It is my first week in France and I feel like a deer in the headlights whenever I speak French.
I thought I’d be okay with five years of study under my belt. I knew I was far from fluent, but I’d received compliments from professors and had successful conversations with native speakers in the States and abroad. I had the overall impression that my French was imperfect but decent. I thought, je pourrai me débrouiller (“I’ll be able to manage”).
Enter week one of living in France, however, and what confidence I had is gone. I am a nervous wreck every time I have to speak French. Using French to survive is completely different from a classroom or a casual conversation. The pressure to communicate with minimal embarrassment erases all of my composure and I doubt myself on every word.
So far, the most excruciating interactions have all taken place at restaurants and cafés. Why? My parents came with me to see a bit of France before dropping me off at the University. One of the biggest culture shocks for us is the process of dining. There is no takeout, no quick snack on the go. Even if all you need is a bathroom and a croissant, you have to sit down at a café for at least a half hour.
Our routine runs thus: my parents and I awkwardly sidle up to a café and wait for a waiter notice us, unsure whether we’re supposed to seat ourselves or order inside. I stammer out some French and we are seated. We order when the waiter (eventually) returns and then we (eventually) receive our food. After a further wait, we start to wonder whether we pay at the counter or they bring us the check. Bashfully, I stutter some more French to a passing waiter and we pay and make our escape. All this to say, culture shock makes it much more difficult to speak with confidence.
Ironically, in the midst of these embarrassing experiences, I had one moment of triumph. In a random gift shop in Rouen, I struck up a conversation with the shopkeeper that lasted nearly twenty minutes. We discussed the importance of learning other languages, and we laughed together about the “catastrophe” of Americans butchering the French language. She positively jumped up and down with joy when I asked her for suggestions of places to see in the area. For me, her beaming face and her pride for her hometown further confirmed the power of speaking to someone in their heart language. Her excitement was contagious and I came away with spirits raised.
Apart from my one great conversation, you might think that my overall humiliating struggle thus far I would leave me feeling discouraged. I would be lying if I said I felt no frustration at all. But these kinds of moments are exactly why I came to France. I want to make mistakes and squirm outside my comfort zone. There is a wall in achieving fluency that cannot be surmounted from a classroom. You have to break free from the textbooks and actually live in the language.
So how am I doing after my first week? I am over the moon, and more eager than ever for class to begin.