My high school French never did me much good. I only took it because:
A. A useful language to know.
B. It would always be the international language.
C. Mom spoke it and would do my homework.
D. Brother was taking it and would do my homework.
Turned out the answer was: “None of the above”. I can get by to find a beer and a toilet, but misunderstandings are bound to occur.
Take la Grand Defile du Geants. We had a big parade for our Giants in San Francisco, just after the World Series - it was good. So when we found out that Quebec City was going to have a Giant’s parade we jumped right in. Our black and orange baseball hats were not needed - but digging in a few drawers and Vola! - 17th Century French peasants.
The parade is just the start of the week-long Les Fêtes de la Nouvelle-France - though you won’t see it translated into English. This is all about the French speakers who got here first only to be conquered by the British in 1759 - a bit of that war is still going on. By law, English must come after French, but sometimes they just don’t bother.
So we played dress-up and they welcomed our efforts. I suspect there were a few others non-frogs here just because they like costume parties. One man, looking like the Count of Monte Crisco, was parading two big poodles, draped with fleur de lis coats. I asked if their names where Jacque and Fifi - he said, “no. Maxine and Wilson.”
Viva la Quebec!
- M. Rene Stuart
