Sunday 30 August 2009

MORE FAUX PAS IN FRANCE

 So, there I was, on my own, over in France one autumn, to do some work on our holiday home.
As usual, having finished work and had a quick shower, I was in the quietest bar in the town having a couple of strong Belgium lagers before returning to the house to cook my supper. It is so quite this bar, especially compared with the couple of others in town, that I often wondered how it survived. Of the couple who owned it, the wife was always there serving during the day, and the husband only appeared to serve his stint in the evenings. This lead me to form the theory that perhaps he had a daytime job as I certainly couldn't see how they survive on the takings from the bar. But no, it turned out that he was always off fishing during the day, and I remained baffled.
This particular evening, there were only three or four other customers, as usual, sitting at or leaning against the bar, which the wife was tending. Her husband came in, carrying something wrapped up in paper, and came up to me opening the paper to proudly reveal a large trout. I made the appropriate response, 'Ah, trés bon,' a bit bemused as to why he had picked me to show it to, and then returned to reading my newspaper.
Once I had finished my second lager, I paid the bill, and as I was leaving I said, 'Au revoir', and then, turning as I was about to go out the door, 'Nice fish.'
At least, that's what I thought I'd said; but what I'd actually said was, 'Nice Peach!' They must have thought I was bonkers.
My mistake only came to me when I was half way home.  Although a pêcheur is a fisherman, a fish in French is not a pêche, but a poisson.
Confusing, or what? It's obviously just a dastardly plot to confuse us foreigners.

On another visit the bar was deserted, apart from the wife of the owner, so, after ordering a beer, I ended up sitting at the bar and having a conversation with her. I was feeling rather pleased with myself afterward, as she had congratulated me on my French.
By this time, there were three or four regulars propping up the bar, (which constituted a crowd for there), and I was just about to leave, having had my regulation two beers, when one of my French neighbours came in, and offered to buy me a drink. Not wishing to appear churlish, I accepted, and, feeling a little light headed from drinking on an empty stomach, attempted to carry out a conversation with him. I would probably have felt slightly self-conscious about this, (given that the other customers were not talking to each other, and therefore couldn't help but eavesdrop on every word I was saying), but by now the beer had kicked in, and I was full of Dutch courage. Anyway, I was holding up my end of the conversation quite well, only occasionally having to improvise by trying out an English word pronounced in a French way, until he asked the question, what was it that the English liked so much about France?
"The English love the French peasants," I declared confidently, (mixing up paysan with paysage), instead of, "The English love the French landscape," which is what I was trying to say.
Once again, I only realised my mistake when I was on my way home.
Mmmm...., might have to give that bar a miss for a while....

Moral: probably better to go easy on the Belgian lager when trying to speak in a foreign tongue.

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