Language Shock

Ed and I took the kids to Barcelona for our first week of winter break.  Our time in Spain was strikingly different from our experiences in France, but it wasn’t until we got back that the differences fully came into focus.  Add to that a trip to Jacksonville, Florida with my Cuban relatives to pay tribute to the well-travelled life of my grandfather and even another level of culture shock comes into play. 

The most obvious difference is that of language.  In Barcelona they speak Spanish and Catalan, in France they speak French.  (I haven’t really been around any Provencal speakers, although all the street signs are labeled in both Provencal and Spanish.)  In Jacksonville we spoke some English, some Spanish. 

But let’s just say that my brain didn’t sort things out easily.  In Barcelona, I headed out to the grocery store the first day in order to cook in our apartment. Looking for the milk, I was excited to speak Spanish for the first time in a LONG time.  The grocery clerk showed me where the milk was and asked me from whence I came.  I then started instinctively answering in French, so he easily switched to French.  But then my vocabulary halted and I fumbled through my English.  And, you guessed it, the clerk switched into fluent English as well.  It turned out that he was from Morocco and had immigrated many years ago and had had various learning opportunities along the way.  And there I was, unable to speak even one language coherently!

It was the same situation in Jacksonville.  My grandmother, who has lived with Parkinson’s Disease for over 15 years now, has trouble with speech in general, yet Spanish sometimes comes more easily than English.  So I attempted from the get-go to speak Spanish with her.  Attempted is the key word here.  I was not quite fluent in Spanish at my peak, and my Spanish is rusty from lack of practice.  Add to that the last year and a half focusing on the French language and it is even rustier.  Every time I went to speak Spanish the French words would pop out.  Luckily my grandparents had spent a year living together in Paris, so the French was not totally off-putting to Granny.  But everyone else just sort of rolled their eyes and laughed.  It was such a relief to me when I returned home to Aix-en-Provence and realized that I could focus again on just one language. 

I was greeted by my bus driver, who was so incredibly polite (and French) it put me right at ease.  After our requisite exchange of pleasantries, he went on to make it clear that the pleasure was all his… I am sure this is all part of the script, but there is nothing like a Frenchman smooth-talking. 

Another big difference that I noted was the intensity of personal interactions.  When we arrived in Spain, both Ed and I noticed that the Spanish were much more public with their relationships.  Lots of couples smooching deeply, cuddling in restaurants.  Compared with the French double air-kiss on the cheeks, the Spanish are downright physical!  As well, the loudness of people living together was also there.  People in other apartments, people chatting on the subway, people sharing lives.  It was the same thing when I got together with my family in Jacksonville.  Lots of Spanish-speakers in the same room, all competing at louder and louder volumes to tell their version of the same story.  Lots of charisma, lots of emotion...

It was so nice, then, upon both the return from Spain and the return from Jacksonville to experience the orderliness of the French.  Whereas the Spanish cities were modernist and the nearby forests had been clear-cut in order to make room for the greatest creativity of space (which nowadays really means big-box type stores), the French cities, even just over the border were quaint and old-world.  The lay of the land was basically untouched and the cities were built around the natural formations.  The signage was much more frequent and clear.  And the border crossings were brief and civilized. 

So, all to say that I am so glad to be home, in my French life, having had a few spurts of Spanish blood re-infused into my veins.  Viva Espana, and Vive La France!