Watching the Rugby World Cup final in France

We were surrounded by passionate, vocal, excited French people. We were the only New Zealanders. The 2011 Rugby World Cup final between France and the All Blacks, played in Auckland, New Zealand. Was it intimidating or not?

Absolutely not! It was great fun, and we felt the excitement of the French challenge just as much as they felt our excitement at meeting our old rivals. A friend and her husband arranged with our local school here in Ramonville St-Agne (the school the children attend) to have a giant screen with the match projected onto a wall, in full, glorious colour and pitch-perfect sound, while many families and friends and children buzzed around excitedly, jumping up and down, screaming, singing, clapping and sighing in unision. (Oh and then sobbing, but that was them, not us!) I kept apologising when the game was won (by New Zealand), as I felt their sorrow as much as they did I think.

But they were gracious in their defeat. We celebrated together with champagne, shared food, and lively discussions afterwards, before everyone headed off for their school holidays. It was a great community affair, and a big thank you to our friends and the headmistress of the school for organising it.

You must understand that I am not generally one to get excited about 'thugby' as my friend Joanna calls it. Even she came round to the joys of it all. Here's what she wrote in her email to me:

But firstly, let us discuss the rugby!! What did you think of the result? Quite fitting for someone hedging her bets. Well done the All Blacks - we feel enormously proud and relieved, and well done France- they played a gutsy game and it was truly nail-biting. It has just been sensational here in New Zealand over here last seven weeks. I've always been a bit sneering about 'thugby' in the past, but have found myself embracing everything about the cup and game, and can happily join a conversation about breakdowns and turnovers, and not think we're talking about car accidents and apple pies.The atmosphere and buzz have been electric and relentless and obsessive.  We have been down to the Viaduct a few times to soak up the atmosphere, and we walked around Eden Park last night just to be part of the fun, which it really was, with everyone dressed in team colours, doing little chants and dances and giving each other some good-natured ribbing. We did get to one game- the All Blacks/Argentina semi-final, which was fantastic, but apart from that we have enjoyed soaking up the atmosphere from the comfort of our couch. Who knew we could throw such a party?! It's just been so exciting!

I was proud to be able to sing the French national anthem with our French friends (the Marseillaise) and then the New Zealand national anthem in both Maori and English. It was a moving moment, but then the game was way too tense for me, and I have never known fifteen minutes to go by so s l o w l y as they did at the end of the game. I was hedging my bets, as Joanna said, and bravely announcing that I was supporting both teams to win, but of course the All Blacks had my highest hopes; for the country of New Zealand too. And YAY. We won!

Francoise, a French lady we met last week said how happy she was that New Zealand had won. She said the All Blacks were very dignified in their victory, and fiercely proud. Not like zee English, she muttered quietly. Zey do not like zee French at all - zey would be very big 'ooligans if zey won'.

French names

Why is it that you say someone's name with a French accent and it suddenly sounds so gorgeous? For example, Norbert, Melvin, Helen, Marie.

Mostly, the names of French children are really similar to English names when you see them written down. But really, it's the way you pronounce them that makes all the difference. Firstly, you drop the final consonant, and secondly, you emphasise the second or final syllable (in general, anyway). So, Norbert becomes Nor-bearr, Marie becomes Mar-ree, Richard becomes Ree-charr, and Sara becomes Sah-rah. Just say them with a French accent (pretend if you have to) and you'll be fine.

So here are some popular names for boys, and some that I just like: Pierre, Mathis, Jean-Marc, Jean-Luc, Jean-Baptiste, (etc), Claude, Mathieu, Felix, Jerome, Guilheum, Julien, Joachim, Fabien, Damien, Romain and Emile. They are all names of boys at school, or people we know.

The girls have a lot of names with Marie in them too (of course France was formerly a Catholic nation), for example Marie-Pierre, Marie-Claire, Marie-Odile, Marie-Jose, Marie-Therese and Marie-Blanche. I have friends with each of these names. Often you find a man's name in the with girl's name, like Marie-Pierre, and I haven't got to the bottom of that one yet.

There are other such pretty names for girls too: Agnes, Emmanuelle, Evangeline, Amandine, Agathe, Margaux, Armelle, Charlotte, Clara, Melusine (which means fairy), Juliette, Isabelle, Jeanne and Adele.

In my son Edward's class last year there were two little girls called Maryama. To avoid confusion, one was called Maryama la grande (the big, as she was the taller girl), and Maryama la petite (the small). Too cute, and they were both as dark as dark with the most beautiful smiles and plaited hair.

And you also hear lots of North African and Magrebian names (from Morroco, Algeria, Tunisia, Libya, Mauritania, etc), like Kholoud, Abel, Ayoub, Marhwa. We know a lot of families from school whose parents were originally from former French colonies. Not so many of those people in Wellington, New Zealand, that's for sure.

How easy is it to get to know French people?

People outside of France (i.e. New Zealanders mostly) often want to know if the French culture is as impenetrable, regulated, sophisticated, etc, as they have imagined. Is it really so hard to make friends with French people? I have to emphasise that this is my experience in the south of France, in the lovely city of Toulouse and the lovely town of Ramonville St-Agne. I don't know anything much about Paris or places north of here, and to be honest, I think we've found a particularly charming part of France to live in.

• Point in our favour, number one: Having children at school is a great way to get to know French Mums and Dads. Turning up at the school gates every day, quietly saying bonjour to the other parents, not being overly-effusive or ebullient, smiling respectfully but not desperately; all of things helped the process. There was not too much warm-embracing to start with but slowly and surely, and certainly very genuinely and curiously, friendships have naturally developed. Going on school trips and the children's birthday parties are two other opportunities to grab hold of.

• Point in our favour, number two: Trying to speak French as much as possible is also really important. Our French was absolutely, horrifyingly bad to start with, and I still trip over what should be blatantly obvious, stare-you-in-the-face phrases now, but it the effort that absolutely counts with the French people here. They warm to you for making the effort, they applaud your artistic creativeness with the language, they encourage you when you get something right, and they kindly correct your desperate ineptness. It was only after about one year of living here that I found that many of the French people I had been struggling to speak French with spoke the most beautiful English...

• Point in our favour, number three: We are from New Zealand (which also reads, we are not from England. I'm so sorry, but it's true). We are often asked whether we are from England. But no, we say, we speak English but we are from New Zealand. Ah, okay then, big smiles all round. Australians are also perfectly acceptable here.

• Point in our favour, number four: We deliberately chose to live in a real French town rather than in an expatriate community. I do understand the many and diverse reasons families have for choosing that option (most often work-location and temporary-contracts related), but I am just so happy that we are here: completely surrounded by Frenchness, with the opportunity to do and be all things French. It's superb.

• Point in our favour, number five: We are a novelty. From early on people seemed to know about us - that we were from New Zealand, that we were a family with three children, even where we lived. But many were also very curious about why we came to live in Ramonville St-Agne. There were lots of questions like: But why are you 'ere in France? Nouvelle-Zelande eez a beautiful country, no? Why would you study 'ere? Do they not 'ave universities in Nouvelle-Zelande?? We would explain that the south of France is considered by many, including us of course, to be one of the most appealing places in the world to live. Eez zat so? they would say quietly and thoughtfully. To them, life in France was normal, and New Zealand was exotic and fascinating.

As for their sophistication, their heightened sense of culture and design, their ability to enjoy food, drink, life, their appreciation of beauty, their innate sexy-ness, well, I'll get on to that topic soon. (And yes, it's all true!)

Are French kids here so different?

No, not really. They are a bit smaller and you don’t see lots of really tubby kids here. Most of the children have dark hair and dark eyes and I believe that’s because there is a high population of Spanish people living here. (I heard the statistic from a very reliable source – Toulouse Walking Tours guide, Elyse Rivin – that one in five people in Toulouse are descended from the Spanish people.) During the Spanish Civil War, many, many Spanish people left Spain for the safety of France, after traversing the Pyrenees mountains to get here in a grim and horribly difficult journey. Elyse tells me that it is as significant to the Spanish people as some of the horrors experienced by various peoples during the Second World War.

You will also see a lot of dark North African people, like the Senegalese, the people from Cote d’Ivoire. And then you will see people from Morocco, Algeria and Tunisia, who have been moving to France for generations now. Completely different visions of humanity from the Maori and Pacific Islanders I grew up with in New Zealand. Asians are few and far between, except for the occasional person from Vietnam with their French connections. Oh and there’s the gypsies. They take their begging very seriously and this includes asking for money at the metro stations, the traffic lights, offering to wash your car windows for a small coin or two and then starting to do it even though you say no, no, no, but then feeling really bad and giving them a euro or two anyway. To start with the children wanted to offer them all of their money-box money because they were so worried than the man at the lights might have many hungry children he was unable to feed ...

Dental hygiene is a bit of a problem here for the kids. It is not uncommon to see discoloured, rotting, decaying teeth, and that’s in the preschoolers! We read an astonishing statistic that on average every French person uses less than one tube of toothpaste a year. The source has been forgotten, but when we read it it certainly stuck in our minds! Yargh. Many of the children’s friends have several fillings or teeth removed.

So at school, the children play games like any other child does, but a noticeable difference is that there is a stunning lack of playgrounds for kids aged 6-12 here in France. You will find little playgrounds for children with spinning and wobbling and bouncing things, but not a lot of the climbing frames, in particular, that we have in New Zealand. Our children really missed those when we first arrived. (Although, good news! A park in nearby Castanet-Tolosan now has an enormous rope climbing frame, like the one on Oriental Parade in Wellington, only bigger!)

The school playground is not equipped with playground equipment. Not at all. The maternelle (preschool) has a few things, but for the primary aged children, there is a complete dearth. So the children occupy themselves with ball games, running games, ‘you’re it!' games, marbles, singing/clapping/action games, and they talk and talk and talk together. They also tease each other, and eat, drink and sleep like other kids (but they try not to sleep at school).

But then there’s the speciality of French life here called the bisous, a marvellous invention that works really well when you sort of get the rules. A bisous is a kiss on both cheeks that says hello to another person. It is not obligatory and it is not something you do to everyone. It is usually reserved for close friends and family, plus when you see someone for the first time after the school holidays or after a significant event. When children come to visit our house, they proffer their little cheeks for a bisous when they arrive. They look a bit bewildered if I forget!

You will see little children giving their parents a bisous before school and then at the end of the school day. You don’t bisous your teacher though (not at our school anyway).

I have to say that children here are generally more polite too and always say hello and goodbye and how are you to people they meet, as a matter of course. They are quite messy though and forget to pick up their rubbish, and that is something Olivia has noticed a lot and gets quite worried about. The children really love their computer games too and that’s partly why Matthew loves visiting his friends because he can play on their Wii which we don’t have. They also like playing with simple things, like Lego and Kapla which are small blocks of wood that you can make endlessly different and cool constructions out of for your Lego cars and trucks. Perfect!

They eat meals like we do, but at slightly different times of the day. Breakfast is, of course in the morning, and is often quite sweet. (In French it is le petit dejeuner which means ‘the little lunch’). Adults don’t usually snack before lunch, but they will mostly drink strong espresso coffee to get them through the morning, or indulge in a decaf if they are a bit caffeine-sensitive like me. Then they make a really serious thing of lunch (le dejeuner).

After school the kids get to have a snack (un gouter) which is often squares of chocolate in a wadge of French bread! Of course the kids love that. Then dinner (le diner) is often quite late at night – around 8.00pm – after playing, homework and a bit of reading. Bedtime can be as late as 10.00pm even for smallish kids, and if you go to someone’s house for dinner, you can generally expect the children to entertain each other, or be entertained by games or TV, until the wee small hours. Best not to do that on a school night!

There’s a scene in The Simpson’s where Bart and Lisa have to go and stay the night with Rod and Todd Flanders next door. After some fun Bible games it is time to go to bed. Bart and Lisa pull their bedroom curtain to one side to find the whole neighbourhood bathed in late afternoon sunshine, with children everywhere laughing, skipping and playing joyfully. That’s kind of how we felt when we were getting the children to bed early in the evening when we first arrived. They were honestly so tuckered out with their challenges at school that they really needed to rest. We didn’t dare let them look outside, for fear that they would see the neighbourhood children laughing, skipping and playing joyfully in the gorgeous dying rays of the autumn sun.

But voila! It’s surprising how quickly you adjust to the local traditions. We now eat later (possibly not as late as others) and spread the meal out more with courses separated out when possible.

We have just enjoyed a week poking around the Gard and Provence

School holidays, the first of the year after the start of school again. The children were quite ready for a break after the long school days (9am-5pm, four days a week, with a two-hour lunch break) and extra-curricula activities each Wednesday (swimming, soccer – called football here – tennis, art, dancing, gymnastics, etc). We stayed in a gite (a holiday house) booked through Gites de France, www.gites-de-france.com. You can change the language to English on the site too.

We have seen:

·         the Pont du Gard – the three-tiered Roman aqueduct over the River Gard. Lordy what a sight. We saw graffiti etched into the stone from 1839 (Dylan woz here, or something like that...).

·         in Nimes - the Roman arena (spectacularly still intact and functioning as an arena and concert venue but with a horrible history with all the bloodshed and gruesomeness and not so appealing to the children or me), the Roman temple (with a funny 3D movie about Roman heros), the Roman tower that used to form part of the city wall in Nimes and is a part of the beautiful public gardens of the city (which is a wicked walk up a spiral staircase to a stunning view over the city and the countryside, especially after the long walk through the gardens and up the hill to get to the tower), and the lovely tree-lined streets of Nimes with the added fun of walking by the canal.

·         the magnificent Roman theatre in Orange, where we engaged for an hour or so in a very pleasant children’s activity making small square Roman style floor mosaics. (We all loved it.) After which we wandered up and down and around and about ‘til we had all had our fill of the majesty.

·         the bridge over the Rhone River at Avignon (yes, the one from the song, ‘Sur le pont d’Avignon...’, well, a later one anyway as the first ones were wooden and are down river somewhere now, well-rotted), the Palace of the Popes, and we enjoyed a French meal in a French restaurant, without needing to resort to using English to order our meals with the French waiter, and feeling very happy about that indeed.

·         Aigue-Mortes (which means something like ‘dead waters’, Lonely Planet, or ‘stagnant waters’, local town guide) where we found the best exhibition of minerals and fossils of all things. This walled town is definitely more attractive than its name.

·         finally, a small-ish town called Agde, not far from the Mediterranean Coast. It is also the start of the Canal du Midi which flows not far from our house here in Ramonville St-Agne, and then all the way on to the west coast of France (Bordeaux I think). We enjoyed a particularly delicious fresh seafood lunch there, on a covered jetty on the river.

We have walked and walked and walked, and climbed and climbed and walked some more, and have had mostly uncomplaining children along with us, as long as we kept them well fed and watered, and off the tether for a while. I can testify that it’s better for everyone’s spirits and well-being if you keep one eye on the sights and the other eye on the ground watching out for dog poop.

For me the highlight has been a bit of a surprise. I didn’t know I could get so excited about bubbling water, but we went to the Perrier plant, where we went underground to see a great cavern of bubbling water, to the very spring where Dr Perrier thought that this water might be a bit of a money-spinning venture with a therapeutic spa at the chateau. In fact he was not the one to make the fortune; rather an Irishman with a keen sense of merchandising, and a future focused firmly on lively and risqué advertising. The chateau Perrier now has a museum, an art gallery, a 3D educational film, and a very funny overview of various advertisements throughout the years.

I’m ready for a bit of a holiday now. Our tour guide (lovely husband) is determined to wring the best experiences out of our time in France, and he has the itinerary to match. Phew. 

Pont du Gard (Roman)

Jambon du Bayonne, ham from the Bayonne region of France. These are cured by the salting process.

Nimes, Roman arena in the background. This fountain has red water, to symbolise blood we think but we are not sure why.

Roman amphitheatre, Orange. Real, live music concerts and plays are held here in the summer.

Examples of mosaics to make at the Orange Roman amphitheatre

Roman art, and tools for making mosaics

Painted wall inside the Palais des Papes (taken without a flash so as not to damage the paintwork!)

Palais des papes, Avignon

Palais des Papes, Avignon

The walled village of Aigues Mortes

Graffit on the Pont du Gard, from 1839

Perrier chateau, the site of the original spring

The well site of the original Perrier spring

Underground, the cones capture the Perrier gas which then gets injected back into the water for bottling

Adjusting to life in a new country

(I imagine that this is probably going to be 'part one' of many parts!)

When we finally decided to move to France we thought up a little mantra as to how we would view our life here:

'We are going on an adventure! We will expect some difficulties but we can help, support and understand each other, and have lots of fun together. We will laugh, relax and visit gorgeous places, and let go of the challenges of facing new stuff all the time. We'll be in the south of France, and it's going to be great!'

That was the theory anyway.

When we first arrived, people would sometimes ask us whether we spoke French at home. We just laughed, and said that it would be very quiet at home if we did. It was a relief for the children to come home after school; to be somewhere where they could relax and not have their brains constantly turning inside-out. But to answer the question now - we definitely do speak English at home, unless a French friend comes to visit and then the kids switch to French and the grownups smile a lot.

In the early days, we made sure we phoned home to New Zealand regularly to speak to the ancient family members, our cousins, aunts, uncles and friends. Sometimes we would use skype to talk to our friends, although the kids didn't really talk much; they just pulled crazy faces and made disgusting noises.

We discovered the free delivery of English books through www.amazon.fr which became a bit of a life-line for us. The children have all started to read (for fun) in French now and really enjoy French comic books (bande-dessinee or BD) of which there are an astonishingly enormous array, for all ages. Think Asterix and Tintin, only dozens and dozens more titles. These are available at the local library in Ramonville St-Agne (along with one small shelf of English children's books). You will find us there quite frequently.

One thing that took a bit of time to adjust to when we first arrived was going to the supermarket. This was for the extremely simple reason that we couldn't really recognise things on the shelves: there were different kinds of foods and completely different brands; they were packaged in different boxes and bottles with different colours and logos; they weren't necessarily on the shelves in the places we knew them to be in New Zealand; and all the labels were in another language, and it took forever trying to work them out. And Not Just That, but imagine trying to buy some yogurt and finding a whole aisle of chillers dedicated solely to yogurts! Really, there's so many choices! And they are all so delicious!

Actually I think I avoided going shopping sometimes because it was not a short, in-out, easy affair. One day I said, half to myself, 'I think I will have to be brave and go and do some food shopping.' My daughter, Olivia, was in the room and I heard her say quietly, 'Yes Mum, I really think you should. I've been trying hard to sneak some food but there's not much food to sneak...'

Something that really helped though was that as soon as we could, we watched TV in English. It was such a good way to feel a bit more relaxed at the end of the day. As much fun as it is to watch a French movie (and I love them), after a hard day in the supermarket or at university, the last thing you need is another French lesson, when you just want to blob.

After a particularly difficult few days for the children at school one week, A friend, Samantha, suggested that we just get in the car and drive somewhere else. 'A change of scenery will do wonders' - that sort of thing. We went to Collioure, a quaint picturesque little town by the Mediterranean Sea, not far north of the Spanish border. It's really old, but actually looks about the same as it did in postcards we have seen of it from the 1960s. The children had the best time playing on the beach, and we came back with a car-full of stones of many different colours. We ate pizza (a surprisingly traditional French dish here!), and walked around the water's edge trying not to get splashed by the waves (husband and I) and trying to get splashed (the children), and we watched a man juggling and doing crazy clown things, entertaining gazillions of people even though it was the off-season.

Edward really enjoyed it too, that is until he fell into the water. We suspect he had been rather mesmerised by the waves lapping over the steps leading down into the water. All of a sudden he lost his balance and fell in; his whole little body just tumbled forwards without him realising it, face down. It was very cold and he cried. Thankfully someone extremely clever with tremendous foresight had thought to throw a few spare clothes in the back of the car, so he warmed up quite quickly.

And yes, it really did help to get away from the challenges of our new life for just that one day, and to see different and beautiful things.

So, why move to France?

"We had the opportunity to come to France to study, and for the children to master a new language in their super-absorbent years, and to immerse ourselve in the complexities and wonder of French culture; how could we possibly not?!" is my passionate, internal response to this question. My natural good nature and excellent upbringing successfully quiets the uber-fervent answer, and my graceful manners take over, describing the following, evenly and calmly:

So, since we met my husband and I have chatted casually about the possiblity of, and opportunities involved in, moving to another country. Imagine: Bilingual children! New food to try! International friendships! Gorgeous, ancient architecture to explore! Living in New Zealand (being born there, growing up there, having children there) is fabulous. It is paradise. Really, really. But when you've got itchy feet,  then moving from one city to another, still in New Zealand, just doesn't do it. And when you want to dip your toes into the international community of economists and the world of study and research, New Zealand feels a long, long way away.

And it is. I have realised, since living in France, that Europeans generally do not appreciate the sense of isolation we take as given in New Zealand. Our closest neighbouring country is Australia - a three hour plane ride away. And what language do they speak there? Well, English of course. And then the enormity of Australia is something not widely understood either. A friend asked me how long it takes to fly across Australia; two-three hours? When I said, double that and then add some more, she was incredulous.

And then there's the language thing. We have, I think, pretty good integration with the Maori language in New Zealand. When you've been away (say, in Europe) and then you come back to New Zealand, you realise how prominently the Maori culture is part of life in New Zealand. It's great. But the Maori language is not compulsory in schools so children in New Zealand do not generally grow up with the ability to speak more than one language.

Compare this to Europe. How many countries are there in a space the same size of Australia??? No idea, but I do know that France is the same size as the state of Texas, USA. (So that makes the United States of America way too big for me to get my head around. ... And then there's the size of the universe, which is a Whole Other Issue...)

And France doesn't just border onto Spain. There's Belgium, Switzerland, Germany and Italy as well (have I missed any?). Imagine all those chance encounters with 'strangers' or 'foreigners' who speak other languages! Imagine living close to the border of one of these other countries and knowing French from school, possibly a mixed dialect developed from living so close the border of another country (like Catalan), and then most likely good scatterings of the language of the neighbouring country. That is Just So Good for your brain, and from what I understand, makes the wiring in your brain more disposed to learning other languages in the future.

And for children, the capacity to learn a new language is so much greater in childhood than at any other time in their lives (here, here!). Curiously, I had always been a bit sad - since I was young - that New Zealand wasn't colonised by the French (instead of the English). I just always thought the language was soooo beautiful and I wanted a French name like 'Emmanuelle' or 'Clothide' or 'Agathe'. Our childhood cat even had a French name - 'Fifi'.

But anyway, we moved here because 12 years in Wellington, New Zealand for us as a family was great, but we were ready for a new adventure. After visiting a few universities in Europe, we decided to apply for the PhD programme here in Toulouse, since it was taught in English and didn't have prohibitively high fees. The challenges in actually getting here, and then challenges of settling down and integrating are probably the reasons I have for wanting to write stuff down in this blog. It has been huge. But great too.

We have scheduled in to our time here an annual trip back to New Zealand to see (ancient) family members and new ones being born, and of course our friends, and to maintain business contacts as well. That, free phone calls, skype, and the fact that we like it here, make it possible to manage the long-distance thing and not feel homesick.

Even French people ask me why did we leave paradise to come to France? We love the history, the culture, the food, the wine, the style, the manners, the pace of life, the warmth of the sunshine, the mountains and the beaches, the wonderful people we meet. So, really, how could we not have moved to France?!

(More about the challenges - of which there seem to be a frighteningly large number - in further postings.)

Books about France that I've enjoyed reading

For want of some sort of system, here's my short book list of recommended reads. I have to say that I have read a number of other books about people living in France and their unique experiences, or their novels based on their or others experiences, but these books here - for me - are worth a jolly good look:


Amusing, Evocative and a Thoroughly Enjoyable Read


Allons Enfants - A New Zealand Family in France, Linda Burgess
My Life in France (Ma Vie en France), Julia Child
Almost French - A New Life in Paris, Sarah Turnbull
A Year in Provence, Peter Mayle
Encore Provence, Peter Mayle
Toujours Provence, Peter Mayle
A Dog's Life, Peter Mayle
Fete Accomplie - A New Zealander’s Culinary Romance, Peta Mathias
French Toast - Eating and Laughing Your Way Around France, Peta Mathias
Salut! Peta Mathias
My Father’s Glory, Marcel Pagnol
My Mother’s Castle, Marcel Pagnol

Educational and Informative, and Really Genuinely Interesting


Sixty Million Frenchmen Can’t be Wrong - What Makes the French so French, Jean-Benoit Nadeau & Julie Barlow
The Discovery of France, Graham Robb
The Road from the Past - Traveling Through History in France, Ina Caro
The French Way - The Keys to the Behavior, Attitudes, and Customs of the French, Ross Steele
A Certain Je Ne Sais Quoi - The Ideal Guide to Sounding, Acting and Shrugging Like The French, Charles Timoney
Pardon My French - Unleash Your Inner Gaul, Charles Timoney

That's a start anyway. I'll add to this list as I find more gems.

Speaking French when you really don't have a clue

The good thing about learning French in a language school, like Alliance Francaise for example, is that lots of information goes into your head. The not-so-good thing is that the information kind of gets stuck there, and unless you have a chance to use it, revise it, practice it, make mistakes and try again, in real life and lots and lots of times, the information just stays rather well-wedged between stuff you already know, and does not trip lightly to the tip of your tongue as you dreamt it would.

I appreciated every second I was sitting in my French language school in New Zealand. I just didn't get enough practice, and I reckon it took a new grammar rule or piece of vital information about two months to start making sense (that's after the lesson). I was, however, pretty confident with Bonjour and Au revoir.

So, if you are ever in France and know a little, little bit of French but really not very much and certainly not enough to feel fully confident in a two-way conversation, here's a tip or two:

• It really helps to start your conversation in French. Even if your French is clumsy, confused and incorrect, at least you are giving it a go, and that is a Big Gold Star for you in the eyes of the erudite French person you are speaking with. Don't worry about being perfect, or even accurate. Don't worry about blushing or stammering. Don't worry about your accent or your masculin or feminine. Just try to be understood, and to understand.

• Quickly learn the following phrase: "Bonjour Madame/Monsieur. Je suis de Nouvelle Zelande (or wherever). Je parle un peu francais. Parlez lentement pour moi, s'il vois plait." Hello. I am from New Zealand. I speak a little French. Speak slowly for me, please.

• Google Translate provides a quick and helpful translation service online (free) that you can access. We often had to prepare the basic text of our conversations like that (type it in English and print or write out the French translation and take it with us). Key words, key phrases, key questions are all things you can come back to if the conversation spirals out of control. Often I would just (and still do) go back to the last thing I know that I understood the response to, and repeat it.

• It also helps to apologise for your shocking French (if you feel you need to). This will often prompt the kind French person to respond with, "Oh no, your French is much, much better than my English!". You know they are generally being generous with the truth, but it's an encouraging response. You usually debate that a bit ... "Mais oui!" "Oh no!" "Mais oui, absolument!" "Oh no, not at all!"... and then carry on.

• If you would like a French person to speak to you in English, be sure to ask them if they speak a little English. "Parlez-vous un peu anglais, peut-etre?" The key words are a little/un peu. Because ... if you ask them whether they speak English or not, they will say no (the French person will probably be a perfectionist and will presume that because they don't speak English perfectly, then they don't speak English at all! Curious but generally true!). But if you ask them if they speak just a little English, they will generally 'fess up to that, and away you go.

• Often the problem is that you get your side of the conversation all prepared, but you can't understand a jolly thing that is said back to you. Ask the nice person to speak slowly to you. And repeat your request if they speed up again. "Vous parlez trop vite pour moi; parlez plus lentement, s'il vous plait." Then, if all else fails, speak very quickly but kindly in English, something like "I am speaking very quickly to you English because I don't think you will be able to understand me and I want to give you a little hint as to how it feels for me to not be able to understand you right now." If you do this with a mean attitude, the conversation is over (don't do this with bureaucrats!!), but if you do it at the perfect moment, and with a little smile, they will slow down and be your friend, often with an apology and a comment like "Ah, French, eet eez veery difficult, no!?" (and then you realise they spoke post-graduate degree level English after all – arrggghhh!!!).

Rugby in France, now with photos!

Rugby is a Really Big Deal in this part of France (down south). There are lots of rugby clubs and it is very competitive to get into them.We had a look at a club nearby for our 10 year old son. He played for two hours, twice, in the wind and rain, just to see if there was a space available for him on the team for the next season. For a boy who prefers books and more books, it was quite amazing. He's ended up continuing with tennis  but we'll try again next year.

It's quite thrilling to be here while the Rugby World Cup (Cup de Monde) is being played in New Zealand. When the All Blacks win a game we receive phone calls, emails and texts from French friends congratulating us. "You really are the best," they say. I have to agree.

I am fiercely proud of France though, and we have learnt the French national anthem (Marseillaise) for the pleasure of singing the national anthems of both countries at the start of the games. We all hum it a lot, in fact a lot of children sing it at school so the tune goes around our heads and house quite a lot. Our 8 year old daughter is a keen whistler - well, in a repetitive but definitely melodic sort of way - and she has it down pat. I'm hedging my bets and supporting both countries to win the World Cup. (As long as that land mass next to New Zealand doesn't win, I'm happy ... I can't help it.)

Actually quite a lot of people here are very fond of the All Blacks too. Often in shops or out and about people will ask us, "Are you from England?", and when we correct them and say, "No, we are from New Zealand," they break into this All Blacks haka routine and treat us like their best friends. It's a great door-opener. We made sure our 6 year old son wore his All Blacks cap a lot when we first came to France.

Allez les bleus!

Go the All Blacks!

Rugby on the back lawn, after the first NZ vs France match in the pools, Rugby World Cup 2011

Rugby game at school played during and after the Rugby World Cup final between France and New Zealand, Ramonville St-Agne.

La convivialite after the final between France and New Zealand, Ramonville St-Agne

Not difficult at all!

Yesterday my 10 year old son, Matthew, said to me, "Mum, I actually can't remember what it was like when I couldn't understand what anyone was saying, you know, when we first arrived in France. It all sounds really normal to me now."

He is now in his last year at ecole elementaire (primary school, 6-11 years old) and next year will be starting college (12-15 I think). It's interesting that none of our three children are pining for the fjords and valleys and rivers and mountains of New Zealand now: they are well and truly immersed into their French lives, and facing stuff like any other 10, 8 and 6 year old would.

I'll gradually add more stories about moving to France, dipping our feet into experiences, and finding out how to live here and enjoy it (not hard once you know how, but it can make you a bit wobbly when you don't know the language and every outing feels like a major challenge!), and what it does to your children when you put them into French schools with only a oui and a non to their names.