Quelles bonnes vacances!
I hope I spelled that right. You see, my French is very rusty. I certainly had a chance to prove that when I went with the family to France a while ago. It was a great trip and a very welcome vacation from our daily stresses. In future posts I’ll be recalling the satisfying yet somewhat silly adventures that we had over our ten days.
To start, let’s go back to the language. I love it – language, that is. I have always been fascinated by our capacity to communicate. We speak, mutter, sign, write, paint, doodle, motion, and so on. We seek to understand and be understood. We do so with every available symbol and signifier we can get our Mexican family/12 years of elementray and high school French/married to a Korean-Italian brain around.
And we don’t do so bad. Much like my trip to visit cousins in Mexico many, many summers ago, I can’t separate my French from my Spanish. I say “Si” instead of “Oui” for our entire trip. I can’t quite remember if our plane leaves in “dix horas” or “diez heures”. “Despues” or “Depuis”. “O” or “Ou”. “Et” and “Y”. And my mind goes into complete meltdown when after seven days of stumbling through franglais, we arrive in a tapas café and the hostess says “¡buenas tardes!”.
Yet somehow, I can sing to my daughter the French National Anthem and recite the “Our Father” before breakfast. My high school teacher just might be proud.
Next time: It’s Automatic! or How I drove myself crazy.