France and I go back a long way. I started teaching myself French shortly after I could read English, after having found a dusty copy of Hugo's French Primer, 1948 edition, in the family library. Of course I had no idea how to pronounce it, and referred to the family cat as Lee Chatt for many years. This also explains why my French is a little antiquated on occasion and I have been known to refer to a taxi as "un fiacre" and my schoolteachers as "Maitre" and "Maitresse".
I started to learn basic French in the last year of primary school, and then at secondary school started in earnest. I took to it like a canard to water.
In those days pen-friends were the Facebook of the time, and I had several, including Geneviève from Paris. At 16 I went for the first time to France, with my aunt Lily as chaperone. We were to be the guests of Geneviève and her family in Vincennes, on the eastern edge of Paris. It was totally exciting.
I travelled by air for the first time, on a small turbo-prop plane from Ashford in Kent. I suffered from travel sickness in cars, and by air it was no better. I was green when I got off the plane. We were shuttled by coach into Paris, and decanted at Place de la République in front of what is now the Crowne Plaza Hotel.
Duh-nee was the manager of the cafeteria at the university campus in Vincennes. This was in 1970, less than two years after May '68, and the campus was still a bit of a mess. The Powers That Be had decided the students should stew in their own juice for a while.
We stayed in the guest room in their bungalow on the campus. Raymonde, Geneviève's mother, worked in an office on the Champs-Elysées, so we ate breakfast and lunch in the student canteen, served by Laurent the chef.
I started to learn basic French in the last year of primary school, and then at secondary school started in earnest. I took to it like a canard to water.
In those days pen-friends were the Facebook of the time, and I had several, including Geneviève from Paris. At 16 I went for the first time to France, with my aunt Lily as chaperone. We were to be the guests of Geneviève and her family in Vincennes, on the eastern edge of Paris. It was totally exciting.
I travelled by air for the first time, on a small turbo-prop plane from Ashford in Kent. I suffered from travel sickness in cars, and by air it was no better. I was green when I got off the plane. We were shuttled by coach into Paris, and decanted at Place de la République in front of what is now the Crowne Plaza Hotel.
The very spot where the dainty Wayne-Bough feet first came into contact with France.
We were met by Geneviève and her father, Denis ("Duh-nee"), a tubby little man with bad teeth and a bristly moustache, who kissed us enthusiastically on both cheeks. Aunty Lily and I submitted happily, delighted in this confirmation that the French really did this. We all piled into Duh-nee's Saab which he drove in a hair-raising fashion through the Paris traffic while Geneviève and I chattered in French. I was ecstatic to find she could understand me. I was already hooked.Duh-nee was the manager of the cafeteria at the university campus in Vincennes. This was in 1970, less than two years after May '68, and the campus was still a bit of a mess. The Powers That Be had decided the students should stew in their own juice for a while.
We stayed in the guest room in their bungalow on the campus. Raymonde, Geneviève's mother, worked in an office on the Champs-Elysées, so we ate breakfast and lunch in the student canteen, served by Laurent the chef.
Comments
Post a Comment