Parlez-vous anglais?
I did try to learn some French before this trip. I faithfully went to the Rick Steves’ headquarters in Edmonds, Washington for a traveler’s French class. I signed up for 2 years of Rosetta Stone, and worked on the app regularly. But my French is worse than bad. Try as I might, I cannot get the inflections right in even the simplest phrases.
Not being able to speak French is sometimes insanely frustrating. We’ve had struggles with our hot water heater, cell phone provider, and internet service, all which feel impossible to sort out without speaking French. And I won’t even try to describe some of the embarrassing conversations I’ve tried to have with our neighborhood pharmacist. We definitely know better than to assume that anyone here speaks English, which is often taken as an affront (How dare you think that I should speak your language!), and language-shaming is real (How dare you not speak French!).
I’m surprised, then, by the opinion I’ve developed: I’m glad people in France don’t speak English. I’m glad for the sake of my kids, for whom I want things to be a little uncomfortable sometimes. I don’t want them to grow up thinking America is the center of the universe any more than I want them to grow up thinking they are the center of the universe. I want them to have compassion when they go home and there’s an ESL student in their midst, or someone on their bus who clearly doesn’t understand what’s going on. There’s a vulnerability that comes with not speaking the native language and understanding that vulnerability invites empathy.
I’m glad for my sake, too, because I get such a high out of completing a transaction without letting on that I don’t speak French. Context is everything, and it’s just as easy to reject the “Special 4-for-3!” deal at Claire’s in French as it is in English. I’ve gotten into the habit of saying “à bientôt” (“see you later”) to every store clerk, which I think keeps my cover in a way that saying “au revoir” would not. I also adore the way people I pass in our building will say, “Bonjour Madame.” Just in case I forget for a moment that I’m in the midst of an immersive cultural experience, “Bonjour Madame” reminds me.
I’m also glad for the sake of France. We’ve traveled outside of France on this trip quite a bit already: To Switzerland, Austria, the Netherlands, Denmark, and Germany. In all of those countries, we were able to count on anyone we approached speaking English fairly fluently. Because I’m conditioned to France, I would always ask in the native language if they spoke English. In Switzerland a guy looked at me, offended that I would think he didn’t. In Austria, the ticketing guy at Schönbrunn teased me lightheartedly when I asked “Sprechen sie English?” I’m not going to lie, being in these countries was great. Navigating restaurants and transportation was less stressful, connecting with locals was easier, and I felt less like a bumbling idiot. But something was also missing from the travel experience. It was a little like going to a new place to do some boutique shopping and all you see are H&M and the Disney Store. (Note: I am not implying these countries are generic! They are anything but!)
English is the international language of business, and looks to be the language of the future. Most French people I’ve met speak at least a little English, and the younger they are, the more fluent they tend to be. When I was at a movie last weekend, a commercial advertised free English classes — sponsored by the French government, I think — that made speaking English out to be a badge of honor. It even ended with something akin to: “So the next time someone asks ‘Parlez-vous anglais?’ you will be able to answer ‘Yes, I speak English!’” I felt a little sad. If I come back to France twenty years from now, my guess is that most Parisians will be fluent in English — our world is so interconnected that they’ll have to be. But for now, I’m happy to be the person bumbling and botching my French phrases in an effort to please them.
