Language Re-Learning in Europe

Now and then in Thailand someone asks if I can speak French. I answer, “Oui,” and then manage one or two reasonably understandable sentences before Thai starts pouring out. It’s as if the lobe of the brain where my college French lives has been overwritten by the more recent efforts to learn a new language.

Thai is now the default second. Kick-starting the former tongues requires lots of concentration. These past two weeks, luxuriating in France and Spain with three separate batches of close pals, I was never sure what was going to flow from my mouth. (photo: John Beach)

It was surprising how quickly the old vocabulary flooded back. Most everything I read on signs in France made sense to me, and when shopkeepers addressed me I always knew what they were talking about. Whether or not I could reply quickly was another story, but with each passing hour I got faster—to the point where I sometimes asked myself how I would have said the same thing in Thai.

Of course I never got beyond a paragraph or two before I started giggling. French seemed like a play language, something designed for Barbie dolls or tea parties. I knew I wouldn’t need to use it for long, so I felt it was fair to have fun with it. Unlike in Thailand, where everyone can tell at a glance that Thai is not my native tongue, in France I was assumed to be fluent until I opened my mouth. The people I spoke to there had only a second or two to adjust themselves to someone mangling their language. I let them know right away that they were dealing with a tourist by overdoing the accent.

Non, je ne regrette rien. Vive le français! Vive la crème brûlée! Laissez les bons temps rouler!