Je parle un peu de francais!

Within the past week or so, I have had two prolonged conversations in Franglish (but mostly French!) with two gentlemen who were about 65-70 years old.

First gentleman I met was Maurice. I had just grabbed a salami sandwich by the Pompidou centre and was checking out the material at Mona Lisait (Mona read), a little outdoor bookstore. After I put down an English grammar book ("-Look Mum, it's raining! -Of course Tom, it always rains in this country."), he came up to me and said "Bon appetit!" I assumed he meant the way I was chomping away at the sandwich. The baguette sandwiches from street vendors tend to be a bit tough. Those sandwiches are not made for people with sensitive teeth. He figured I was American (I wonder why?) and asked me the usual: where are you from, where are you staying, you're a student? Of where? What are you studying?

I supplied answers: From Utah, 16th arrondisement, BYU, European Studies.

The fact that I'm a European Studies major from the U.S., I've noticed, is automatically a plus with whoever I speak to. And it was no exception with Maurice. He was pleased and started talking about how we should become citizens of the world, and how I was doing that (yes!). I agree with what he was saying. It's difficult to understand the motives of other countries if you know nothing about their culture, history, and politics. There are countless differences between French and American culture, but I wouldn't recommend relying simply on stereotypes to find out what those are.

So we were talking about that, and then Janna came over. He got excited and started speaking rapidly at which point I fell behind. Janna is really good at understanding, or at least pretending to understand, so she kept up the conversation while I listened for keywords. He mentioned philosophy cafes and told us we should go to one. Well first, we wouldn't understand what everyone was talking about (intelligent French? I think not), and second, we don't even drink coffee. So we thanked him anyway and parted ways. It was a good day to have that conversation because I had just been thinking that I needed a little French practice.

"Crazy old Maurice, eh? Crazy old Maurice."
Except not terribly crazy.

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The second gentleman I met was with his deaf dog in a park near my apartment. But before I met him, I was stumbling upon some of the 40 embassies in my neighborhood. In case anyone cares to know, the little Cambodian one is twenty steps from my door!

So I had just spent some time by myself at Rue de Passy getting an expensive lunch (why I don't usually eat out in the 16th arrondisement) and then looked around a bit. I found a few embassies nearby (Madagascar, Monaco, Ivory Coast) and remembered seeing the Sudanese & Indian ones a while ago. So I was on my way to revisit them when the gentleman just started talking to me.

It was very similar to my conversation with Maurice. Answers: I'm American, I'm studying here, a European Studies major, practicing my French. Parisians love to help foreigners with their French and I think that the gentleman was pleased to be able to help me with mine. I told him that I loved Paris and liked French people, and he asked what other Americans thought of France and the French.

"Tread carefullllly"- I was thinking.

He asked if they thought it was small. I said, well yes, it's a small area, but we realize that it's the 6th largest economy in the world. At least that's what I thought I said. The distinction between 6th & 16th (sixieme & seixieme) is slight, and I had accidentally said seixieme. So that's why he started quickly counting fingers, doing the French puffing thing, and had to support himself against the park bench. I figured out what had happened after a bit and corrected myself. Thank goodness for that.

The same thing happened a minute later when we were saying something about months. He attempted to say it in English, and it came out as "mouf". We laughed about mutual pronunciation troubles. I love having Franglish conversations!

Anyway, I walked a bit with him and his dog (don't worry, I definitely could've taken him if I had to) and talked about the plethora of dogs in the city. There is one cat/dog for every two people in France. Isn't that crazy? All in all, it was a pretty good conversation.

A little interesting tidbit about the dogs: there is no enforced law in Paris against not cleaning up after your dog. And since pretty much everyone has one, that means there are decades of poop built up on the sidewalks. (If you're thinking that's disgusting, don't worry. It is!)

Prof. Fry told us that it's because France doesn't trust Paris with its own police force. The city is regulated by national police, and they see it beneath themselves to give out tickets for dog doo. So it's a tradition that doesn't seem like it will change anytime soon. Oh goody. I would definitely NOT subscribe to the five-second rule here.