A new sound is murmuring in our apartment: a sound that speaks of country courtyards and blue shutters, red geraniums in terracotta pots, ancient stone walls, olive groves and lavender fields. Bonjour! Bonjour! Je suis très contente. I am particularly happy because M is doing the conversational French class with me.I have done intermittent French classes since high school French but, sadly, I have never been able to sustain my fragile command of this language. Now for eight weeks every Thursday night we have a group of eight in our home to practise 'comment ça va', s'il vous plaît, une tasse' and so much more.
After one lesson, M and I greet each other, enquire after each other's health and offer tea in French. M's brain is pounding with the convolution required to understand and think in a language in which, at best, he knew how to say yes, thank you and please. He is soldiering on as a gesture of affection to sa femme (his wife). I know that he will find it all worthwhile when next we visit France. A smattering of the language will help with reading signs, asking for directions, and just conversing with locals at a basic level.
Doing our ironing takes on a French flair as we exchange greetings, pose questions, reply, practise pronunciations, count to ten and memorise les jours de la semaine (the days of the week). I hold up various combinations of my fingers and M responds, "huit, six, quatre, neuf". I keep a beady eye on the shirt he is ironing to ensure it isn't scorched with each delay he has in retrieving the relevant number in French. Considering that this is only day two of acquiring new French vocab, he is doing très bien.
As the dark evenings arrive earlier and earlier, get colder and wetter, we can transport ourselves to sun-drenched hill-top villages, ancient arenas, cobbled streets, terracotta rooftops, sidewalk cafés and the sound of cicadas with every 'bonjour, enchanté, j'ai faim, j'ai soif, une baguette et deux pression s'il vous plaît'. Bon Voyage!
