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. 

Bonne Maman

We’re willing to bet une baguette* that lurking in your fridge is a jar of confiture* bearing the name and signature vichy rouge* lid of this French foodie brand. Meaning grandmother or granny, Bonne Maman is a family-owned marque* synonymous with delicious home-style preserves, jellies and fruit spreads. All made to traditional recettes* – jam-packed with fruit, and without artificial flavours, colours or conservateurs* (pas préservatifs*, attention!*). 

Founded in 1971 by the Gervoson family, Bonne Maman is based in Biars-sur-Cère, a small village in a beautiful fruit-growing region along the Dordogne in Southwest France. However, the jams’ appeal is much more widespread (pardon the pun), with the range now enjoyed in almost 100 countries across the globe.

In 2021, a rumour also emerged that the company founders sheltered people during the holocaust. While the private family declined to comment, we can’t think of a better reason to pop on la bouilloire* and indulge in something sweet. *Bonne Maman, bien sûr.
To learn more, visit the French website. (We’re sorry to say the madeleines aren’t available on our shores.)

*a baguette | *jam | *red gingham |*brand | *recipes | *preservatives | *not condoms | *be careful | *the kettle | *Bonne Maman, of course

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

Sneak Peek into le Nid | Favourite Flowers

We’re big fans of a beautiful bloom here at le nid*, and with Valentine’s Day upon us, what better time to talk about les fleurs*. From the traditional to the more difficile à trouver*, these are our pick of the bunch. Please feel free to put in an order with la fleuriste*.

*the nest | *flowers | *hard to find | *the florist

Paris Plage

City of light, oui*. A gourmand’s go-to and shopper's paradise, bien sûr*. But did you know Paris also transforms into a buzzing seaside resort in summer as locals and tourists eat les glaces* and lounge in deck chairs on sandy beaches (or grassy stretches) along the Seine?

Run by the office of the Mayor of Paris, Paris Plage* first took place in 2002. The egalitarian initiative aimed to provide all city-dwellers access to a 'beachside’ vacation in summer. Including those without the means to join the annual exodus to the coast.

Initially setting up sand at just one location on the Rive Droite*, Paris Plages has grown in scale (hence it’s now plages, not plage). Taking place at three main locations – the Parc Rives de Seine, La Villette canal basin and the Trocadero gardens – it’s become a highlight of the summer calendar. 

Each year, millions of visitors beat the heat under palm trees and beach umbrellas as they enjoy free music and entertainment, join in games and quench their soif*. 

Which all sounds very lovely, but can you take a dip? While the Seine’s been off-limits for decades, the government promises it will be clean enough to swim in by 2025. (On verra*…)
For now, you can practise your laps in the pools at the Bassin de La Villette. Located in northeast Paris at the top of the Canal St Martin, this artificial lake is the place for boating and water sports enthusiasts. 

Or, if you prefer the lure of dry land, there’s always beach volleyball at the Hôtel de Ville*.

Paris Plages 2023 runs from 9 July to 22 August. Better pack la crème solaire*. 

*yes | *of course | *ice creams |*Paris Beach | *Right Bank | *thirst | *we’ll see | *City Hall |*the sunscreen

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

Recette: Gougères au fromage

Not doing Dry January? Might we suggest these cheesy little clouds of goodness as the perfect accompaniment to un apéro*? Crispy on the outside and fluffy on the inside, French cheese puffs are indecently delicious – nous vous défions d'arrêter à une*!

Merci à Marmiton pour la recette*.

*an aperitif (pre-dinner drink) | *we dare you to stop at one! | *Thank you to Marmiton for the recipe

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

Classic French Film : La Peau Douce

If you’re a fan of La Nouvelle Vague* movement in French cinema, consider adding this lesser-known Truffaut film to your movie night roster. Released in 1964, La Peau Douce (The Soft Skin) failed to reach the critical and box office succès* of some of the celebrated French director’s previous films. Most notamment* Les 400 Coups* (1959) and the iconic Jules et Jim (1962). 

But don’t let that put you off. Over the years, the romantic drama has improved its standing and is now considered among the best in his oeuvre. 

Centring around an illicit affair, le film* stars Jean Desailly and Françoise Dorléac as the romantic leads. The older sister of Catherine Deneuve, Dorléac – shown in this stunning scene – tragically died in a car accident just two years later at the age of 25. 

Intéressé*? Watch la bande annonce* here. 

*New Wave | *success | *notably | *400 Blows |*the film | *Interested? | *the trailer

Swoon: Baie de Quiberon

Located in the Morbihan département* on the south coast of Brittany, this breathtaking bay has it all. A popular year-round tourist destination, Baie de Quiberon* was the scene of several historic battles, including the Battle of Quiberon Bay (1759). Mais ne vous inquiétez pas* – today the slice of paradise is beaucoup plus tranquille*. 

A popular destination for hikers, cyclists and nature lovers, the bay attracts hosts of tourists with its sandy beaches and charming Breton villages. And let’s not forget Quiberon’s famed niniches (sucettes*) and tinned sardines. We think you might need a bigger valise*!

Photography credit : https://www.destinationsdejulie.fr

*department | *Quiberon Bay | *But don’t worry | *Much more peaceful | *lollipops | *suitcase

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

Marchés de Noël

Dreaming of a Christmas that’s white rather than white-hot? Maybe it’s time to start planning a festive trip to France next December. While there’s no guarantee of a blanket (or even a dusting) of neige*, there’s no shortage of Hallmark movie-worthy Marchés de Nöel* that will have you feeling the joys of the season. 

Behold two lists of the best French Christmas markets to add to your itinerary. Le Figaro’s 2022 round-up is in French if you’re up for a challenge. But there’s also another option en anglais* if you’ve already checked out for the year – we can’t say we blame you!

*snow |*Christmas markets |*in English

My French Adventure: Ian Phillips

Ian Phillips Esq came to Lingua Franca in Term 2 of 2022 and let's just say, le nid* has never been le même*! A true personnage*, Ian has a way of using his absolute beginner vocabulary to highly comic effect. One can only wonder what he'll be able to produce when he's un peu plus avancé*. Merci, Ian, for the sense of humour you bring to your lessons, your enthousiasme* but most of all your unmitigated joie de vivre*.
PS Belle photo*!

What made you decide to study French?

When I was eight years old, and all the other boys wanted to be policemen and firemen, I pronounced that I wanted to be an international lawyer. Why? Because they have to speak French, of course. Fast forward 40 years and I may not have fulfilled the lawyer part, but I can at least learn French!

How long have you been studying French?

I received a gift voucher for Lingua Franca for Christmas 2021. So I began my French adventure in April this year, 2022. Give someone you love a gift voucher for a term of French Classes – it will get them out of the house for at least an hour a week.

What do you like most about it?

Being part of a group class helps with any nerves you have. Everybody is in the same boat and everybody has that moment when things just ‘click’. I have been fortunate to have Julie as my teacher and my classmates are all lovely to see each week.

Any hard bits?

Without doubt, it is remembering the masculinity or femininity of words. Who/what/why made these decisions is of endless amusement and frustration to me. But as the French say, “un chat est un chat” (a cat is a cat).

Do you have a favourite French word?

Of course, it’s bouteille* (BOO-TAY)… because everybody should be shaking their bouteille!

*the nest | *the same | *character | *a little more advanced | *enthusiasm | *cheerful enjoyment of life | *nice photo |*bottle

Spotlight on: Sophie Fontanel

With her silvery, mid-length locks and enviable wardrobe, Sophie Fontanel is a true style icon. The 60-year-old fashion critic, author and one-time Fashion Director of ELLE France has also amassed a 294, 000+ following as an Instagram star – thanks to artful mirror selfies showcasing her bold, intellectual and playful approach to personal style. And her online documentation of her transition to grey.

For this femme française*? Overt sexiness is out, as Sophie tells Vogue:

Ditto, crippling, vertiginous talons*.

But that doesn’t mean elle est contente* to shrink into the background. Her style is punctuated by an eclectic mix of vintage items, men’s clothing and designer pieces. And, of course, that hair – the subject of her bestselling book, Une Apparition*.

Another livre* is dedicated to her 12 years of celibacy, while she won Le Prince Maurice Prize for romantic literature in 2011 for her roman*, Grandir*.

Author, fashion journalist, influencer… Quite the modern-day slashie, non?

We can’t help admiring Sophie’s honesty, esprit* and positive approach to life ­– and ageing. Follow her stylish moves sur Instagram* or take a peek inside her chic Paris appartement* in this interview with Vogue.

*French woman | *high heels | *she is happy | *A Ghost |*book | *novel | *Growing Up| *spirit | *on Instagram| *apartment

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