"Boy those French! They have a different word for everything." (Steve Martin)

Responding to my last post, where I mentioned my love of reading in French, Ellen (A tiny house in Normandy) suggested that I might take this a bit further for anyone keen to do the same thing. Back living in Sydney, now, and without the full breadth of the French libraries, bookstores, supermarkets and vide-greniers that I have previously had at my disposal, my own reading choices are not really choices at all. I don't discriminate and happily take whatever is rotated through our one French shelf at the local library, be it fiction or non-fiction: biography, reference book, children's story, mystery etc.

Let me preface this post by pointing out that I have been studying the French language since the age of 12 (so a while!). Initially, it was probably the academic nature of the subject that drew me in: the deciphering, code breaking and working out how to put parts together to make a whole. Perhaps, not surprisingly, I was also fascinated by Maths and Music, with similar challenges. From the very beginning, the sounds of the French language were interesting, sometimes difficult, immensely pleasing to try and reproduce, but I'm not sure that communication was what motivated me. After all, I had never left Australia and the world was not connected like it is today.

A year after reading my first "Bonjour! Ca va?" scripted text book dialogues, my sisters and I accompanied my parents to Scotland for my father's sabbatical year at Edinburgh University. Squashed four abreast in the back seat of the family car, we subsequently travelled the continent in our mid-year break, and things started to really change. I encountered languages, food and customs that were unfamiliar to me and, even though we did not visit France on that trip, when a new school year recommenced, my desire to be able to communicate in a different language had been well and truly ignited. My older sister tells me that I used to refuse to speak with her if she didn't try and speak French with me. I'm sure that she is exaggerating, but what a pain I must have been if she's right! (NDLR No need to agree!)

Naturally enough, the resources at my disposition back then were extremely limited. I didn't have podcasts, 24-hour news services, Youtube and song clips with convenient translations to refine my aural skills, French speakers were thin on the ground in suburban Adelaide and the terraced houses of Morningside, and written material was confined to the inked sheets that my French teachers printed off for us and dusty editions of Hugo, Voltaire, Flaubert, Zola, Camus... when I hit University later on.

Today, what a different world.

What has not changed, though, is that learning requires commitment, patience, hard work, practice and determination. If you think that you will just pick things up by being exposed to the language, everyday or on the odd occasion, you will probably be disappointed.

But, let's go back to reading:

• Read everything that you can lay your hands on...bus tickets, concert programs, flyers, advertisements, invitations, bills, Facebook posts...
• When you read these familiar documents you know roughly what should be where, but pay attention and look up anything (vocab, verb conjugation, tense) that is unfamiliar to you. Keep a notebook on you or use the Notes function on your phone to record new words that interest you or that you want to look up later.
• Even as an adult, children's books are for you. Imagiers or Baby books with single words and pictures, hardcover books with one or two sentences and bright, simple pictures, familiar stories from your childhood (see Peter Pan and Le Club des Cinq (Famous Five) below). Read them aloud, read them often and if you have children, read them to your children.
• When you are cooking, look up your recipes on the Internet or spoil yourself with a print edition (see Mon cours de cuisine below).
• Subscribe to a French magazine for children. A brand new magazine is a treat to receive in the post every month or so. Select according to your level of language. Cultural affairs are much more accessible initially in this format than in a daily newspaper.
• Just as it is for young learners, it is easier to persist with something that interests you (see below Insectes, L'Australie, Dinosaures)
• After the heavily illustrated books, progress to children's novels and young adult fiction (see below Sheltie et le poney abandonné and Poisson d'Avril).
• Familiar mysteries and crime stories (such as the John Le Carré novel below).
• Best-sellers such as Harry Potter and Dan Brown's Da Vinci code
• Historical fiction (such as Régine Deforges, an interesting French author whose erotica writing was ahead of her times, but who is equally as well known for her trilogy, which begins with La bicyclette bleue and starts in 1939 in WW2 France.)
• For easy romances and quick reads take your time browsing and selecting from the Pocket Books  selection.
• Try simpler classics such as Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's Le Petit Prince
• Get a news feed from France Info to your phone, consult it without moderation and keep abreast of the news of the world at the same time as working on your French.
• Consult the books and ebooks at Decitre, fnac and make your choice.
• Finally, read as often as you can and enjoy!

 

                

Please feel free to add your suggestions in the comments box below.

Book Obsessed guest post

A very short blog today to share the link to Book Obsessed and thank Cécile for accepting me to guest blog on her site.

Cecile works as an English-French translator but also manages this lovely site featuring author guest posts and book reviews. Do take a look.

19ième Montée de La Tournette

Leaving at 7.30 am from the Talloires Port this Sun 4th September, if you are brave enough!

At 2351 m, La Tournette is the highest of the mountains around Lake Annecy. Many choose to drive to the Chalet de l'Aulp and complete the track to the top on foot (count on 3 hours). It is a strenuous enough walk, requiring the use of chains and ladders in the more difficult sections. Bravo, therefore, to all those who add speed and competition to the mix!

If spectating is more your thing, the celebratory buffet lunch will begin around 13h in Talloires... never an event without food and drink in this part of the world.

Kindle Summer Sale of Catherine's book ends tomorrow

Kindle Summer Sale ends tomorrow.
Here is the link that you need.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01BN54FXS#nav-subnav
A very big thank-you to everyone who has supported me with a purchase.

On not being French

This blog began its process towards its current incarnation many years ago under the title 'Conversations from France'. Admittedly, it was a misleading title as I had no readership, no followers, no conversations. That would have been hard, as I kept my writing to myself. The stories were penned, I now understand, to help with my recovery from illness.

Today, Paulita, left a comment about my blog and book title on a post by French Village Diaries. This is what she wrote:

I didn't know there was a book, only a blog, so I'll be interested to look for it. I've always wondered where the emphasis goes on this sentence. But YOU are in France, Madame. or But you ARE in France, Madame. or But you are in FRANCE, Madame.

And here was my answer:

Hi Paulita, Catherine here. The title 'But you are in France, Madame' came from a conversation that I was having with one of my daughter's teachers. It came after a few exchanges, and was said with only the slightest lilt over the word France and a big questioning smile. Unarguable!

I knew that I had first written the words to what became the book title in one of my original 'Conversations', so I fossicked through my files today. This, from 2011, is what I found:

Waiting at the school gate this afternoon with one of the teachers, whose job was to supervise the exit of the students, we started talking education. Hesitantly, I suggested that the curriculum did not seem to have changed much since I was last here teaching some twenty years ago. In a moment of refreshing candour she remarked that it was probably more like two hundred years with no change. 

There is a mark accorded out of twenty for most pieces of work that the students complete and parents and children alike constantly compare their moyenne or average overall mark. In some schools, if a student is not doing well, there are soutien or support classes, but in most cases the classroom teacher is not expected to cater for the different ability levels in the classroom. If a child does poorly on a piece of work, comments, such as the one word appraisal ‘catastrophe’ next to the mark, leave nothing to the imagination, nor to the self-esteem. The idea that a child might respond to praise, or to a warm relationship with the teacher is not the norm.

I went to a parent-teacher interview yesterday afternoon to discuss this exact point. I was on time and my daughter showed me up to her teacher’s classroom. He was chatting to another teacher when we appeared and made no real effort to come and greet us, so we waited patiently. When he did come out into the corridor he did not introduce himself, shake hands or engage in conversation. He indicated that the meeting would take place downstairs and headed off with us in tow.

Before sitting down, I introduced myself using my first name and put out my hand to be shaken. He mumbled back his full name as he took my hand, although I suspect he would have been shocked if I had actually dared use it.  There was no animosity or impoliteness from either of us, but he did look surprised at the frankness with which I spoke. He came across as someone sure of himself in his role of teacher but not a self-confident man. It wouldn’t have shocked me to read a poster on the walls listing the rules of the meeting, number one being ‘you are talking to a school teacher and his methods and practices are not to be questioned.’ Of course I did though, question him and, with the assurance of a perfect, unarguable answer, he replied "But you are in France, Madame."

As a justification, this answer seems to be all that is required, not just in a school context but everywhere. I recall a newspaper article that my husband and I were discussing wherein a Frenchman became unruly on a flight after having consumed too much alcohol. He refused to accept that he should abide by the rules for all passengers and be served no more alcohol. His argument to support his position was simply “But I am French.”

On holidays, we stopped to visit the castle of Chambord. Arriving mid-morning, we thought that it might be nice to have a coffee before going into the castle. There were several restaurants and cafés to choose from and the owner of one was out the front getting ready for his lunchtime service. Some instinct made me ask if it would be possible to order just coffee, before we sat down and made ourselves comfortable. “Of course not, I am far too busy and have got too much to do before midday.” I should have known that coffee time had passed. I had been put in my you-are-in-France-Madame place yet again.

Many a similar story abounds, in the travel folklore, of unhelpful Frenchmen. Why is this so? I live here and have many good friends who are French, but until you can prove yourself as someone of interest, which can be hard if you are an English speaker, you do risk being brushed off with a “But you are not French, this is the way we do it here” incomprehension. 

Funnily enough, I was once the target of ‘being French’ discrimination. My sister, speaking English to the sales assistant in Galeries Lafayette, could not have been better served. She was offered gift-wrapping and a smile. I was up next and spoke French. I was offered neither a smile nor coloured paper and ribbon. When I asked if my gift could be wrapped, too, I was told that I would have to go and line up at another counter. At that point, I would have liked to have slapped down on the counter my written assessment and mark out of twenty for her. She wouldn’t have made the moyenne.


To jump back to the present with many years of French living under our belt, I can better understand a lot of the differences that I was dealing with at that time. There is no point in pretending that we will ever be French, but learning the secrets of 'being in France' makes me a very happy Madame.

Strawberries and Champagne

Here, in Australia, it is winter. Strawberries like these are not available. Correction, strawberries that taste like these, are not available.

On his recent trip, my husband had one of those it-makes-complete-sense-in-France experiences. He was shopping, not in a market, a supermarket. Quietly going about his own business, he stopped to admire the fruit. He made no eye contact with anyone else. He did not venture an out-loud comment or exclamation, he just stopped to look. The lady beside him, French of course, wanted to help. She had sensed a moment of indecision and wanted to be sure to support him through it. So, addressing my husband, she gave her approval to the quality, of course the price was irrelevant, and then stopped as she was about to continue on her way, registering that my husband had not responded. She interpreted this as a sure sign that he was not French and, changing to English, continued in her self-appointed mission to ensure that he had the best gastronomic strawberry experience possible.

She advised him on how to eat said strawberries.

No, not with a recipe, not by suggesting a large dob of Chantilly or a perfect dessert wine. Just, how to eat the strawberry.

My husband stopped at this point in his story telling and I looked at him quizzically, still not sure if this was some sort of flirtation, French style, or really was a tale of two strawberries. Not sure about you, but I've always used the green bit to hold onto and chomped into the pointy end first. No! No! No! The pointy bit, apparently, is the sweetest bit and so you need, indeed must, start with the flat bit first and work your way up, saving the best for last.

Still musing over the exact nature of eating à la francaise, he was invited out for dinner that night to eat with our most charming of neighbours at the recently re-furbished restaurant across the road from our house. She insisted that they both start with a champagne aperitif and browsed the wine list to make her selection. Decision made, she called across the sommelier ... who refused to take the order. It was, he explained, not masculine enough for my husband and suggested another champagne that would fit the bill.

By this stage, I was rolling around with laughter. Strawberry etiquette and not-masculine-enough champagne. Only in France. How I love her so.

View from the terrace of the Beau Site restaurant in Talloires on the Annecy Lake

But you are in France, Madame - Half price on Kindle !

HALF PRICE SUMMER SALE

Great holiday reading for those who are in France, travelling to France or just dreaming of France.

Hop on over to Amazon to secure your copy of But you are in France, Madame.

And then - Let me know what you think (cb222@me.com).

 I'd love to hear from you.

Print versions available here

To fill the corner

I am not loyal to any particular radio station. I flick and change at an unkind pace, determined by both ad placement and genre of music, usually with my most-obliging son in the back seat of the car saying little, but occasionally letting me know that "I like this piece" or that "the trumpets are pretty cool", which are amongst his euphemisms for, 'please stop being button happy and give this one a go'. Friday mornings are different. I look forward to radio station Triple J's 'Like a Version'... one band's artistic take on another band's song.

I try and favour Triple J for other reasons, too. They give the small-timers and the not-yet-known the opportunity to be discovered, or at least have their several minutes of fame. The band that caught my attention recently was no longer in that category. They had already had significant success and were combining their 'Version' performance with an announcement of their upcoming tour dates. But, it wasn't so much the song that they played that had me entranced, although I enjoyed that, too, it was what they said about their journey.

Like many bands, they had started doing small gigs - pubs mainly, if they could get them. Single-minded in their pursuit of glory they, nonetheless, set themselves smaller goals on the path to international fame and big concert hall billings. The first of which was 'to fill the corner'... the corner pub that is, with patrons.

Last night, I was invited to speak at a book club. It was my first such invitation and I was delighted. Most of the ladies present had read my book, copies of which were scattered around the coffee table. That made me happy, but it was at the end of the night when one of the attendees asked if we could stay in touch, and presented me with her phone so that I could write in my telephone number, that I had my first, 'I'm on my way to filling the corner' moment. She had already entered my name and, in the space for occupation, she had written 'author'. Me, she was meaning me. Most writers will confirm that being such is a hard slog, filled with self-doubt and financial dependence, but in that moment I did not mind that my total income for most weeks from book sales is less than my 16 yo makes in a night of work. Ok, honestly, in an hour.

PS Thanks to Rusty Marmot for the photos

Talloires from the inside out

To link with #allaboutfrance, I invite you back to Talloires and our French village house .

A BIG thank-you for reading and sharing...

Earlier this week, I proudly showed off our village, Talloires, one of the jewels of the Annecy Lake.

Today, I take you to Le Cormoran, our beautiful 4-bedroom 18th Century village house, available for holiday rental and situated close to all the action - boulangerie, poste, tabac, cafés, restaurants, cinéma, supérette ... and a short walk to the lake. Take a look, or visit our holiday rental site click here then contact me on cb222@me.com if I can help you to plan your next skiing, cycling or just-being-in-the-French-Alps holiday.

 

 

 

 

  

   

  

 Le Cormoran/ Our French village House