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French culture: Factoid 99. Electrically, France is two-pin, Britain three-pin. Converters are necessary. Then USBs need considering, My bedside table at Autignac. Down below the digital thermometer (never used) |
We’re still one day short of a week away from France, and thus not free from the possibility of infection. But if we do escape, containing our group of eight in a large villa might be one of the reasons. We spent a good deal of time there, messing about in and around the 10 m pool. The nearest we came to crowds was in the supermarkets and the mask/distancing regime there was pretty rigorous.
Why France, though? It’s near, of course. It’s a beautiful country but with many imperfections and oddities. It can seem unwelcoming but mainly towards those foreigners who go there uninformed about the culture (in the widest sense; not just museums and architecture) and – especially – about the language.
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The one in the middle is daughter Professional Phlebotomist. The other two I leave to your deductive powers |
I had a familiar conversation at the local Office du Tourisme where I sought a reliable taxi service to get the others back to Béziers railway station to catch their TGV (
train de grande vitesse). Not for the first time my grasp of French was complimented fulsomely (ie, flattering to an excessive degree). But I have a stock response to this, tailored to the way the French see things. “I can’t speak French, but I can communicate in it. My French is non-idiomatic.”
This gets their attention. They like polysyllabic words and anything that smells of a theory. However, although they seem better educated than Brits not all know the meaning of “non-idiomatic”. Naturally they’re reluctant to admit this. The tourist man let flow even more fulsomeness which included some predictable stereotypes of national bigotry. Then he paused, realising it wasn’t his job to slag off foreigners.
“Let us say, monsieur, that your French is better than my English.” And smiled charmingly.
Why France? Where else would you expect a self-regarding popinjay to go for a holiday?
I love reading about your conversation at the Office du Tourisme. Yes, where else would a popinjay go?
ReplyDeleterobin andrea: Actually, he was a nicer guy than I've suggested. I wanted two things from him. First, call the taxi driver and, as a representative of the Tourist Office, ask for the official tariff for the journey. Some French drivers are a little "flexible" on this matter. He did this.
ReplyDeleteThen book the pick-up, which - politely - he refused to do, even though other Tourist Offices have been willing in the past. I had to call the taxi driver myself. This was just as well since there were complications which had to be sorted at our end.
The one on the right is the fireman from Fahrenheit 451.
ReplyDeletezzi: You're not the first person to liken me to Oskar Werner. Also, less pleasingly, to William Buckley Jr, the right-wing US newspaper columnist. Both are now dead and I am close to my 85th so the likenesses may soon be augmented.
ReplyDeleteHaha! I always enjoy your remarks and anecdotes about travel...
ReplyDeleteOh, online they're always saying the new 85 is 120 or some such. Take your vitamins and go for a walk!
Marly: I go to France ravenous for indigenous conversation. It's a peculiar state of mind and from time after time I may overwhelm the object of my chat. The French are not used to this.
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