Thursday, 10 November 2011

The Beauty of Language, innit.

I don’t shout out ‘bonjour j’habite à Paris’ whenever a Frenchy happens to walk past in England, so it really is a mystery to me why people are so keen on sarcastically proclaiming ‘Oh, hello, I is English’ from all angles almost every time I use my native tongue in a public place. Granted, a larger proportion of them are able to communicate (Note- I use that word incredibly loosely) more effectively in English than us Brits can in French, yet I have never encountered a nation quite so eager to recap their obligatory school-day English lessons.

             There are two types of interruption. The first is a mélange of astonishment and rapture. ‘You are ENGLISH? I never meet English person in Le Havre before!’ followed by a hankering onslaught of ‘what’syournamewheredoyoulivedoyouhaveanypets?’

            The second greeting is considerably less endearing. These are no doubt the ones who frittered away their school days giggling under the desk at a French-English dictionary and scrawling profanities across each other’s arms with chewed Bic biros. Nowadays, they slouch in their Adidas at the back of Le Havre buses wielding Blackberrys and jammin’ to distorted Jason Derulo tunes while they lay in wait for an unsuspecting English tourist who they can plague with their extensive (and admittedly impressive) range of vulgar phrases involving mothers, grandmothers and every familial relation in between.

              That said, it is definitely an achievement when you are able to make ‘what’s your favourite colour’ sound like the most lewd of insults; something which my friends and I experienced when queuing for a club on Saturday night. Yes, Le Havre has nightlife! Shocking though it may seem, we managed to have a considerable night out at an underground club in the centre of town called ‘Del Rio’, which, despite its eight euro drinks proved to be pretty popular with the Frenchies and played more than just Euro pop and electro remixes. Now, I had been forewarned about the dress code of French clubs so as a result had made a conscious effort to tone down my usual bodycon skirt and tights to a bodycon skirt and leggings. I was almost prepared for the amount of girls wearing jeans, however what I had not accounted for were the winter coats. I’m not just talking about a woollier cardigan than usual; I’m referring to those Eskimo style full-length puffy parkas with fur hoods. On top of this, there was no cloakroom. You can imagine the men’s reactions when my American friend took off her jacket revealing a completely backless top. It seems the French still have a lot to learn when it comes to clubbing attire. Still, at least we all got a free ‘shooter’.

                Every week, I have been attending a Tuesday night ‘Languages Café’. It takes place in a local bar, and each table is labelled with a specific country’s flag, the idea being that people turn up, choose a language, and have a bit of a natter. Often, I end up speaking English, but this week I managed to survive a whole three hours on the French table, which proved really useful for learning a bit of practical slang. I’d already picked up ‘quoi de neuf’ (‘what’s new’) from my newly developed obsession with the French O.C (they call it ‘Newport Beach’ for some reason), but now I also know that ‘pre-drinks’ are ‘le before’ and ‘avoir craquer à quelqu’un’ is to have a crush on someone, both of which I’m sure I’ll be able to proudly slip in at some point when I’m trying to be cool in front of my students. However, pride comes before a fall, and Tuesday was no exception. After telling my new French buds all about my exciting English existence, I then proceeded to explain my excitement that my boyfriend was going to visit me at the weekend. French speakers among you may see what’s coming....I forgot to use ‘rendre visite’ and well, let’s just say ‘he will visit me’ has a rather more physical meaning when used in reference to a person rather than a location. What followed was two gruelling hours of franter (French banter....), suggestions of me as some sort of sexual demon, and several middle aged French ladies declaring how utterly ‘mignon’ (cute) I was. Not quite the means of making friends I’d originally planned, though entertaining nonetheless.

‘La bave du crapaud n'atteint pas la blanche colombe !’ (Or in other words, sticks and stones…)




2 comments:

  1. ahahahhaaaaaaaaaaaa this is great ella!!! sounds amazing and funny yeah i made a similar mistake by telling a rench friend i was excited to work on our group project!!! u can kinda guess how that ended:( anyway hope everything is going well
    bisous
    koya

    ReplyDelete
  2. Koya! :) Thank you! Haaaa that's brilliant. Things here are really good, hope life is good with you too :) xx

    ReplyDelete