Wednesday 27 February 2013

Is a puzzlement

I once calculated that, since buying “Les Lavandes”, I have spent a year of my life in France. Not all at once, of course, in fact no more than a week or so at a time. Which is probably why my French has not improved as much as I might have hoped it would. I can get by in a restaurant without too much trouble, but I do have to check the dictionary before starting to get too deep into conversation or before trying to buy something just a little out of the ordinary. In any case, I still find it almost impossible to understand the fast-flowing French that pours from the mouths of most locals. But the language is not the only thing I don’t understand.

Mrs S and I both attended French conversation evening classes while we were buying the house. They were run by a French lady who was living in England, so we were confident that we were learning plenty of colloquialisms rather than the more formal language that forms the basis of schoolday French. So why was it, we wondered, that so many of the phrases which are in everyday use throughout France weren’t taught to us? And it isn’t just us: friends who have attended different courses have said exactly the same thing.

And there is still a lot I don’t understand about the French way of life. For example, when being shown to a table in a restaurant, it is customary to acknowledge the diners at the tables one passes, sometimes a murmured greeting, sometimes just a nod, but at least some form of acknowledgement. But not in every restaurant. How does one know when to greet and when not?

A similar thing happens in shops. Go into a bakery, for instance, and one is expected to utter a polite ‘good morning’ to the other customers queuing ahead of one and to the staff. Even when entering a supermarket or a do-it-yourself store one can expect to be greeted by a checkout operator. But this doesn’t happen in every shop. Why not? And how does one know in which shops one is supposed to say ‘good morning’?

Then there is the problem of when a mademoiselle becomes a madame. Given the extreme courtesy of the French, who address every man as ‘monsieur’ and every lady as either ‘mademoiselle’ or ‘madame’, what does one call a lady of, say, thirty-five or forty who wears no wedding ring? Is she a miss or a madam, a mademoiselle or a madame?

The English language is, in many respects, far simpler than French. We have no genders for inanimate objects. In England a table is plain ‘it’, whereas in France a table is feminine. That’s confusing enough for an Englishman, but more confusing, I find, is the difference between the formal ‘vous’ and the informal ‘tu’. In English they would both be ‘you’, as indeed they are in France, but ‘vous’ is the formal mode of address, both singular and plural, and also the informal plural. We have it drummed into us that French people are very reluctant to address anybody informally, even people they have known for years, (except for children, who are always addressed informally). But Jacques has started calling me ‘tu’, although his wife, Brigitte, still favours 'vous'. So when does ‘vous’ become ‘tu’? And how do people agree that they will start using the informal version? Is it done by some form of osmosis or extra-sensory perception?

I have said how, when we go to our favourite restaurant, Mrs S is greeted with kisses. There is a protocol about this as well. The first kiss is always left cheek to left cheek (or is it right to right?). From Michel and Max, Mrs S always receives three kisses: from Jean-Paul and Marietta it’s two. Sometimes a greeting consists of two kisses, sometimes three. On rare occasions there will be four, and I have even seen five. This doesn’t appear to be a regional thing: one is just as likely to receive three kisses in Normandy as in Provence. But why the different numbers? And how does one know how many kisses will be welcomed? It’s quite embarrassing to go back for a third when the bestower has stepped back! 

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Mentioned above, this was how our favourite restaurant used to look.  I loved those colourful tablecloths!  And meat is always cooked on the charcoal grill.


1 comment:

Buck said...

In any case, I still find it almost impossible to understand the fast-flowing French that pours from the mouths of most locals.

Heh. Once upon a time in the wayback my in-laws, The Second Mrs. Pennington, and I made a trip to Paris. One of the items on our agenda was to meet a gaggle of prospective Rotary exchange students (my father-in-law was a Rotary exchange program officer) while we were there... and not one of them nor their parents spoke a word of English, nor did my FIL speak any French. It fell on me to translate and at that point in time I was about 20 years removed from the fluency in the language I used to have. (Another parenthetical note: I spent three years in Paris as a child)

All that was solved by the time the third bottle of wine was opened and consumed at lunch. I found it to be somewhat amazing at how GOOD my French became... and so did our guests. ;-)