Au Revoir, La France

Just about a year ago, I received a very important looking envelope in the mail, signature required, "recommandé avec avis de reception", covered in French stamps, with Mlle. Laura FOX written out in impeccably neat cursive.  Inside was my seven month contract to teach in Bar-le-Duc.  A year later, my adventures in Bar-le-Duc have ended, I can sort of write in cursive now, and I realize that all important mail in France must be sent "recommandé avec avis de reception" so you have proof that it's not your fault when your letter gets lost in the nightmarish jungle of bureaucracy. *

Based on my five month struggle with French during study abroad a few years ago, I knew that becoming fluent was probably not a realistic goal for this year, unless I found myself a French boyfriend to practice with (the foolproof path to fluency, I've been told.)  So as my time in France draws to a close and I am in the final week of my adventures here, I regret to announce that I am still completely un-fluent (ergo boyfriendless).  Twelve years after I first opened my 6th grade French textbook, Allons-y! the language is still an unnavigable cauchemar of seventeen tenses and their conjugations (of which I can confidently use about five).  And I've retained two things from 6th grade French class: "Oh la vache!" (very useful) and how to sing "I have a Little Dreidel" (Not useful at all.)

One thing I've learned about the French language this year is that there simply aren't as many words as there are in English.  To someone learning French, it should be a relief.  For example, if I were trying to say in French: "The sun was beating down, I was typing, and then I hit myself," I'd say, "Le soleil tapait, je tapais, et puis je me suis tapée."  Taper, taper, taper.  Easy enough, right?

But things quickly get complicated instead of easier.  Take the word "coup" for example.  Everyone remembers the phrase coup d'etat from their high school history classes, right?  In our textbooks, it meant a takeover, and when I started encountering the word in everyday French, I began to wonder if violent government takeovers should really be coming up this often.  The French say they'll pass you a coup de fil tomorrow to pick a time to boire un coup this weekend.  If you didn't use sunscreen you'll get a coup de soleil.  A man and woman meet and it's a coup de foudre and then he dies from a coup de feu.  Please forgive me for not seeing the connection between "give you a call," "get a drink," "sunburn," "love at first sight," and "gunshot."  Unfortunately, the myriad definitions for "coup" don't help to clarify.  Knock, blow, dint, hang, hit, swig, move, whack, rap, smash, roll, fall, punch, stroke, crash, shot, thrust, bonk.  To an English speaker, all of these words describe very different violent actions and to have them all rolled into one word in French is like trying to fit nine months' worth of clothes, shoes, books and miscellaneous small items you bought on sale while telling yourself they "won't take up any room," into two suitcases without going over the weight limit.  In other words, it's impossible.

Leaning French has always seemed like an uphill battle, but this year has made me realize that all this time I thought I was rolling the proverbial boulder uphill, I was only rolling it up a foothill before reaching Mount Everest.  Yet reassurance comes in the most unlikely forms.  For example, I received this message on Facebook a few months ago, from an unknown admirer. 

 
CC CVA MOI CE SEB TU MESXUSE ON CE CONAI PA ME JE TE DEJA VUE J U TON PROFIL SUR LES AMIE DE BAR LE DUC JAIMERE BIEN FER TA CONAISANCE C TU VE PA CE PA GRAVE

JESPERE K TU MAN VOUDRA PA ET C TU ME VOI MANGEULE PA ALE SALU

hey wadup i'm seb escuse me we don kno each other i saw ur profile on "friends of bar le duc" i wud like to met u f u don wan to its no big deal

i hope that u want 2 and if u c me don get mad.  k by.

Regardless of whether "Seb" was in his right mind or not, I was pretty pleased to discover that I spoke French better than he did.  Unfortunately for him, that disqualified him as a candidate to be my French boyfriend as I would have had to teach him the language instead of the other way around.

Anyway, it has come time to bid au revoir to France and the French language for the time being.  It's strange to think that I'm leaving France for good.  To be honest, I haven't thought about it much.  I keep thinking about Switzerland and how excited I am to be going, but it was only this week that it really hit me that I'd be leaving the country where I've lived for the past nine months.  I'll miss France eventually, but for now I'm glad to be moving on.  Once I'm back in the U.S. I hope that I'll be able to look back and accurately reflect on my experiences here, but right now I can't move beyond the here and now, which currently involves deciding what to make for dinner.  (Although when isn't that on my mind?)

I'm taking an overnight train from Paris to Milan on Saturday to get to Switzerland, which I'm so excited about.  I've inadvertently replaced Bob Seger's lyrics to "Night Moves" with "leaving on the night train," but it's not as good as this version: 

 

My excitement also stems from the film, "Some Like it Hot," but I think I'm setting myself up for disappointment, as it's not jazz age America anymore.  

Well, it's back to dinner-making and packing!  Farewell for now, friends.  I'll write home from camp when I get a chance.  Send clean underwear and bug spray.

* An example of said nightmarish jungle of bureaucracy from one of the French's beloved Asterix and Obelix films, dubbed in English for your viewing pleasure.