools to work with. But... I think we both realize at this time that, yes we may have the basic tools, but we must learn much more to reach my goal of conversing at the level of a five year old. I see now just how lofty a goal this really is.
Perhaps this has been a well deserved dose of humility. We have both been spoiled the luxury of a monolingual culture. It is a bit humbling to finally realize that the problem is not so much with curriculum's, or age or any other factor of learning, but just perhaps.... we've gotten a bit too lazy. It all will come down to,
"just how bad do we want it"?
