Knowing only a few basic French phrases makes me feel like a fish out of water, so I decided to bite the bullet and start French lessons. Yay me!
Now I have a lovely teacher, called Stephanie. At the start of my first lesson, I discovered I had been inappropriately familiar with the butcher, the baker and the custard tart maker. I've been saying "Cava?" (Aussie slang = how's it going mate?) instead of "Comment allez-vous?" (formal, polite version). The question is, is it too late to start over? And if so, will that extra duck breast no longer be thrown in?
The start of my second French lesson opened with "I am", "I have" phrases. This is where complete strangers bare their souls, by disclosing their age, marital status and how many cars they own (par example). Along with that, one might be asked if one lives in a three story house with a large swimming pool and pretty garden, very close to the forest (par example). Like filling in a passport application, except that the answers are received with the enthusiasm of watching fireworks, "Wow, you live on a busy, main road... ah, fantastique, very good".
It was my turn to ask a question. Following the class program, I asked "Tu es marriee?" (are you married?) Stephanie answered: "No, j' ai celibataire". Woah now, steady on... Surely that couldn't be the expression for being single... My eyebrows raised and head nodded with understanding.
With courage, and to break the silence, I asked Stephanie if she had a boyfriend. Of course I had to ask what the expression for boyfriend was. "Petit ami" (little friend). I tried to imagine introducing Rob as my little friend, back in the day when we were dating.
We were asked to introduce our own word to the question pool. Feeling nervous and rushed, I pointed down to my runners, looking up, my eyebrows raised in question. "Chausseurs", Stephanie explained. Great! I know how to say shoes. Stephanie asked, "OK Melita, combien de chaussures as-tu?" I had to think on my feet (excuse the pun), and show how hard I'd been practicing my numbers. "J'ai cinqante chausseurs" (I have 50 shoes). No fireworks this time, now Stephanie's eyebrows were raised. "Vraiment Melita!"
In English, I could bend the truth, but in French, there was no time for a convoluted lie. My shoe collection is my private world (an unhealthy world, yes) and I had just let a stranger in. Not even my husband is privy to that information. My shoes are scattered in several rooms to disguise the magnitude of my fettish. Mind you, Rob sometimes calls me Imelda anyway. Does one include hiking boots? Surely not, they're a speciality! Thongs don't count, they're like underwear, etc.
The tables turned, my turn to ask Stephanie how many shoes she had. Her answer... F-O-U-R. Perhaps she was messing with me? No. She explained (in French) exactly what each pair of her shoes was for. Any wonder she's celibate!
Now I have a lovely teacher, called Stephanie. At the start of my first lesson, I discovered I had been inappropriately familiar with the butcher, the baker and the custard tart maker. I've been saying "Cava?" (Aussie slang = how's it going mate?) instead of "Comment allez-vous?" (formal, polite version). The question is, is it too late to start over? And if so, will that extra duck breast no longer be thrown in?
The start of my second French lesson opened with "I am", "I have" phrases. This is where complete strangers bare their souls, by disclosing their age, marital status and how many cars they own (par example). Along with that, one might be asked if one lives in a three story house with a large swimming pool and pretty garden, very close to the forest (par example). Like filling in a passport application, except that the answers are received with the enthusiasm of watching fireworks, "Wow, you live on a busy, main road... ah, fantastique, very good".
It was my turn to ask a question. Following the class program, I asked "Tu es marriee?" (are you married?) Stephanie answered: "No, j' ai celibataire". Woah now, steady on... Surely that couldn't be the expression for being single... My eyebrows raised and head nodded with understanding.
With courage, and to break the silence, I asked Stephanie if she had a boyfriend. Of course I had to ask what the expression for boyfriend was. "Petit ami" (little friend). I tried to imagine introducing Rob as my little friend, back in the day when we were dating.
We were asked to introduce our own word to the question pool. Feeling nervous and rushed, I pointed down to my runners, looking up, my eyebrows raised in question. "Chausseurs", Stephanie explained. Great! I know how to say shoes. Stephanie asked, "OK Melita, combien de chaussures as-tu?" I had to think on my feet (excuse the pun), and show how hard I'd been practicing my numbers. "J'ai cinqante chausseurs" (I have 50 shoes). No fireworks this time, now Stephanie's eyebrows were raised. "Vraiment Melita!"
In English, I could bend the truth, but in French, there was no time for a convoluted lie. My shoe collection is my private world (an unhealthy world, yes) and I had just let a stranger in. Not even my husband is privy to that information. My shoes are scattered in several rooms to disguise the magnitude of my fettish. Mind you, Rob sometimes calls me Imelda anyway. Does one include hiking boots? Surely not, they're a speciality! Thongs don't count, they're like underwear, etc.
The tables turned, my turn to ask Stephanie how many shoes she had. Her answer... F-O-U-R. Perhaps she was messing with me? No. She explained (in French) exactly what each pair of her shoes was for. Any wonder she's celibate!
Khira at the beach in Anglet
A rainy day in Biarritz
Walking around the coast in Biarritz
Paella! San Sebastien, Spain
San Sebastien, Spain
more precious stuff mel. keep it coming.
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