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So, I implied an explanation of sorts in my last post - an explanation as to why I've spent more time in France in the last 3 months than I have since the long summers of my childhood, when we'd while away a whole month each year, camping on the country's South coast (yes, my parents were teachers). I'm happy to say it is NOT because I have teamed up with a big-time heroin smuggler or the cops out to catch him, as per the characters in the film title I've used for this blog. But there has been a crime - a theft. My heart has been stolen!
Can anyone smell cheese?
Really though, sickening romance aside, I have met a very decent fella indeed. Remember the 'heart that beats at the same frequency as mine' I mentioned in an equally (but on that occasion unintentionally) cheesy sentence a few blogs ago? The one I met in Sri Lanka, who was going to come to India? Well, he didn't need to in the end, thanks to my ovarian satsuma. He could've come to England, of course, but with time on my hands and itches on my feet, I knew what my preference was.
Now, for the sake of his privacy (and to add a touch of mystique to my blog), I'm only going to refer to him as Jean, the French version of John. My maternal grandfather was called John and he, too, was tall dark and handsome. It's also the first name of a fictional character I have been in love with for several years: Jean-Benoit Aubréy, the dashing philosopher-pirate, who rocks up on the coast of Cornwall, in Daphne du Maurier's novel, The Frenchman's Creek - putting Dona St Columb, a woman in her early thirties, in a spin.
The first time I came to visit him, around the end of February, I arrived in Cherbourg, having taken the ferry from Poole in the morning. The sun was shining, the harbour was alive! I was thrilled to be on foreign land again and excited about being reunited with Jean, but I must admit to also feeling rather like my 13 year old fictional namesake...
"Looking up, Katy could see crowds of people assembled to watch the boat come in...and all this crowd were talking all at once and all were talking French!
I don't know why this should have startled her as it did. She knew, of course, that people of different countries were liable to be found speaking their own languages; but somehow the spectacle of the chattering multitude, all seeming so perfectly at ease with their preterits and subjunctives and never once having to refer to Ollendorf or a dictionary, filled her with a sense of dismayed surprise."
I daresay Susan Coolidge's Katy could, in fact, speak much better French than me. It wouldn't be difficult. Yes, yes, I did French lessons at school - I even scraped a grade C in my French GCSE. But I've had little use for the language since then. Until now, anyway - hence the French lessons using the app, Duo Lingo, which I mentioned in my last post. I'd been thinking about learning a language anyway - as a monolinguist, it's really quite embarrassing to travel and meet people from all over the world who can speak not just one or two, but often several, languages!
Jean is one of them - his English is almost perfect, more perfect, in fact, than many British people's (shame on us!). Contrary to popular belief, a lot French people are not only able to speak some English, but are very happy to do so, too. Of course, it's nice to offer some initial pleasantries in French - or to at least give them a clue about your understanding of the language (I find "Je suis Anglais" generally works) - but very often, they know enough to converse, even if it's only a basic level. It's going to take me a while to get to grips with their language, but I've had a good start, immersing myself in French culture by living with, socialising and generally being amongst French people.
It's been interesting to note the differences between our cultures. Even just little things, like the way people greet each other when meeting for the first time (two kisses and an "enchanté" - what a wonderful start to an acquaintance!). Or the relationship the French seem to have with their food and drink. Yes, I did just utter the questionable phrase, 'relationship with food' - and it's years since I worked on Radio 4's Food Programme! But that's what they have - a deep interest in everything they can taste. Having said that, there must be a fair number amongst the population who can taste nothing at all, after so many years of smoking. I'm no saint when it comes to matters of nicotine, having smoked on and off for many years, but I like to think my habit is under a degree of control; I can take it or leave it. Here though, despite the introduction of anti-smoking laws, it's still very much the done thing. And those who do, do so with style and a sense of righteousness!
I could go on and on about all the cultural differences I've observed over the last few weeks, but I hope to take that opportunity another time. If I can be so bold to write this in a public forum, I don't think this is where my love affair with France (or one of its inhabitants) ends. For now, however, my thoughts are turning towards Thailand (which, incidentally, has its own French connection) and the surrounding countries, and the great adventure that awaits me and Jean.
À bientôt!
- comments
Nick L So lovely to read of your adventures Katy. You're keeping a bored Buckinghamshire housewife entertained! Now I'm off to peg out the washing and sand my staircase...