D'accord vs ça va

Do you think you know the difference between d’accord and ça va? Es-tu sûr*? While in some circumstances these expressions both mean ‘OK’, that’s not always the case – and they’re not interchangeable. D’accord and ça va have different uses, yet even our most advanced students mix them up from time to time.

Ne t’inquiète pas*, though. After you’ve finished this lesson, tout sera clair*! And in case you get lost, just remember this:

When you want to say ‘OK’

D’accord and ça va both mean OK. However, d’accord is to do with agreement, whereas ça va is about how you are feeling or how someone or something is going. Confused? Consider how both are used in conversation below. 

D’accord

Q: Tu veux venir avec nous?
Do you want to come with us?
R: D’accord!
OK!

Q: D’accord?
OK?
R: Oui, d’accord.
Yes, OK.

In these examples, you are agreeing to an activity, idea or decision. 

Ça va

Q: Ça va? 
How are you? (Literal translation: it goes?)
R: Ça va.
OK/ fine. (Literal translation: it goes.)

Q: Je prends ta voiture, ça va?
I’m taking your car, is that OK? 
R: Oui, ça va.
Yes, it’s OK.  

In these examples, you are being asked if you are OK or if a certain situation is OK. 

Other uses of d’accord

Still with us? While ça va is quite straightforward, there are plusieurs* other uses of d’accord to wrap your tête* around.  

Être d’accord (literally, ‘to be in agreement’) means to agree with someone or something. 

Par example*…

Q: Ils sont d’accord?
Do they agree? 
R: Oui, ils sont d’accord.
Yes, they agree. 

Q: Es-tu d’accord avec elle?
Do you agree with her?
R: Oui, je suis d’accord. 
Yes, I agree.

Q: Qu’est-ce que vous pensez?
What do you think?
R: Je ne suis pas d’accord avec ça. 
I don’t agree with that. 

Être d’accord pour is also used to express agreement or willingness to do something.
Par example…

Q: Vous êtes d’accord pour arroser mes plantes quand je suis en vacances?
Do you agree to water my plants while I’m on holiday?
R: Oui, je suis d’accord pour les arroser.
Yes, I’m willing to water them. 

Je suis d’accord pour travailler samedi. 
I agree to work on Saturday. 

Finally (for now), être d’accord que means ‘to agree that’.

Par example…

Il était d’accord que ce n’était pas une bonne idée. 
He agreed that it wasn’t a good idea. 

TO RECAP

Got it? Here are some common traps to avoid. 

COMMON MISTAKES

*Are you sure? | * Don’t worry | *Everything will be clear! | *several | *head | *For example

La Petite Histoire

If you've ever done a group lesson here at Lingua Franca, you've probably come into contact with La Petite Histoire*. A tale with the very humblest of beginnings, it winds up becoming a rollicking schlockbuster as you move up the levels and your French improves enough to handle the outrageous (some would say impossible) turns of events of the six young friends.

La Petite Histoire is currently only available to our students, however La Préquelle is for everyone’s enjoyment. Below, another instalment of this new series, Chapter 2 of the Intermediate 3 level.

*The Little Story | *The Prequel

C’était le jour de mon départ à Londres et j’étais à la maison en faisant les valises pour ma fille Anouk et moi.

Anouk est entrée dans ma chambre, en chantant: “On va à Londres pour voir La Reine et je vais devenir princesse!”

J’ai rigolé et j’ai hoché la tête. “Je ne peux pas promettre qu’on va voir la Reine, ma petite, mais tu es déjà une princesse à mes yeux.”

Elle a souri et elle a pris ma main.

“On part bientôt, maman?” elle a demandé, avec de grands yeux.

“Oui, ma chérie. Très bientôt. Tonton Hervé va venir nous chercher pour aller à l’aéroport.”

“Est-ce que Tatie Amina va venir aussi?” Anouk a continué.

“Oui, elle vient avec tes cousins. C’est Tati Amina qui a organisé ce voyage pour aller voir ses amis anglais,” j’ai répondu.

“Ah, bon,” elle a dit. “Maman, pourquoi Céline et Vivienne ne viennent pas avec nous? Ce ne sont pas des princesses comme moi?”

“Mais bien sûr que si! Ce sont des princesses comme toi, mais tes sœurs sont trop petites pour faire un long voyage comme ça. Toi, tu es grande.”

“Oui, j’ai 3 ans, maman. Je suis une grande fille.”

“Oui, je sais, ma grande, mais tes sœurs vont faire un petit voyage avec ton papa et ta mamie, tu te souviens? Mamie vient du Maroc pour aider papa avec tes sœurs. Ils vont tous rester à l’hôtel de Papa pendant que nous sommes à Londres.”

J’ai presque rigolé, mais je me suis arrêtée. C’était le premier voyage à Paris pour la mère de Jean-Louis. Il voulait lui offrir de rester à son hôtel. Jean-Louis vient d’une famille simple. Ses parents n’avaient pas beaucoup d’argent, donc pour mon mari c’était important de montrer à sa maman qu’il gagnait bien sa vie. Ses parents étaient horrifiés quand il a décidé d’émigrer en France, donc il voulait prouver à sa mère qu’il avait pris la bonne décision. Je comprenais ça, bien sûr, mais ma pauvre belle-mère! Certes, elle allait adorer rester dans un hôtel de luxe au centre de Paris avec le service de chambre, mais de partager sa chambre avec deux bébés ce ne sont pas des vacances! Mais ma belle-mère a dit qu’elle était ravie. Si on allait aller voir La Reine en Angleterre, ma belle mère, Fatima, aller voir son roi en venant en France. Pour elle, Jean-Louis était le soleil de sa vie.

“Allez, oust!” j’ai dit à Anouk. “Je dois finir de faire les valises. Va dire au revoir à Papa.”

It was the day of my departure for London and I was at home, packing suitcases for my daughter, Anouk, and me.

Anouk came into my bedroom singing “We’re going to London to see The Queen and I’m going to become a princess!”

I laughed and I shook my head. “I can’t promise we’re going to see The Queen, my darling, but you’re already a princess in my eyes.”

She smiled and she took my hand.

“Are we leaving soon, Mum?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Yes, my darling. Very soon. Uncle Hervé is going to come and pick us up to go to the airport.”

“Is Aunty Amina coming too?” Anouk continued.

“Yes, she’s coming with your cousins. It’s Tati Amina who organised this trip in order to go and see her English friends,” I responded.

“Oh really?” she said “Mum, why aren’t Céline and Vivienne coming with us? Aren’t they princesses like me?”

“But of course they are! They are princesses like you but your sisters are too little to go on a long trip like that. You, you’re a big girl.”

“Yes, I’m three.”

“Yes, I know, my big girl, but your sisters are going to go on a little trip with your Daddy and your Grandma. Do you remember? Grandma’s coming from Morocco to help Daddy with your sisters. They’re all going to stay at Daddy’s hotel while we’re in London.”

I nearly laughed, but I stopped myself. It was Jean-Louis’ mother’s first trip to Paris. He wanted to offer for her to stay at his hotel. Jean-Louis comes from a modest family. His parents didn’t have a lot of money, so for my husband it was important to show his Mum that he was doing well for himself. His parents were horrified when he decided to emigrate to France, so he wanted to prove to his mother that he made the right decision. I understood that, of course, but my poor mother-in-law! Sure, she was going to love staying in a luxury hotel in the centre of Paris with room service, but to share her room with two babies was no holiday! But my mother-in-law said that she was delighted. If we were going to see the Queen in England, my mother-in-law, Fatima, was going to see her King by coming to France. For her, Jean-Louis was the moon and the stars.

“Come on, scoot!” I said to Anouk. “I have to finish packing the suitcases. Go say goodbye to Daddy.”

Sometimes simple is best.

As some of you know, I started learning French il y a très longtemps*. If my calculations are correct, I learned my first words of French in 1983 as a Year 6 student so that makes it a neat forty years ago.

For the first few years, we didn’t seem to advance much beyond basic greetings, colours, saying how old we were and the numbers. It almost seemed as though we started over every year and progressed very little. This didn’t bother us at all as we were just having fun with the language at that point, as well as devouring the pretend pains au chocolats* our Year 9 teacher would bring in which consisted of Furry Friends squished between two bits of Tip Top Bread. Miam*!

It wasn’t until Year 10 that things became a little more serious, and by Year 11 and 12 we were in the thick of it. I can picture (and I reckon Mum could still find) the reams and reams of foolscap A4 paper covered in verb conjugations in my Kilometrico-blue script. I have always loved French so the laboriousness of the task didn’t put me off. I’d just write the verbs out over and over and I ended up knowing them pretty well. Strangely, I cannot visualise an equal stack of pages covered in algebra equations.

So, in recent years when new students ask “How am I ever going to remember these verb conjugations?” my instinct is to tell them to write them out over and over as I did. I often second-guess myself, though, since my technique literally dates from the last century, when applications were something you filled out, not something you télécharge*. If the student is around my age or older, I’ll be honest and say that I don’t know of a better way than learning them rote. However, when younger people ask, I sometimes feel embarrassed I don’t have a more tech-based conseil* to give. Surely, I think to myself, memorisation techniques must have developed in the four decades since I opened my lever-arch file to pull out a fresh sheet?

In an effort to appear more early-adopter than flat-earther, occasionally I’ll recommend the app Quizlet, a great website that allows you to make digital flashcards for free.  Mais*, old-timer that I am, I add the caveat that students should create their own digital pack rather than just accessing someone else’s, as I believe a great deal of retention comes in the act of writing out the conjugations. I’m also a believer that if something costs you a bit of effort, you’re more likely to feel some ownership (voire* pride) and therefore more likely to use it.

Even as I’m offering this advice, though, I really want to just say “Write them out!”. To me, it’s so quick and easy to grab a pen and paper and just hop into it. Easy, that is, until you actually have to do it…

I have recently started studying Sanskrit and as you may know, it uses a special (and quite decorative) script instead of the Roman letters used by French, English and many other languages. 

In Term 1, our focus is to learn the alphabet and its sounds. It’s a twelve-week course. At Lingua Franca, we cover the French alphabet in one lesson, so I could see I had some work ahead of me.

Like the Chouchou* I aspire to be, I read the course materials before my first lesson and felt bien préparée* as I met my teacher and classmates for the first time. About halfway into the hour, though, the challenge in learning a brand new script became very clear. I made a promise to myself to devote Saturday afternoons to it until I had it nailed. I truly thought it’d take one samedi après-midi* and I’d be done, ready to be a total know-it-all by lesson two. Je suis très naïve*, it turns out.

For various reasons, my first whole Saturday afternoon turned out to be a grand total of 40 minutes by the pool. By the end of it I was confident with seven of the 49 characters and could (almost) recognise another six. “Pas de problème*,” I told myself, “the lesson isn’t until Thursday evening. You’ve got plenty of time.”

Needless to say I didn’t perform terribly well in that class, which didn’t bother me particularly, though I did have to laugh when I noticed I was exhibiting the behaviours we see in our own classes here at Lingua Franca from time to time: avoiding eye contact with the tutor and working out which question she was going to ask me and preparing that instead of listening to what was going on in the moment. Some of you know the drill, I suspect.

So while not being the star of the class was not bothering me, I didn’t like seeing what my lack of preparation was doing for my enjoyment of the language. I was so keen to unlock the doors between the characters, the sounds and their meanings, but I couldn’t do it as I hadn’t mastered the alphabet yet. I felt like I was falling behind. A couple of my new classmates were exclaiming how beautiful the language was and I just couldn’t see it. Worse, I knew that I wasn’t putting myself in a position to be able to make an informed decision as to whether I even liked my new hobby or not. 

At the end of the lesson, the tutor set our homework, which seemed a bit overwhelming but I vowed to do it to get myself back on le bon chemin*.

Despite my resolve to do better, I knew I had a busy week coming up. Luckily, I mentioned my dilemma to one of my classes and I noticed one of the student’s eyes light up. Edith stayed behind as everyone else filed out of the room, and then enthusiastically told me how she prepared for her vet science exams. Guess what her conseil was? Rote learning of course. She told me to write the characters out over and over again, in groups first, marking them as I went. Those that I hadn’t mastered she suggested I regroup and go over as many times as necessary to commit them to memory. Then, once I believed I’d mastered them, to throw them back into the mix and go again. Over and over and over until it worked.

I was relieved. Even though she’d done her undergraduate degree some moons ago, it was clear she was a lifelong learner, and had chosen these techniques even when brighter, shinier techniques were available. 

She also suggested tackling the learning first thing in the morning, before my day got underway. “Do it every couple of days in bed with a coffee when the world is still quiet. It doesn’t have to take too long.” I admit, this sounded a lot more appealing than devoting an entire Saturday afternoon to the task.

Again, though, I had to roll my eyes at myself. We regularly tell our students to do a little bit often rather than a big session on the eve of their lesson. Why wasn’t I listening to my own advice?

Easier to take Edith’s advice, it seemed, and I tried this technique in the days that followed. The first morning, I ended up with only 10 minutes to spare but rather than put it off, I decided to at least get my homework in my hands and just have a look at the scope of what I had to do. From the course materials, I isolated my reference points and matched that with the homework sheets. That act alone was enough to get me excited again about the challenge before me and as I write this, I only have three or four characters that remain stubbornly out of my grasp. I can also report that my second lesson was an entirely different experience. Though still difficult, I could at least follow along with the class, making mistakes, getting a few right and thoroughly enjoying myself.

Most importantly, my encounter with this ancient language that is brand new to me delivered a powerful lesson in empathy. I know I’m probably preaching to the converted, but learning a language is not easy. Let’s go easy on ourselves and just chip away at it together. I’m pretty sure it’s the key to unlocking the door between frustration and joy.

*a long time ago | *chocolate croissants | *Yum! | *download | *piece of advice | *but | *indeed | *Teacher’s Pet | *well-prepared | *Saturday afternoon | *I am very naive | *No problem | *the right track

La Petite Histoire

If you've ever done a group lesson here at Lingua Franca, you've probably come into contact with La Petite Histoire*. A tale with the very humblest of beginnings, it winds up becoming a rollicking schlockbuster as you move up the levels and your French improves enough to handle the outrageous (some would say impossible) turns of events of the six young friends.

La Petite Histoire is currently only available to our students, however La Préquelle is for everyone’s enjoyment. Below, another instalment of this new series, Chapter 1 of the Intermediate 3 level.

*The Little Story | *The Prequel

- “Merci, vous deux, pour cette soirée très agréable,” a dit Noëlle alors que nous sortions du restaurant.

- “Merci à toi, Noëlle, oui je suis d’accord, c’était super,” a dit Jean-Louis. “Est-ce qu’on peut te ramener ?”

-“Non, ça va merci, j’ai ma voiture,” a répondu Noëlle.

-“Tu es venue en métro, tu m’as dit. Tu as oublié ? Trop de vin ce soir, Noëlle ?” ai-je taquiné.

-“Ben non, c’est juste que…” Noëlle a arrêté de parler et elle a rougi.

Jean-Louis a commencé a dire quelque chose, mais Noëlle lui a coupé la parole.

-“Non, en fait, j’ai laissé ma voiture près du métro Mabillon quand j’ai su pour la manifestation.”

- “Mais…” ai-je commencé à protester, mais mon mari a dit soudainement :
- “Bon, on y va ? Je dois me lever tôt demain.”

J’étais confuse, mais nous nous sommes dit au revoir et nous sommes partis.

Dans la voiture, j’ai dit :
- “C’est super de sortir le soir de temps en temps, Jean-Louis. J’aime bien passer du temps avec toi, sans les enfants. On peut faire ça plus souvent ?”

-“Oui, je suis d’accord. On peut inviter Noëlle aussi”, a-t-il répondu en regardant la route.

-“Oh…Oui, je suppose”, ai-je dit, un peu déçue.

Jean-Louis m’a regardée, et il a dit :
- “Eh bien, elle est un peu seule, Noëlle, non ? Elle n’a pas de famille ici comme nous. On devrait l’inviter parfois, je pense.”

- “Elle n’est pas aussi seule que ça !” ai-je répondu.

- “Que veux-tu dire ?” a dit Jean-Louis.

- “Ben, elle a déjà un nouvel amoureux.”

- “Leïla, arrête les ragots. C’est ton amie ! Ce n’est pas très gentil.” a répondu Jean-Louis fermement.

J’étais un peu choquée, je dois dire. Mon mari est en train de défendre Noëlle ?

- “Tu la défends, Jean-Louis ?” ai-je dit. “J’ai cru que tu ne l’aimais pas. Tu as changé d’avis ? Est-ce que c’est son charme australien ? Je pense que tu as dit qu’elle n’était pas sincère.”

Alors que nous arrivions dans notre rue, Jean-Louis a coupé le moteur et regardait droit devant lui.

- “Je n’ai jamais dit ça, Leïla. Je suppose que je ne la connaissais pas très bien. Allons, ça suffit ! Je ne veux pas passer la nuit devant notre appartement à parler de ton amie.”

Jean-Louis n’avait pas l’air très heureux.

- “Tu es fatigué, mon amour ?” ai-je demandé.

Parfois Jean-Louis était un peu susceptible.

- “Oui, ça doit être ça. Je suis désolé, chérie. Je t’aime, tu le sais ?” a-t-il dit en sortant de la voiture. Il a pris ma main. “Viens, on va se coucher”.

“Thanks you both for a lovely evening,” said Noëlle as we left the restaurant.“Thanks to you, Noëlle, I agree, it was great,” said JL” Can you we give you a lift?”

“No, that’s fine, thanks, I’ve got my car,” Noelle responded.

“You came by metro, you told me. Have you forgotten? Too much wine tonight, Noelle?” I teased.

“No, no, it’s just that…” Noelle stopped talking and she blushed.

Jean-Louis started to say something but Noelle cut him off.

“No, in fact, I left my car close to the Mabillon metro station when I heard about the demonstration.”

“But - “ I started to protest but my husband suddenly said: “Right, are we going? I have to get up early tomorrow.”

I was confused but we said goodbye and we left.

In the car, I said: “It’s great to go out at night from time to time, Jean-Louis. I like spending time with you without the children.”

“Yes, I agree. We can invite Noelle as well,” he responded, watching the road.

“Oh. Yes I suppose,” I said, a little disappointed.

Jean-Louis looked at me and he said: “Well, she’s a bit lonely, Noëlle, don’t you think? She doesn’t have family here like us. We should invite her sometimes, I think.”

“She’s not that lonely”, I said.

“What do you mean?” said Jean-Louis.

“Well, she’s already got a new love interest.”

“Leïla, stop with the gossiping. She’s your friend. It’s not very nice. responded Jean-Louis firmly.

I was a bit shocked I have to say. My husband was defending Noëlle?

“Are you defending her, Jean-Louis?” I said. “I thought you didn’t like her. Have you changed your mind? It is her Australian charm? I thought you said that she wasn’t very genuine.”

As we arrived in our street, Jean-Louis turned off the motor and looked straight ahead of him.

“I never said that Leila. I suppose that I didn’t know her very well. Come on, that’s enough. I don’t want to spend the night in front of our apartment talking about your friend.”

Jean-Louis didn’t seem very happy.

“Are you tired, my love, I asked? Sometimes Jean-Louis was a bit touchy.

“Yes, it must be that. I’m sorry darling. I love you, you do know that?” he said as we got out of the car. He took my hand.  “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

English words used in French

From ballet to faux-pas, baguette to souvenir, most Aussies unwittingly use numerous words of French origin as they go about their days. How numerous? Well, everyone’s vocabulaire* differs, but suffice it to say that approximately 7, 000 mots français* have made their way into the modern English language. (And many, many more words we use have French or Latin roots.)

But does it go both ways? Well, to a lesser extent, oui*. Today’s French is also littered with Anglicisms – especially among young, hip, pop culture vultures. 

You’re probably familiar with the food-related crossovers (hamburger, sandwich, hot dog), so here are some other loanwords to explore. 

Work out what you love

We all have moments along our French adventure where we toy with throwing it all in.

Obviously, as the owner of a French school it’s not in my interests to encourage people to follow through on this feeling and many times we just have to hang in there by a hair for the motivation (or favourable circumstances) to return. However, I do truly believe that if it’s not your thing, it’s best to let it go in favour of finding an activity that really lights you up. La vie est courte*, after all.

But what if you don’t know what it is you truly love? I consider myself very lucky in that I discovered French at the age of 11. What kills me is that I didn’t consider it as a viable career path until the age of 36, when I found myself crying on my birthday thinking “how did I muck my life up so badly?”. Nothing like a crisis to light a fire under us, that’s for sure.

Not everyone wants to turn their passion into their livelihood of course. Many people actually prefer to contain their loisirs* to their private time. But what if you’ve never truly discovered an interest qui te passionne*?

It might be time to consider these questions.

Were you more outdoorsy or did you prefer quiet time indoors? Did you read a lot? Or were you always hanging out with a gang of kids being rowdy? Did you used to love playing with Lego? Were you a dreamer? Were you dying to get into the kitchen to make something? What were you fascinated by?

Something people compliment you on, that you don’t even think of as a skill because you find it so easy? They say: ‘Gee, you’re good at that!’ and you think: ‘Can’t everyone do this?’

You know the type of thing: you start it thinking you’ll just do a little bit and a while later, you look at your watch expecting only 30 minutes to have passed, but in fact you’ve been at it for over two hours without realising.

Say you had to go to a party and you really were not in the mood.  Trying to hide, you go into the kitchen to get a glass of water and strike up a conversation with someone. You make polite chit chat, then hit on a subject you’re both passionate about. You end up spending the rest of the party in the kitchen, totally engrossed in this conversation. It’s like you can’t get the words out fast enough and you leave thinking: ‘What a great party!” What would be the subject you’d most likely be talking about?

This is not necessarily the answer, but it may give you an insight into what you truly enjoyed before societal expectations were placed on you.

Spend a few minutes daydreaming about this. Remember, in this scenario, you’re so set up you don’t have to give any thought to what makes money, what’s socially acceptable, what’s a transferable skill. This is purely about what would make you feel good. Then ask yourself why.

I didn’t have this list when I had my mid-thirties crise*, though I wish I did. Had I had access to this list, my answers would have looked a lot like this:

1. People from other cultures and travel
2. Languages
3. French
4. Languages and travel
5. A teacher (mostly for access to that stationery cupboard)
6. Learn more languages, travel.

So as you can see, I’m a pretty one-dimensional person. I do have other interests, but nothing really puts a fire in my belly like people, languages and travel. I could bore you for hours on the subject of just how much my life has changed for the better since I stopped caring what people thought and just decided to do what I loved. 

If you haven’t yet found ton truc, I sincerely hope you start the search. The great news is, it’s a search you can do from wherever you find yourself. Just take some time to gently ponder the questions ci-dessus*. And when you do find ta came*, chase it down like a person possessed. You'll never look back.

Of course, if you already know that French is your jam, félicitations*! You're in the right place.

 

*Life is short |* past-times | *that you’re passionate about | *crisis | *your thing | above | your jam | congratulations

Interesting French word : Crapoter

If you ever felt the peer pressure de fumer* in your youth, you may have crapoté* your first Marlboro Red. The French equivalent of the charming Aussie expression ‘bum puffing’, crapoter is a verb meaning to smoke a cigarette without inhaling. 

While that might sound like the best thing to do if forced to light up, it’s considered cringe-worthy among French teens. Toutefois*, that might be changing.
While smoking is still much more prevalent in France than en Australie*, the health message appears to be working. In 2021, 30% of French ados* had ever tried smoking, versus 52% in 2010. (In Australia, 97% of those aged 15-17 had never tried smoking, according to the National Health Survey.)

So now you know the word for fake smoking, how about fake singing? Can you remember it from December’s Chouchou News? If not, check it out here.

*to smoke | *smoked without inhaling |*However | *in Australia | *adolescents

Sneak Peek into le Nid | Expressions

As a French learner, you probably already have a few go-to phrases you use in every class. Well, so do we. Voici* the expressions we use most at le nid* – from the everyday to the more, well, coloré*. 

*Here are | *the nest | *colourful

La Petite Histoire

If you've ever done a group lesson here at Lingua Franca, you've probably come into contact with La Petite Histoire*. A tale with the very humblest of beginnings, it winds up becoming a rollicking schlockbuster as you move up the levels and your French improves enough to handle the outrageous (some would say impossible) turns of events of the six young friends.

La Petite Histoire is currently only available to our students, however La Préquelle is for everyone’s enjoyment. Below, another instalment of this new series, Chapter 6 of the Intermediate 2 level.

*The Little Story | *The Prequel

“À l’amour ?” j’ai dit, surprise. “Vraiment, Noëlle ?”

Nous étions assises dans un très beau restaurant, Le Procope, dans le 6ème arrondissement de Paris, en prenant nos apéritifs.

“Pourquoi pas, Leïla ?” elle a répondu. “J’adore l’amour !”

“Même après la rupture avec Roger ?” j’ai demandé.

“Oui, bien sûr ! C’est vrai que ça n’a pas marché avec lui,  mais ça ne veut pas dire que je ne vais jamais avoir une autre relation amoureuse.”

“Ah, j’ai pensé que tu as déjà rencontré quelqu’un de nouveau,” j’ai dit.

Noëlle avait l’air un peu choqué.

“Qui a dit ça, Leïla ?” elle a demandé, en prenant une grosse gorgée de champagne.

“Roger, bien sûr ! Je t’ai dit que j’ai vu Roger l’autre jour, non ?”

“Ah bien sûr, oui. Tu m’as dit. Mais tu connais Roger, Leïla. Il n’est pas toujours totalement honnête.”

“Donc tu n’as pas rencontré un nouvel homme, alors ?” Je ne pouvais pas arrêter de poser des questions. Je savais que ce n’était pas bien, mais je voulais savoir si elle sortait avec mon professeur d’anglais, Simon.

“Je rencontre des hommes tout le temps, Leïla. Je crois que c’est grâce au fait que je suis australienne. Je crois que les hommes trouvent ça intéressant,” Noëlle a répondu.

“Les hommes français, tu veux dire ?” j’ai demandé. Oh là, là, je me suis dit. Tu es grave !

“Ouah, tu poses beaucoup de questions ce soir, Leïla. Qu’est-ce qu’il y a ?” Noëlle avait l’air un peu énervé.

J’ai décidé de changer de stratégie. “Rien, c’est juste que tu es mon amie et je veux t’aider. Je connais les hommes français très bien. Ils sont très différents aux autres nationalités, particulièrement les anglo-saxons. La langue n’est pas la seule différence entre les pays anglophones et francophones, tu sais Noëlle.”

Noëlle n’a rien dit pour quelques secondes et puis elle a dit: “Alors mon nouvel homme parle anglais selon Roger, c’est bien ça ?”

J’ai commencé à répondre, mais Noëlle m’a coupé la parole. Avec un grand sourire, elle a dit:

“Jean-Louis ! Bonsoir ! Viens vite ! Ta femme est en train de m’interroger sur ma vie amoureuse !”

Je me suis retournée et j’ai vu mon mari, Jean-Louis, qui s’approchait de notre table. Il souriait, mais j’avais le sentiment qu’il était vexé quand même.

“Viens, mon chéri,” j’ai dit. “Tu as l’air fatigué. Tu travailles trop. S’il vous plaît, monsieur ! Du champagne pour mon mari. Merci,” j’ai dit au serveur.

“Tout de suite, madame,” il a répondu, et quelques secondes plus tard, il a posé la coupe de champagne devant Jean-Louis.

“Bon, Jean-Louis, tu vas nous raconter de ta journée ?” a demandé Noëlle. “Ça suffit avec ma vie privée pour ce soir.”

“Santé !” il a dit et nous avons tous rigolé.

“To love?” I said, surprised. “Really, Noëlle?”

We were seated in a very beautiful restaurant, Le Procope, in the 6th arrondissement of Paris, having our pre-dinner drinks.

“Why not, Leïla?” she responded. “I adore love!”

“Even after your break-up with Roger?” I asked.

“Yes, of course! It’s true that it didn’t work with him, but that doesn’t mean that I am not going to have another relationship.”

“Oh, I thought that you’ve already met someone new,” I said.

Noëlle seemed a bit shocked.

“Who told you that, Leïla?” she asked, taking a big gulp of champagne.

“Roger, of course! I told you that I saw Roger the other day, didn’t i?”

“Oh of course, yes. You did tell me. But you know Roger, Leïla. He is not always totally honest.”

“So you haven’t met a new man, then?” I couldn’t stop asking questions. I knew it wasn’t good, but I wanted to know if she was going out with my English professor, Simon.

“I meet men all the time, Leïla. I think it’s because of the fact that I’m Australian. I think men find that interesting,” Noëlle responded.

“French men, you mean?” I asked. Oh my goodness, I said to myself. You are nuts!

“Wow, you’re asking a lot of questions tonight, Leïla. What’s up?” Noëlle seemed a bit annoyed.

I decided to change strategy. “Nothing, it’s just that you’re my friend and I want to help you. I know French men very well. They are very different to other nationalities, particularly the Anglo-Saxons. The language is not the only difference between English-speaking and French-speaking countries, you know, Noëlle.”

Noëlle didn’t say anything for a few seconds and then she said: “So my new man speaks English according to Roger, is that it?”

I started to respond, but Noëlle cut me off. With a big smile she said:

“Jean-Louis! Good evening! Come quickly!  You’re wife is interrogating me about my love life!”

I turned around and I saw my husband, Jean-Louis, who was approaching our table. He was smiling, but I had the feeling that he was annoyed nonetheless.

“Come, my darling,” I said. “You look tired. You’re working too much. Excuse me, sir! Some champagne for my husband. Thank you,” I said to the waiter.

“Straight away,” he responded, and a few seconds later, he put the glass of champagne in front of Jean-Louis.

“Right, Jean-Louis, are you to tell us about your day?” asked Noëlle. “That’s enough with my private life for this evening.”

“Cheers to that!” he said and we all laughed.

Word power: feu

Looking to improve your French vocabulaire*? There’s un petit mot* you’ve probably come across that will help you péter le feu. Literally translated as ‘farting fire’, this charming expression simply means firing on all cylinders or being in good form. (Don’t you just love the French?)

The word in question? Feu, bien sûr*. 

Meaning ‘fire’, feu* is a handy word to know if you like cuisiner* or camping. But its uses don’t end there. 

Here are a few to add to your repertoire. Or, si tu as le feu sacré*, you can explore the full list at your leisure. 

*vocabulary | *a little word | *fire on all cylinders/ be in good form or health |*Fire, of course |*fire |*to cook |*if you have a fire in your belly/ if you’re very enthusiastic

Don't do it if you don't love it

Welcome to another article in our new series: How to Learn French. Not just les rouages*, but tips on the attitudes and practices you can adopt to ensure your success.

This article has been swimming around my head for quite a few weeks now, and in preparation, I  made a few notes.

Along with the words ‘passion’ (more on that later) and ‘teacup’ (that, too) was a very strange scratching in my handwriting : go with the hair of the arm. I knew exactly what I meant when I wrote it and was confident it would provide the backbone of this article, as well as add some imagery to this conseil*.

The reasons for the awkwardness of my note was two-fold. Firstly, I’d translated it from a French phrase I’d stumbled across a few years ago. Secondly, I’d never been able to remember the exact saying in French but I was sure it had something to do with flattening down the hair on your arm in the direction it grows, and was used to describe how we should pursue those things in life that come most easily to us. That is, going with the grain rather than against it. 

It turns out I shouldn’t have been so sure. When I finally tracked down the saying, I found it had a meaning quite different to the one I’d ascribed to it.

Flatter une personne dans le but d’obtenir sa confiance.

To flatter someone with the objective of winning their confidence.

So, quite off the mark. Or was I?

A further exploration of the definition brought about this explanation:

Par définition, les animaux aiment être caressés, ils se sentent ainsi flattés et dignes d'intérêt.

By definition, animals like to be patted, they feel both flattered and worthy of interest.

The last part of this definition really resonated with this particular animal (moi*).

From the very beginning, aged ten, when I had my very first lesson, learning French made me feel good. There was something about it that I found so intriguing, as though learning these strange-sounding words would unlock a parallel world previously unaccessible to me. This feeling has never gone away. In fact, it has intensified. I’m sure many of you feel the same way.

It’s not so much that I’m flattered by French (of course not), or that it makes me feel worthy of interest, but there is something to be said about spending your time doing something you love. Simply put, it feels right. It indeed feels like patting a dog the length of its coat in the direction of the growth of the hair (the French phrase is so much more elegant, non*?). There’s a therapeutic benefit to repeatedly caressing your favourite pet and I believe the same is true for regularly practising a skill you enjoy. It’s satisfying, calming and fun. And if you truly love it, it becomes so much more than that. It can inform your whole life, as it almost has done mine. 

Our Chouchous* come to Lingua Franca for all sorts of reasons. The predominant one, of course, is the desire to learn French. Many assume the main reason anyone would sign up to French lessons is because they have a trip to France planned in the near future, but in fact, that is a relatively rare occurence for us. As I mentioned in a previous post, most people come to us because they did a little bit of French at school and loved it, and then their lives took a different direction and French just didn’t fit in. Years or decades later, they come to us, wanting to pick it up again.

We also have people who have never studied French before but have long dreamed of doing so. We have partners of French people who come to us to be able to communicate better with their loved one and their loved one’s family. We have people whose children have partnered with a native French speaker, and they want to learn French so they can communicate with their grand-children. Some people work for French companies where having a knowledge of French is of huge benefit not only to their careers, but invaluable in forging relationships with their workmates.

Then we have all the reasons that go beyond the acquisition of language. Keeping your brain healthy, doing something (anything!) that’s not work, taking time for yourself, challenging yourself to learn something beyond the scope of your current expertise. For company. For stimulation. For the laughs. For connection.

We’re often told by students that coming to French is the high point of their week. I totally understand that. As a person who has taken my love of French to the extreme, I live and breathe it. When you’re truly passionate about something, it’s hard to separate your work and personal life, and in fact, I don’t really see the point. Arbitrarily drawing a line down the centre of my life for the sake of ‘balance’ when my passion for language, culture and travel permeates everything seems pointless, even cruel.

That said, though, the true highlight of my week is my Saturday morning Philosophy lesson. I absolutely love it. I get to ponder life’s big questions in a slow and almost meditative way with a group of people who have absolutely nothing to do with my ‘real’ life. It’s so liberating. It’s like washing my brain every week. I walk out of there as light as a feather, and the bonnes ondes* last well into the evening and sometimes, if I’m lucky, roll into Sunday morning and beyond. 

I’m not passionate about Philosophy, though. I just really, really like it. Unlike French, I very rarely race to a text to find out exactly what the Stoics were on about, or memorise a Marcus Aurelius quote. I just enjoy having the knowledge wash over me for the time I’m at my lesson. Occasionally I’ll give it some thought during the week, but sometimes not, and that is fine by me (and my tutor, thankfully). I’m not there to become an expert on Philosophy. I’m there to do something different and be exposed to some of the oldest ideas in history, which are almost all new to me.

Many of our students consider their French lessons the same way. It’s something very enjoyable they choose to do once or twice a week and adds an extra element to the life they’ve created for themselves. They may do French for a year or two, perhaps longer, and will happily let it go when it no longer serves them or they find something else that piques their interest.

Other students have a true passion for French. They’re easy to spot when you’re teaching them. They sit forward, eager for more and more knowledge. They ask questions. At times, they almost quiver with excitement. Their eyes are wide and bright and it’s wonderful to witness. These people never let it go, though the amount of time they devote to it may wax and wane over the years. It becomes part of their identity, and therefore is always there, patiently waiting in the background.

If you’ve ever been on Instagram, you’ve almost certainly seen an inspirational quote (or a thousand) about ‘filling up your teacup’. It’s the idea that we all have a limited amount of energy (our teacup) and that our teacup must be full before we are able to devote our time and energy to others. While a lovely idea in practice, I think many of us operate with sub-optimal liquid levels at times. It’s just part of living a modern life. I believe pursuing a hobby should feel like you’re replenishing your teacup, or at least maintaining the level. Which leads us in to the third group…

Luckily, this group is not a big one. It’s made up of people who have been dragged (or pushed) into French and found it’s just not for them. I feel sorry for them. You can tell they’re trying to put a brave face on it, but that there are about a hundred places they’d rather be at 6:15pm on a Wednesday night than at a French lesson. Others are people who thought speaking French would be like learning to ride a bike. A bit disorienting at first, a wobble or two and then there’s no looking back! Et en plus*, you never forget! Those of you who have studied French know it’s not like this at all. Learning a language is more like learning to play an instrument, with verb tables substituted for scales. And, as boring as it may sound, practice, practice and more practice is the key.

It is to this third group of people that this advice is directed. It’s frank but, for me at least, worth thinking about: if you don’t love it, don’t do it. If the idea of your upcoming French lesson hangs over your head all week and doesn’t get any better when you’re actually there, please let it go. Unless there is a valid reason why you must continue (and sometimes there is), go and do something that makes you feel good. 

This advice is not a rejection. Hopefully if you’re doing French because you feel you should, it’ll feel more like a liberation. Life truly is short, and the bank of happiness to be mined so rich when pursuing something you love that if you don’t love French (or any other leisure activity for that matter), don’t do it. Your time is precious. Fill it with things that make you feel engaged, confident and as though you’re stroking your favourite pet dans le sens du poil*. Not against the grain, pricking your hand, stirring up dust, making you sneeze and generally leaving you feeling bad.

Next month: a few ideas on how to work out what you truly do love, if you don’t already know.

*piece of advice | *me | *don’t you think? | *Teacher’s Pets | *good feeling | *plus | *in the direction of the hair

La Petite Histoire

If you've ever done a group lesson here at Lingua Franca, you've probably come into contact with La Petite Histoire*. A tale with the very humblest of beginnings, it winds up becoming a rollicking schlockbuster as you move up the levels and your French improves enough to handle the outrageous (some would say impossible) turns of events of the six young friends.

La Petite Histoire is currently only available to our students, however La Préquelle is for everyone’s enjoyment. Below, another instalment of this new series, Chapter 5 of the Intermediate 2 level.

*The Little Story | *The Prequel

Je suis sortie du métro Odéon et cinq minutes plus tard, je suis arrivée au restaurant. J’étais à l’heure. Le maître d’hôtel s’est approché de moi.

“Bonsoir, madame,” il a dit. “Bienvenue.”

“Bonsoir, monsieur. J’ai une reservation pour trois personnes au nom de Toledano.”

“Certainement, Madame Toledano. Vous êtes là en premier.”


“Oui, mon amie va arriver bientôt et mon mari va nous rejoindre plus tard.”

“Très bien, madame. Benoît, s’il vous plaît ! Madame Toledano.”

En suivant le serveur à notre table, je pouvais apprécier le décor du restaurant. Au cœur de Saint-Germain des Prés dans le 6ème arrondissement, Le Procope est le plus ancien restaurant à Paris, et un des plus élégants. Avec un grand escalier, de beaux lustres, des nappes blanches et une ambiance calme et raffinée, j’avais l’impression de me retrouver dans un autre siècle.

J’ai décidé de faire une réservation quand j’ai entendu les nouvelles de Roger que c’était fini avec Noëlle. Même si Noëlle sortait avec un nouvel homme, j’étais sûre qu’elle était un peu triste. Ce n’est jamais facile quand une relation amoureuse se termine, donc je voulais lui remonter le moral. En regardant autour de restaurant, j’étais bien heureuse de mon choix. Noëlle allait adorer ce restaurant typiquement français. J’étais sûre qu’il n’y avait pas ces types de lieux en Australie.

Quinze minutes plus tard, Noëlle est arrivée. “Je suis désolée, Leïla ! Mon métro était en retard à cause d’une manifestation.”

“Une manifestation à 20h du soir ? C’est étrange !” j’ai remarqué.

“Ah, je ne sais pas, Leïla. Peut-être que je n’ai pas compris l’annonce. Le français n’est pas ma première langue, d’après tout. Bon, qu’est-ce qu’on va prendre comme apéritif ?” elle a demandé, en changeant le sujet.

“Une coupe de champagne ?” j’ai proposé.

“Ou bien un petit crémant ?” a dit Noëlle, “C’est moins cher. Malheureusement, je n’ai pas de mari riche comme toi,” elle a rigolé.

J’ai rigolé aussi. C’était très agréable d’être dans un restaurant avec ma copine au lieu d’être à la maison avec des enfants, en préparant le dîner et en faisant la vaisselle après. J’ai laissé ça à ma belle-sœur, Amina, ce soir.

“Noëlle, c’est moi qui vous invite ce soir. J’insiste.”

“C’est gentil Leïla et j’accepte avec plaisir. Deux coupes de champagne, alors, monsieur. Merci.”

“Je vous en prie, mesdames,” il a dit.

Quelques minutes plus tard, le serveur est retourné avec nos apéritifs.

“Voilà, mesdames. Deux coupes de champagne et des gougères salées en accompagnement.”

“Merci, monsieur,” nous avons dit, en même temps.

“Santé, Noëlle !” j’ai dit en levant ma flûte.

“Santé, Leïla !” elle a répondu. “À l’amour !”

I exited the Odéon metro and five minutes later, I arrived at the restaurant. I was on time. The maître d’ approached me.

“Good evening, madam,” he said. “Welcome.”

“Good evening, sir. I have a reservation for three people in the name of Toledano.”

“Certainly, Mrs Toledano. You’re the first to arrive.”

“Yes, my friend is going to arrive soon and my husband is going to join us later.”

“Very well, madam. Benoît, please! Mrs Toledano.”

In following the waiter to our table, I was able to appreciate the restaurant’s decor. In the heart of the Saint-Germain des Prés in the 6th arrondissement, Le Procope is the oldest restaurant in Paris, and one of the most elegant. With a grand staircase, beautiful chandeliers, white tablecloths and a calm and refined ambiance, I felt as though I’d found myself in anther century.

I decided to make a reservation when I heard the news from Roger that it was finished with Noëlle. Even if Noëlle was going out with a new man, I was sure that she was a little sad. It’s never easy when a romantic relationship ends, so I wanted to cheer her up. In looking around the restaurant, I was really happy with my choice. Noëlle was going to adore this typically French restaurant. I was sure there weren’t these types of places in Australia.

Fifteen minutes later, Noëlle arrived. “I’m sorry, Leïla!” My metro was late because of a demonstration.”

“A demonstration at 8 o’clock at night ? That’s strange!” I remarked.

“Oh, I don’t know, Leïla. Maybe I didn’t understand the announcement. French is not my first language, after all. Right, what are we going to have as a pre-dinner drink?” she asked, changing the subject.

“A glass of champagne?” I suggested.

“Or even a little sparkling wine?” said Noëlle. “It’s less expensive. Unfortunately, I don’t have a rich husband like you,” she laughed.

I laughed too. It was really nice to be in a restaurant with my girlfriend instead of at home with the children, preparing dinner and doing the washing up afterwards. I left that to my sister-in-law, Amina, tonight. “Noëlle, it’s my treat tonight. I insist.”

“That’s kind of you Leila and I accept with pleasure. Two glasses of champagne, then, sir. Thank you.”

Several minutes later, the waiter returned with our pre-dinner drinks.

“Here we go, ladies. Two glasses of champagne and some savoury puffs as an accompaniment.”

“Thank you, sir,” we said, at the same time.

“Cheers, Noëlle!” I said as I raised my glass.

“Cheers, Leïla!” she response. “To love!”

Stop trying so hard

Last month, I advised a ‘fake it ‘til you make it’ approach to speaking French.

If you know anything about French, you know there’s always an exception, so here it comes:

The first time this advice was offered to me, I can’t say I took it graciously. My reaction may have involved me throwing down my table tennis bat, flouncing off en faisant la tronche* and slamming my bedroom door. In my defence, I was only 16, mais quand même*.

The year before, I’d been lucky enough to take part in an exchange to Réunion Island, a little slice of French paradis* located in the Indian Ocean between Mauritius and Madagascar. I’d been learning French since upper primary school and was in Year 11 when a group of about 40 of us left Perth for Singapore. After an overnight stay in a Mauritius hotel where we learned the word for cafards*, our very excited group landed at Roland Garros Airport in the capital of St Denis.

We were billeted out to families across the island and I absolutely fell in love with my host mère, père, deux sœurs et petit frère*.

In the car on the way from the airport to my nouvelle maison, my host sister Cécile said: “Je suis allée en Australie l’année dernière.” Though I’d studied the passé composé* at school and thought I had a handle on it, I managed to translate her statement to mean that she was going to come to Australia the next year. Proof that there’s knowing something academically and there’s really knowing it.

”Fantastique!*’ I exclaimed. “Tu vas rester avec moi*?”

Cécile looked confused, I was embarrassed and that pretty much set the tone for the next four weeks of my life as I struggled to communicate with real French people in real-life situations with my suddenly sub-par French. Néamoins*, I had a wonderful experience, my French did improve (even though I couldn’t tell at the time) and the next thing I knew, we were back at the airport, me in floods of tears promising to return the very next year. It’s been trente-quatre ans* and counting, but croyez-moi*, it’s going to happen.

Since Cécile had already been to Australia, we were to host someone brand new in return. Though I was disappointed to be denied the chance to resume my close friendship with her, I was secretly excited we’d be hosting un garçon* called Michel. Naturellement*, I thought we’d fall in love and live happily ever after and I could already see my future playing out as one half of a très chic* bi-cultural couple flitting between Réunion, Australia and France.

So when Michel and I took an almost instant dislike to one another it was a disappointment to say the least. I found him arrogant, he found me arrogante*. If he was têtu*, I was even more têtue. Let’s just say on n’était pas faits l’un pour l’autre*.

Our discord came to a head over la table de ping pong* and it’s a moment I’ll never forget. It’s also one for which I am forever grateful, as humiliating as it was at the time.

Part of my arrogance came in the form of the pride I took in my French. I absolutely loved it from the minute we started learning it in primary school. I’d worked really hard on it and was therefore very attached to it. Un poil* too attached, as it turned out.

Michel and I had not been getting on since his arrival. He annoyed me like a petit frère*, and I already had one of those. I’d whinged to Mum but she wasn’t having it, telling me it was my duty to be nice to him since he was a guest in our home (fair enough). She suggested I invite some of my friends around with their own exchange students to dilute the intensity a bit, which I promptly did.

We all decided to play table tennis and though this should have been a safe choice of activity, unfortunately both Michel and I were blessed with l’esprit de compétition* and our bickering soon reached a climax.

I can’t remember if this played out in French or in English but I clearly remember Michel and I were on opposing sides of the net when he let out a stream of insults ending with words to the effect of “You think you’re so good at French but you try too hard and it sounds stupid!”. I was absolutely humiliated, my face rouge comme une tomate, my friends standing off to the side, mouths open, and the Réunionnais exchange students shifting awkwardly in their baskets*. Cue the bat slamming, flouncing and sulking for the rest of the afternoon. Oh adolescence, how I miss you!

I hate to admit it, but he was right.

We all know how hard it is to get our mouths around French pronunciation at first, and it can continue to be difficult for quite a long time. There are sounds in French that just do not exist in English, such as the infamous ‘r’ as well as the nasal vowels. Then of course they have words like écureuil*, which seem designed to destroy us.

Additionally, our French teacher in high school had told us to really exaggerate the ‘r’ at first, which is advice I still give to our students when they’re first introduced to it (merci, Mlle MacPherson*!). I’d just forgotten the second part of her advice which was to back off a touch once we’d mastered producing the sound.

So the advice to ‘stop trying so hard’ is valid, but may not apply to you if you’re still relatively new and trying to get your mouth (and head) around French pronunciation. However, if you’ve been at it a while, and it still feels like you’re making an enormous every time you open your mouth to speak French, see if taking it down a notch yields better results.

I know I used to think I had to try really hard to produce a French accent and try I did. Too much, as it turned out. It was only in making a concerted effort learn the rules of French pronunciation (and there are plenty of resources to help with that) that I had the confidence to back off a little.

If you think about it, we don’t have to make an effort when we speak English because we’re really comfortable with the sounds we need to make. In fact we don’t even think about it. The same is true for French people. They’re never trying to sound French, they just do. And that’s because they’ve mastered the required sounds.

Turn on French radio or watch the French news and you’ll soon notice that some people sound very obviously French, whereas others appear to have a softer accent. When I realised that, despite their differences, they were all native French speakers, j’ai eu un déclic* which seemed to give me permission to tone it down a bit. Not all French people sound like a Pepe Le Pew, I realised.

If you do the work of learning the pronunciation, you’ll see there are actually fewer variations than you might think. French pronunciation is one of the few areas of the language that is, in fact, not riddled with exceptions. The same sounds come up time and time again, but are just spelled differently (think of the ‘o’ in ‘tomate’, the ‘eau’ in ‘bateau’ and the ‘au’ in ‘jaune’ - they’re all the same sound). Learn to group these sounds together, and the whole exercise will seem more manageable. Those of you who have done our Absolute Beginner series of workbooks will have been shown this, but it never hurts to go back to the basics with fresh eyes and to have a go at mapping it out for yourself.

Next, practise, practise and practise some more (flashcards are great for this) and be gentle on yourself. It will most likely get worse before it gets better. Then, just when you reach the point where you’re about to self-combust with all the effort, give yourself a break.

Try slowing down and softening your delivery a little and you may well be surprised find your pronunciation sounds more fluid and gentle, and somewhat counterintuitively, even more French.

*sulking *but even so *paradise *cockroaches *mother, father, two sisters and little brother *new house *I went to Australia last year *past tense *Fantastic *Are you going to stay with me *Nevertheless *thirty four years *believe me *a boy *Naturally *very chic *arrogant *pig-headed *we weren’t exactly made for one another *the table tennis table *A touch *little brother *the competitive spirit *red as a tomato *squirrel *trainers thank you, Miss MacPherson *I had a Eureka moment

Interesting French word: chanter en yaourt

While it might sound like a kind of vocal training best avoided by the lactose intolerant, this amusing French phrase has zero to do with dairy. And we’re betting you’ve even done it yourself – possibly during a trip to France. 

Literally translated as ‘singing in yoghurt’, chanter en yaourt means fudging your way through song lyrics using gibberish and, most likely, bravado.

According to Wikipedia, it’s “une technique qui consiste à chanter en produisant des sons, des onomatopées, des syllabes qui font penser qu'il s'agit d'une langue réelle.” (Traduction*: a technique that consists of singing while producing sounds, onomatopoeias, syllables that make people think that it is a real language.)

The term can apply to any ‘fake singing’ but most often refers to attempting to sing in another language. Why not give it a go next time les paroles* escape you?

*translation | *the song lyrics

La Petite Histoire

If you've ever done a group lesson here at Lingua Franca, you've probably come into contact with La Petite Histoire*. A tale with the very humblest of beginnings, it winds up becoming a rollicking schlockbuster as you move up the levels and your French improves enough to handle the outrageous (some would say impossible) turns of events of the six young friends.

La Petite Histoire is currently only available to our students, however La Préquelle is for everyone’s enjoyment. Below, another instalment of this new series, Chapter 4 of the Intermediate 2 level.

*The Little Story | *The Prequel

Quelques jours plus tard, j’étais dans une petite boulangerie près de l’université quand j’ai vu Roger.

“Coucou Roger, comment vas-tu ?” j’ai demandé. 



“Ah Leïla, super de te voir ! Tu vas bien ?” il a répondu.

“Oui, ça va merci. Je ne t’ai pas vu récemment. Tout va bien ?”



“Tu ne sais pas, Leïla ?” il a demandé. Il avait l’air triste, j’ai noté. “C’est fini entre Noëlle et moi. Elle n’a rien dit ?”



Choquée, j’ai répondu que non.



“Oui,” Roger a continué, “elle a rencontré quelqu’un d’autre.”



“Ah, non, Roger,” j’ai dit, “Je suis désolée, je ne savais pas.”

C’était étrange. Pourquoi Noëlle ne m’a pas dit ?



“Apparemment ils se sont rencontrés il y a quelques semaines et elle est tombée amoureuse tout de suite. Elle a dit qu’il est différent des autres.”



“Différent comment ?” j’ai demandé. J’étais curieuse, je dois admettre.



“Il n’est pas français, ça je sais,” Roger a dit. ‘Elle a dit qu’elle aime ça, qu’elle préfère sortir avec un étranger. C’est plus exotique, apparemment.”

“Ah bon? Je me demande qui c’est ?” J’étais surprise par ma réaction. Je ne sais pas pourquoi mais j’avais peur qu’elle soit tombée amoureuse de Simon, mon professeur d’anglais. C’est vrai que Noëlle a flirté avec lui quand nous étions au café ensemble. Je me sentais un peu jalouse pour être honnête qui est ridicule parce que je suis mariée !



“Je ne sais pas, Leïla. Bon, désolé, mais je dois partir. J’ai un cours dans 10 minutes, donc je dois me dépêcher. Super de te voir et à bientôt, j’espère.”



“Toi aussi, Roger, et encore une fois, désolée. Je suis sûre que tu vas trouver quelqu’un d’autre bientôt.”



“Tu es toujours mariée, Leïla?” il a demandé, avec un grand sourire.

“Au revoir, Roger,” j’ai dit. Il ne change jamais, j’ai pensé, et je suis allée à la caisse pour payer. Les hommes !

A few days later, I was in a little bakery close to the university when I saw Roger.

"Hi there Roger, how are you going?" I asked.

"Oh Leïla, great to see you! Are you going well?" he responded.

“Yes, I’m okay thanks. I haven’t seen you recently. Is everything going well?”

“You don’t know, Leïla?” he asked. He seemed sad, I noticed. “It’s finished between Noëlle and me. She didn’t say anything?”

Shocked, I replied no.

“Yes,” Roger continued. “She met someone else.”

“Oh no, Roger,” I said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” It was strange. Why didn’t Noëlle tell me?

“Apparently they met a few weeks ago and she fell in love straight away. She said he’s different to the others.

“Different how?“ I asked. I was curious, I have to admit.

“He’s not French, that I know,” Roger said. “She said that she likes that, that she prefers going out with a foreigner. It’s more exotic, apparently.”

“Oh really? I wonder who it is?” I was surprised by my reaction. I don’t know why but I was scared she had fallen in love with Simon, my English professor. It’s true that Noëlle had flirted with him when we were at the café together. I was feeling a bit jealous to be honest which is ridiculous because I’m married!

“I don’t know, Leïla. Right, sorry, but I have to leave. I have a lesson in 10 minutes, so I have to hurry. Great to see you and see you soon, I hope.”

“You, too, Roger, and once again, sorry. I am sure you’re going to find someone else soon.”

“Are you still married, Leïla?” he asked, with a big smile.

“Goodbye, Roger,” I said. He never changes, I thought, and I went to the cash register to pay. Men!

Fake it till you make it.

Many years ago, we produced a little travel phrase book in which we gave our three top tips for speaking French.

Those of us who have been lucky enough to travel to a French-speaking destination are well aware of the disparity between what we know in our heads and what we’re actually able to get out when put on the spot. It can be a deflating experience, but it’s entirely natural. If you think of a young child who is learning to speak, they are able to understand a whole host of words before they are able to get out their premier mot*. It’s the difference between passive and active knowledge and is also the reason we’re usually better at reading than writing. With passive skills, there is a lot of educated guesswork and context clues to help you, whereas when it’s up to you to actually produce language, you really have to know your stuff.

I think where many of our students become frustrated, though, is that they do indeed know their stuff. In fact, sometimes they know it backwards and yet are still unable to get the words out. This is where one of our top tips can really help you.

While we often apply the label of timide* to children, we’re less likely to characterise an adult as such. We’re more likely to call them réservé* or introvertie*. But we can all feel shy when it comes time to speak French in front of others. Avoir le trac* is completely normal.

One way out of this is to take yourself out of the equation. Pretend it’s not you who is about to say the words, but your French alter-ego. Adopting that character may strike you as silly at first, but that’s actually the point. You want to put some distance between yourself (the person who has les papillons au ventre* about speaking French) and your interlocuteur (the person you’re speaking to). Inserting une version française* of yourself into the middle of the conversation can sometimes turn what feels like a stressful situation into a fun one, if not a slightly ridiculous one, and that alone can help.

When we do have a bit of stage fright, it’s likely you’ll deliver your message in a hesitant, quiet voice if you get it out at all. This may prompt the person you’re speaking to to say ‘Pardon?*’ and if you’re like most of us, you’ll immediately assume you’ve made a mistake and probably clam up. However, they literally may not have heard what you said and are simply asking you to repeat it. So, if you’re able to gather un peu de courage* and tap into your inner Hercule Poirot, you may be pleasantly surprised by the sounds that come out of your mouth. Remember, when French people are speaking French, they’re not feeling as if they’re putting anything on or speaking in an exaggerated manner. It’s the same for us when we speak English.

And if this petit article* hasn’t convinced you to fake it till you make it, perhaps knowing the French have exactly the same fears about speaking English will. We’re not so différent*, after all.

*first word *shy *reserved *introverted *Having stage fright *butterflies in your tummy *a French version *Excuse me? *a bit of courage *little article *different

A rounded approach

Last month we spoke about stealing taking inspiration from your fellow French learners as a way of maintaining your motivation and ensuring your progrès*.

One of the privileges of being a tutor is being able to observe the different ways our students approach their French learning. We have ringside seats to their methods and this is particularly evident when we teach people one-on-one.

It was during a recent private lesson with a very long-term client (Janelle) that our talk turned to that all-too-common feeling of overwhelm. Almost all of us experience it at the very début* and that’s to be expected, given the sheer volume of new concepts you’re being exposed to. However, even after you’ve gotten over the shock of learning (literally) a new language, it still crops up and seemingly comes from nowhere. It’s la peur*, or worse, la certitude* even, that you’re never, ever going to be able to get a handle on this language that you love so much.

It still happens to me from time to time, most recently yesterday, in fact, when I was in the online forum of my favourite dictionary (who says I’m not fun?). I was reading an exchange between two senior members and I had no clue what they were talking about. More distressing was the way they were volleying ideas back and forth to one another, as though anyone with half a cerveau* would not only have been able to follow along, but likely to add son grain de sel* at any second. It makes me feel like I’m being left out of a club I really, really want to belong to.

I’ve observed this in myself and others for many years now and have come to the conclusion that this feeling of overwhelm crops up in the cruelest of ways. It is often precipitated by a mini-breakthrough, which is when you should be feeling really great about your French. When a concept you’ve been grappling with finally becomes a little clearer, you’d expect a moment of satisfaction, but more often than not what follows is a sense of helplessness. It’s at this point we often hear our students exclaim in frustration: “When am I ever going to understand this language?”

It’s like you’re on descent in a plane, travelling to a new destination and the clouds part just enough for you to get your first glimpse of the beauty of the ground below. It can be thrilling. Then the pilot descends some more and you’re through the clouds and all of a sudden the vastness of the terrain is laid out before you. It can feel overwhelming and the idea of conquering it impossible. Your conscious competence is cruelly ripped from your grasp as your eyes open to all the other things you’ve not yet mastered, where seconds before you didn’t even know they existed. Moins on en sait, mieux on se porte*, for a time, at least.

Enter Janelle and her idea of the concentric circles of learning.

Most people I speak to consider language acquisition to be linear, much like a running race. You start at one end, and the idea is to get to the finish line in as quick a time as possible without tripping, let alone breaking a leg. We’ve talked before about the freedom to be found in dispensing with the very idea of there even being a finishing line, but Janelle’s idea is different once again. And as she explained it to me, I could sense how liberating it could be.

Janelle visualises her learning as a series of circles, starting very small in the middle, and increasing in diameter the further out she goes. For her, the smallest circle in the middle represents her knowledge at the very start of her French adventure.

At the time, she’d probably learned some greetings, the numbers 0-100, some basic vocabulary and perhaps the alphabet. Everything was new to her and likely felt both uncomfortable and exciting, but a few lessons later, those concepts started to settle. She was then able to look beyond her first little circle, and at least countenance the idea of adding some new words to her vocabulary or perhaps learning a new verb or two.

Over the years, the cycle has repeated itself over and over, and Janelle’s circles have grown larger and larger. Of course the best laid schemes o' mice an' men meant that she couldn’t avoid concepts from the outer circles occasionally infiltrating her current sphere.

Instead of feeling overwhelmed, though, she could simply tell herself that it had come from an outer circle for which she was not yet ready, and could continue on with her learning. It is not that she completely ignored the concept, it was that she knew to where park it in order to be able to deal with it when her brain was ready for more.

I love Janelle’s idea as it feels more expansive and organic that the traditional route of chasing down the language until you ‘catch’ it. I can almost see the circles expanding and contracting, like a living breathing organism, with each out breath leaving the whole a little larger than before.

I also really like the thought of accepting the size of your circle and focusing your energies there, where they belong. At least for the time being. As mentioned, while you’re busy working on that circle, interlopers from the outer range will come visiting, but there is real relief in simply acknowledging them and then politely asking them to stand aside for a bit, while you get on with the business at hand.

Merci, Janelle, d’avoir partagé ton expérience avec moi. Je crois que ton idée aidera beaucoup de personnes*.

progress | start | fear | certainty | brain | his/her two cents’ worth | Ignorance is bliss | Thank you, Janelle, for having shared your experience with me. I think your idea will help a lot of people.

La Petite Histoire

If you've ever done a group lesson here at Lingua Franca, you've probably come into contact with La Petite Histoire*. A tale with the very humblest of beginnings, it winds up becoming a rollicking schlockbuster as you move up the levels and your French improves enough to handle the outrageous (some would say impossible) turns of events of the six young friends.

La Petite Histoire is currently only available to our students, however La Préquelle is for everyone’s enjoyment. Below, another instalment of this new series, Chapter 3 of the Intermediate 2 level.

*The Little Story | *The Prequel

“Tu as passé une bonne journée, chérie?” a demandé Jean-Louis. “Comment va Hervé?”

J’étais dans la cuisine, en préparant le dîner pour la famille.

“Il va très bien, merci, oui. On est allé au Jardin des Tuileries pour se promener avec les enfants. C’était très chouette. Anouk a adoré voir ‘le grand château’ et les petits bateaux sur le bassin, bien sûr. Elle a décidé qu’elle veut un bateau pour Noël.”

Jean-Louis a rigolé et m’a donné un bisou sur la joue. “C’est une petite fille qui sait ce qu’elle veut non ? Comme sa mère,” il a taquiné.

J’ai souri. Jean-Louis était de bonne humeur ce soir, et je voulais profiter du moment. C’était rare de nos jours, malheureusement.

“Bon, à table! Le dîner est prêt !” j’ai crié. “Anouk, viens s’il te plaît. On va manger.”

“Oui, maman, j’arrive,” elle a répondu.

Installés à la table, j’ai commencé à servir la blanquette de veau. ”Miam, miam, maman ! J’adore ça.” Anouk a dit.

Jean-Louis regardait Anouk avec affection. “Tu as passé une bonne journée avec ton Tonton Hervé, ma petite ?”

“Oui Papa, j’ai vu les bateaux. Tonton a dit que Père Noël a de petits bateaux dans son stock.”

“Ah bon ? Tu vas devoir écrire ta liste bientôt, ma petite puce,” a répondu Jean-Louis avec un grand sourire. “Hervé et Amina ont des plans pour les vacances, Leïla ?” a demandé Jean-Louis, en versant du vin pour moi.

“Oui, en fait, ils pensent aller en Angleterre pour voir Robert et Beth, les parents de Michael. Tu te rappelles quand Amina a fait un échange en Angleterre ?”

“Ah oui, je me rappelle, c’est vrai. Ils habitent à Londres, non ?”

“À Bath,” j’ai corrigé.

“Maman, comment Père Noël va venir à Bath avec mes bateaux ?”

“Pardon ?” j’ai dit, soudainement nerveuse.

“De quoi tu parles, Anouk ?” a demandé Jean-Louis. Il ne souriait plus.

“Maman a dit qu’on va en Angleterre pour voir La Reine,” elle a dit.

“Tu as dit ça, Leïla?” a demandé Jean-Louis.

“Anouk, arrête! Je n’ai pas du tout dit ça !” j’ai dit, gênée. “En fait, quand Anouk a vu Le Louvre, elle m’a demandé s’il y avait des princesses qui y habitaient. Alors quand Hervé racontait ses plans pour leur voyage, j’ai dit à Anouk qu’il n’y a plus de princesses en France mais qu’en Angleterre il y a une reine. C’est tout !”

“Mais Maman, on peut partir avec Tonton et Tati dans l’avion pour voir La Reine ?” Anouk a demandé, avec de grands yeux.

“Malheureusement…”, j’ai commencé mais Jean-Louis a interrompu.

“Je crois que c’est une bonne idée, ma puce ! Aller voir La Reine, quelle aventure !”

Et là, c’était moi qui avait de grands yeux.

“Did you have a good day, darling?” asked Jean-Louis. “How’s Hervé going?”

I was in the kitchen, preparing dinner for the family.

“He’s going really well, thank you. We went to the Tuileries Gardens to have a walk with the children. It was really great. Anouk adored seeing ‘the big castle’ and the little boats on the pond, of course. She has decided that she wants a boat for Christmas.”

Jean-Louis laughed and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “She’s a little girl who knows what she wants, isn’t she? Like her mother,” he teased.

I smiled. Jean-Louis was in a good mood this evening, and I wanted to make the most of the moment. It was rare these days, unfortunately.

“Right, everyone at the table. Dinner is ready!” I cried. “Anouk, come please. We’re going to eat.”

“Yes, Mum, I’m coming,” she responded.

Settled in at the table, I started to serve the blanquette de veau.

“Yum, yum, Mum! I love this,” Anouk said.

Jean-Louis looked at Anouk with affection. “Did you have a good day with your Uncle Hervé, little one?”

“Yes, Dad, I saw the boats. Uncle said that Father Christmas has boats in his stock.”

“Oh really? You’re going to have to write your list soon, my little flea,” responded Jean-Louis with a big smile. “Do Hervé and Amina have plans for the holidays, Leïla?” asked Jean-Louis, while pouring me some wine.

“Yes, in fact, they’re thinking of going to England to see Robert and Beth, Michael’s parents. Do you remember when Amina did an exchange in England?”

“Oh yes, I remember, that’s right. They live in London, don’t they?”

“In Bath,” I corrected.

“Mum, how is Father Christmas going to come to Bath with my boats?”

“Pardon?” I said, suddenly nervous.

“What are you talking about, Anouk?” asked Jean-Louis. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Mum said that we’re going to England to see The Queen,” she said.

“Did you say that, Leïla?” asked Jean-Louis.

“Anouk, stop! I didn’t say that at all!” I said, embarrassed. “In fact, when Anouk saw The Louvre, she asked me if there were any princesses who lived there. So when Hervé was talking about his plans for their trip, I said to Anouk that there were no more princesses in France but that in England there was a queen. That’s all!”

“But Mum, can we go with Uncle and Aunty in the plane to see The Queen?” Anouk asked, with wide eyes.

”Unfortunately…” I started, but Jean-Louis interrupted.

”I think that that’s a good idea, my little flea! Going to see The Queen, what an adventure!”

And then, it was me who had wide eyes.

You be the prof.

This bonus extract from (the original) La Petite Histoire* contains 15 grammatical errors. We’re sure you won’t be surprised to know that many of them involve les petits mots*.

See how many you can find. Ne stressez pas trop*, we’ve included the answers with explanations below.

Of course the more French you’ve done, the more likely you’ll be to find all 15, so we’ve adjusted the target depending on your level. Bon courage*!

The Little Story | little words | Don’t stress too much | Good luck!

Salut tout le monde! Je suis Stephanie et je suis 16 ans. Je suis australien et je suis une étudiante . J’habite au Berry. J’ai les cheveux rouges, les yeux verts et je suis grande. Je joue le basket et je fais du shopping.

Je suis deux sœurs et je suis extravertie, sexy et intelligente. Un jour, je vais aller en États-Unis sur les vacances. J’ai une tante qui travail à Hollywood. Je vais rester chez lui. Elle représente beaucoup des grandes stars et elle penses que j’ai un talent. Je suis hâte. 

Hi everyone! I am Stephanie and I’m 16 years old. I’m Australian and I am a student. I live in Berry. I have red hair, green eyes and I am tall. I play basketball and I shop. I have two sisters and I am extraverted, sexy and intelligent. One day, I am going to go to the United States on holidays. I have an aunt who works in Hollywood. I am going to stay at her house. She represents lots of big stars and she thinks I have some talent. I can’t wait.

1. j’ai 16 ans - we use the verb avoir for our age.

2. australienne - Stephanie is a woman.

3. je suis étudiante - we don’t use un or une when we speak about our professions.

4. à Berry - à is used for suburbs, towns and cities.

5. les cheveux roux - roux is used for hair particularly, rather than rouge, which is used for everything else.

6. je joue au basket - when referring to a sport, jouer is followed by the preposition à. Le basket (basketball) is masculine so à + le = au.

7. J’ai deux sœurs - Je suis means I am, not I have.

8. aux États-Unis. For plural countries, we use the preposition aux to mean ‘to the’. For feminine countries (those that end with an ‘e’) we use en and for masculine countries (those that don’t), we use au.

9. en vacances - it’s just a set phrase, like en retard or en ville.

10. une tante qui travaille - travail is the noun (work) whereas travailler is the verb.

11. chez elle - chez lui means at his house. These are called disjunctive pronouns and include moi and toi, among others.

12. de grandes stars - when a plural adjective comes before the noun it’s describing, des becomes de. These are called BAGS adjectives (adjectives of Beauty, Age, Goodness and Size).

13. elle pense - penser is a regular -er verb and therefore ‘e’ is added to the stem for il/elle/on

14. du talent - the word ‘some’ in French is a combination of de + le, la, l’ or les. Talent is masculine so it’s le, and when de mixes with le it becomes du.

15. J’ai hâte - to say that you can’t wait in French, the expression we use is avoir hâte (think of ‘to have haste’, if that helps).

When there are no words

Don’t we all love it when we’re able to translate from our mother tongue into French mot pour mot*? It’s reassuring in a way, to know that there is true common ground to be found between the two languages.

Quelle douleur exquise*, though, when we come across words that simply defy translation. Though sometimes mind-bendingly uncomfortable, there’s a beauty in knowing that the lived experience of one culture requires description, while the idea itself is not even conceived of in another. Vive la différence*!

word for word | What exquisite pain | Long live difference!