Am I Fluent Yet?

I find myself reflecting on this very question more and more as my time here in France comes to a close.  Now that I have LESS than TWO MONTHS left, I am reminded by others and myself of my main goal in coming here.  I guess I was never sure exactly where my level of French would be by the end of May, after nine months of total immersion or a "year" abroad, but I figured I would definitely be able to achieve some level of fluency.  There are plenty of signs that make me stop and realize just how much progress I've made since the beginning of September, but still I hesitate, when people ask me, to declare myself "fluent" in French.  What does that really even mean? Does it mean I have a basic level of understanding and can get by in everyday situations? Or does it refer to a higher level of achievement, a label reserved for those who speak the language almost as fluently as if it were their own? The more vocabulary I acquire, and the more expressions I learn, the more I seem to stumble across aspects of the language that are out of my reach, like knowing the gender of every single noun.  This particular area of the language never ceases to frustrate me.  No matter how well I master the language, there will always be new words that will give me away as a non-native speaker because I didn't grow up learning what is "masculine" and what is "feminine."  There is absolutely no rhyme or reason to this concept that is nonexistent in English.  Anglophones avoid the whole hassle of worrying about whether "train" is masculine or if "toilet" is only referred to in a plural sense, and just refer to everything as "it"!  Alain told me about his English friend who has lived in France for 20 years--20 years!--and still incorrectly conjugates a verb or assigns the wrong article to an object.  This knowledge is a little disheartening, but at the same time I realize that it would be unrealistic to expect to master the language just as well as I speak my native English--I can get close, but there will always be an obscure word or phrase that I just don't know.

On a more positive note, what exactly are these "signs" that tell me I'm getting closer and closer to being bilingual?  For one thing, I notice more and more that I'm thinking in French.  There will be entire days that go by where I don't speak English at all, and I get into this "French mode."  I'll just be going about my day, and in those moments I have to myself, between classes, or taking the tram somewhere, where I will be thinking about something I have to do or what happened yesterday, and these thoughts will be in FRENCH.  While this makes perfect sense, given that my day-to-day life is about 99% in French (except when I watch American TV shows online and talk to people at home), it's still startling to realize that I'm not longer thinking (or dreaming) in English!


Another weird but interesting observation I've had is that, in learning a second language, I'm starting to lose my first one!  More and more, I find myself struggling to come up with a word in English to properly express what I want to convey.  I will be able to think of the exact word to express something in French, but suddenly won't have the slightest recollection of its equivalent in English.  It's embarrassing.  Instead of knowing two languages, I feel like I don't fully know either one anymore!  Words I'm almost positive I used to know how to spell are starting to stump me and I find myself writing the French spelling without even realizing it.  I'm sure mixing up the two languages is perfectly normal, but the other day I referred to "France" as "the France"!  Mon dieu...

Seeing these changes, and even mixing up English and French, is definitely both exciting and encouraging because it means I'm getting there, but I still don't know if I would consider myself "fluent," whatever that might mean.  Time isn't up yet though!

"Tu as refait une bronchite"

Spring is officially in the air here in Montpellier!  However, despite the mild temps, I somehow managed to get sick AGAIN for the second time in about a month.  I guess between sleeping in hostels and just not sleeping at all in Italy, I was exposed to one too many germs?  In any case, less than a week after my return to France, I found myself with a fever of 102°F (39°C for the curious) and a cough so severe, it brought tears to my eyes.  Minus the fever, I recognized the symptoms from about a month earlier, when I finally gave into Michèle’s constant insistence that I go see the doctor…  Reluctantly, I had dialed the first number listed in my little program handbook under “Generalistes.”  To my surprise, the doctor himself answered, because apparently the number is his actual cellphone.  I made an appointment for that same day, and later went to his “office”, which seemed to be in an ordinary apartment building in a residential area.  There was nothing to indicate that this was a doctor’s office, and not just some random, nondescript door in the back of a building somewhere.  My experience the second time around was much the same as the first, and as it turns out, the diagnosis was the same too.  I couldn’t help but smile when the doctor announced I had bronchitis for the second time around, not because I was happy about having bronchitis, but because of the way he said it.  His announcement, “Tu as refait une bronchite”, is funny because it doesn’t really make sense directly translated into English—“You remade a bronchitis.”  What he meant of course was that I had somehow managed to develop another case of bronchitis in the span of about a month—now that takes talent!  So he rewrote me a prescription for some cough syrup that would help me to actually sleep through the night, and I was on my way. 

What I found interesting about this whole experience, aside from the doctor’s visit itself, is how easily people go to the doctor in France.  I was raised with the understanding that you only go to the doctor if you’re practically on your death bed, but here the exact opposite is true…The way the French health system works is obviously completely different than in the U.S., and because of that so is the attitude people have toward their health.  Without getting into the minute details of each country’s heathcare systems, it suffices to say that the average French person is somewhat of a hypochondriac, running off to the doctor at least once a week for a new prescription for this or that.  Medical expenses are essentially reimbursed by the government, and the French definitely don’t hesitate to take advantage of this fact of life here. 

Health issues aside, I am enjoying a little downtime in Montpellier between spring breaks (yes, I have two).  While I realize plenty of people would be happy traveling every spare second abroad, I am content to just be here, at home in my French host family, going to school, living every day life.  My host mom actually puts me to shame with how many activities she stays busy with! In addition to her day job, she also does tai-chi, goes swimming at the local pool, and most recently has taken up beekeeping!!!

Just another night at the Combes residence...Michèle showing
off her new bee-keeping suit (child-sized, I might add)!

 

Bella Italia, or 10 days of eating nothing but pizza and gelato

Where do I even begin?? This last vacation to Italy was certainly a memorable one, as Katie and I found ourselves in some of the strangest situations, met some of the most interesting people, and ate some of the best food I've ever tasted.  

We arrived in Rome as planned on that first Thursday.  What we didn’t plan so well was how exactly to get from the airport we flew into, located quite far outside of Rome, to our hostel.  We knew the approximate location of the hostel, so we figured we’d be fine.  After all, what more could you need besides the name of the general area and the street name?? We quickly realized a little map questing beforehand would have saved us the trouble of getting lost on the metro and having to ask at least 10 different people for help.  When we eventually made it there around 8 pm, we were exhausted and starving.  We dropped off our bags and headed straight to dinner.  I couldn’t resist ordering a pizza for my first meal in Italy, and Katie got gnocchi.  While it might seem like a lame way to spend our first night in Rome, we headed straight to bed after dinner—we even skipped gelato because it was so cold! Not to worry though, we got our gelato (and pizza) fill over the course of the trip.  In fact, I think those two foods alone comprised the bulk of my diet for those 10 days, with the occasional piece of fruit or pasta dish thrown in to the mix. 

The following three days spent in Rome are a blur of running around from one monument/museum/fountain to the next, snapping as many photos as we possibly could along the way.  If I were to do the trip over again, I definitely would have spent more time in this city.  Everyone kept telling me how amazing it is—among the most impressive capitals in Europe, if not the most impressive.  I’ll always have a soft spot for Paris, of course, but Rome was really something else, with its overwhelming sense of history.  Like my host mom said before I left, when you walk around Rome, it’s as if you are walking through a gigantic museum.  I’m a big fan of Italian architecture in general, with all the warm colors and attention to detail.  

Katie and I, overlooking the Spanish Steps and the city!

 As predicted, not every aspect of our trip went according to plan.  We figured there wouldn’t be too many language barriers; we were bond to get along just fine with English AND French, right?? WRONG.  What we discovered was that after Italian, the next best language to know in Italy is Spanish, given the similarities between the two languages and the fact that many more Italians can speak or understand Spanish before English or French.  In any case, every time we found ourselves asking some Italian for directions or some other question, which was often by the way, we couldn’t seem to get the point across that we don’t speak Italian.  Even after apologizing and making it clear that we only spoke English (French wasn’t even in the running), the Italian in question would continue to try and MAKE us understand by either talking louder and more animatedly in addition to even more emphatic hand gestures.  Sometimes we understood, but most of the time we just had to smile and nod, after which we would admit to each other that we had no idea what was just said to us.  Luckily, most Italians are extremely friendly and helpful people, so we were able to get by for the most part, with a few minor “road bumps” (most of which were related, ironically, to transportation issues).  

 Amazing ancient ruins in Rome aside, the food we ate there was nothing compared to the DELICIOUS pizza and gelato we found on our next stop—Naples!  Based on what we had heard before hand, we prepared ourselves for the worst.  We were pleasantly surprised when we arrived at our hostel, which turned out to be the personal home of a small, balding Italian man named Giovanni.  We arrived, breathless after lugging our suitcases up several flights of stairs and also a little on edge from our walk through the town from the train station.  Our host proceeded to sit us down and tell us what we should do/see/eat in Naples, complete with a hand drawn map and a fiercely proud description of the “capital of Italy before Rome.”  He said he knew most people just pass through Naples, seeing it as simply a place to stay in order to see the city of Pompeii (Katie and I exchanged guilty glances, as this was exactly our plan).  As we sat their hearing this proud, old Italian sing the praises of “Napoli”, we couldn’t help but question his claims that Naples really wasn’t as unsafe as its bad rep would lead one to believe.  “Before Naples, you have Barcelona, Rome and even Paris with the pickpocketing!” After finding out that some kids in our hostel had been mugged the night before our arrival, we weren’t quite convinced.  However, we survived Naples with all of our belongings intact and enjoyed the best pizza and gelato either of us has ever tasted in that town.  Giovanni cooked us pasta two different nights—a penne with red sauce and a spaghetti carbonara (with no cream!!).  Another aspect of Naples that was both frustrating and delightful was the fact that literally nobody spoke a word of English.  This town was the most authentic, with almost no tourists in site (exact opposite of Rome and Florence).  We didn’t do much communicating with the locals, aside from ordering food (we knew how to say cannoli, gelato, and pizza).  Pompeii was incredible to see, but the people (okay, and food) in Naples were my favorite part.  From now on when I think of Naples, I just laugh, thinking of Giovanni yelling at me, “Stefania! What are you doing?!” 

Me, Giovanni, and Katie

I don’t have much to say about Florence, since it was my least favorite part of the trip.  For being a fairly small city in Tuscany, there were an INSANE number of tourists, at least while we were there.  I can’t deny how beautiful the city itself is, but my impression coming away from somewhere has more to do with the people, food, and general atmosphere of a place.  I hate to say it, but even the weather plays a fairly big role in how I feel about a place, too.  I was absolutely freezing the entire time in Florence, so that definitely didn’t help how I felt about our time there.  No matter how cool a city is, if it’s rainy and cold, it just isn’t going to be my favorite. 

By the time we got to Venice at, ahem, 5:30 on a Sunday morning, I might add, we were absolutely exhausted and a little slap happy from lack of sleep (we had shared a twin bed on that Friday night due to an overbooking at our hostel, and literally didn’t sleep anywhere that Saturday night before we caught our train out of Florence at 1:30 am).  Despite the circumstances, I still couldn’t believe my eyes or my luck, at being able to see the sun rise over the Grand Canal in Venice.  We explored all of the little winding streets, with the city practically to ourselves, due to the ridiculously early hour that it was.  The few hours we spent there was all I needed to know that I want to go back someday, when I have more money and can afford to actually stay a night! 

Magical Venice