MASTERING THE LINGO

Well au revoir, smoky Paris, et bonjour Chantilly. Yes Chantilly of the cream fame. Oh and the lace, apparently, which is probably more digestible to a person with suspected lactose intolerance.

Irony aside, we’re now in the wooded environs of a hotel that might just once have been a castle or palace. It’s very classy - five stars apparently. Though, it’s quite possible that all five of those stars might be for the decor.

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“Bonjour!” said the lady behind the counter. She was a bright, friendly person with dancing eyes and a genuine smile. I liked her.

“Bonjour,” I replied, “Je peux avoir un thé noir?” I had already skimmed the board of drinks behind her. I was asking her for a black tea.

“Eh?” she said. I blushed.

“Thé” I repeated. She understood and then told me in English to select a teabag from the box she was fetching from somewhere beneath the pastries. The pastries did look good. I focused all of my effort on the selection box instead, and I was already trying to work out how she’d spotted I was English. It flustered me a little, and I was close to accidentally saying something like “Ah limon!” Or “Hmm. Ou est le petit dejeuner anglais?” but I thought better of it. I plumped for “ici!” (here) and handed her a teabag.

I felt sure suddenly that I could master the interaction, were I to live in France for a while. But given that everything about me, from my tea-drinking to my clumsy fumbling of Euros as an ‘English tourist’ I decided to settle for the obvious fact that she was just trying to make my life easier. My trips to France might be decades apart. Oh and not everyone in France will talk to you like your French teacher, it turns out.

I’m still persisting. Here in Chantilly, I asked the waiter for “un couteau” and he had no idea what I was talking about. I had to point to the space on the table where my knife should have been and repeat the word - which I must have been saying wrong.

“Here you are sir” English.

I’m actually a bit tired of trying to speak French now. My brain’s wiring into the task and desperate for practice, but it’s a bit exhausting. I tried sparking a conversation with the lady running the team-building event before lunch, mostly just for the language.

“C’est tres amusant,” I said, beaming. She smiled back and said something like…

“Oui, mais en réalité, vous êtes tous des gens formidables et vous formez une bonne équipe. On ne voit pas ça tous les jours.”

“Ah oui…” I said, picking up ‘équipe’ and ‘tous les jours’ and inferring the rest. “Mais, nous sommes amis aussi. Merci pour tout.”

“Bon appetit,” she smiled back.

It was nice that she didn’t switch to English. Also it was nice that I got to the end without looking blank, I hope. It’s quite exhausting. I think I’m ready to give the GCSE oral exam a slip and head back to Angleterre, where (believe it or not) I’ve mastered more of the lingo.

Chantilly’s pretty by the way. More about that later, but from what I’ve seen of it, est tres jolie. I sat on a bench at the chateau beneath a hot blue sky, thankful to be there, but also looking forward very much to going home.