In 1990, like almost every backpacker in Europe, I made the obligatory trip to France to see all those attractions that everyone else had seen. This was part of a grander, poorly thought out plan to see as much of Europe as possible while spending as little as possible.
Before going to France, I was fully expecting be abused and victimized as soon as I stepped onto French soil. Two Australians told me about how they lost a money belt in Gare du Nord, and were berated at the Lost and Found with "You speak English to me, but this ear, it only hears French!" Virtually everyone else I met on the way to France seemed to have an unflattering story about French surliness. It made me a bit apprehensive about dealing with anybody sitting behind a glass window.
While trying to figure out which train to take to Versailles from Paris, I went to the information desk at the Gare du Nord, one of the main stations in Paris. There, I was greeted by an impeccably lettered sign that said "We do not speak any English." A balding, middle aged man sat at the desk and read the newspaper. He seemed intent on ignoring me.
Fortunately, thanks to some well meaning but terribly impractical edicts from the Canadian government, everyone in English Canada had to take, or for some, endure, several years of high school French. As it seemed pretty clear he was not going help me in English, I tried to say something coherent in French. Because it had been more than five years since I conjugated any verbs or split any infinitives, I was not expecting to get very far. Once I mangled my way through a sentence that was supposed to inquire about the train to Versailles, he tersely told me the train schedule in French. After the shock of getting an answer had worn off, I tried to ask which track the train left from. Try as I might, I could not remember how to pronounce 'track' in French, and stuttered through a sentence which may or may have not asked which track the train left from, but more likely insulted the honour of his grandmother. Much to my surprise, the man replied in perfect, unaccented English, "it leaves from track six" and went back to reading his paper.
This was about the closest that I got to French surliness. Why had so many others had such difficulty when I managed to muddle my way through? I thought about it and realized that the "Help" Desk attendant, and I use that term very loosely, spoke English to me because I had worn out both his patience and my limited vocabulary. What is not well advertised about French people is that many of them are quite good at speaking English. Although the sign may have read "We do not speak English" it would have been more correct for it to have read "We do not want to speak English." The French, as a rule, do not like to speak English, and feel no need to when at home.
However, I am living proof that it is possible to not only get the French to be cooperative, but also to get them to speak English. If you start a conversation in English, or read directly from a phrasebook, your experience in France will likely be more difficult than it has to be. On the other side of the fence, if you look like you are trying to learn the language, the French will usually be much more accommodating, and might do unusual things like reply in English.
As important as conveying the effort is the way that you do it. Although it may not appear so, the French are very polite. By comparison, anglophone society is more barbaric, and we often come across as being very rude. With this in mind, the other secret to getting by in France is to follow the French customs. In France, it was customary to greet the proprietor of a store with "Bonjour". And that was all that was needed. I forgot this once at a bakery, and was greeted with a look that would have put me in several small baskets. Once I corrected my faux pas, everything was completely forgotten, and I soon had a loaf of bread, handed to me by a smiling counter person.
By attempting to speak French, and being polite while doing so, I completely avoided the most common tourist pitfall in France. This went a long way to making my time there much more enjoyable. People were friendly, helpful, and occasionally spoke in English. It almost made me forget my sleep deprivation, aching feet, or how I tired I was of eating baguettes and cheese.
Rating
With the Eiffel Tower, the Catholic Church, and a history of overrunning and being overrun, France was rich in attractions for most tourists. There was always something to do. The countryside was also quite diverse. Though I spent much of my time passing through the countryside while asleep, what I did see was usually well worth being conscious for. On the other hand, while French high cuisine is usually ranked as some of the finest food in the world, the low cuisine that I could afford was somewhat lower in quality. I found the street food to be nourishing enough, but not terribly memorable. Also, as a place that gets something like ten million tourists a year, France was extraordinarily difficult for low budget tourists. In highly touristed areas, the low budget accommodations often filled up before 9:00 AM, and eating anywhere with an English menu was a ticket to poverty.
Text and images copyright © by Curtis Marr. All rights reserved.