Romance on the Trail

I hesitate to say I speak French, but I kind of do. I qualify that with, you have to speak slowly, and I may interrupt you because you have said a word I don’t know. However, last year when I walked the Robert Louis Stevenson Trail in southern France (15 days) two different people told me that I “spoke French with a Belgian accent.” I thought it was cool that they said I spoke French.

I spend a lot of time with my girlfriend Josette, who lives in rural southern Belgium, and primarily speaks French. Belgium has two other languages, Flemish and Dutch, and they are right next to Luxembourg (5 miles as the crow flies), which has yet another language, Luxembourgish, in addition to French and German. People in northeast Belgium speak Dutch (almost German) and English but not so often French. Josette has been studying English for quite a while but is reluctant to say much in English. Sometimes she says I am not helping her learn English.

For my part, I don’t need her to learn English, I am happy to converse in my growing French ability. However, for her part, she feels left out when I am with my friends who are speaking English. Some of her family speak some English, as everyone in Europe is trying to learn English, but I am content to speak with them in French. I have been working with her grandson Axel, who is studying English in school (required!), and when I am with him I only speak English. When he doesn’t know the word, he tells me in French, and I tell him the English word to use. He spent three weeks with me in Texas and did in fact get much better at English, being immersed in it.

How did I learn the French I know? I graduated high school in Big Spring, Texas, and took two years of French there. I suspect that French in Big Spring died with that teacher, but when I graduated I could sing the French National Anthem but not the American one. That was because I was required to learn “Allons enfants de la Patrie, Le jour de gloire est arrivé!” When my contemporaries were learning to sing “The Star Spangled Banner” I was singing “God Save the Queen” as I was in school in England. When I went to Texas Tech I took two more years of French, and didn’t end up minoring in French because the last course I needed was French Advanced Grammar and Composition with Bubresko, and I knew I wouldn’t pass it because I was a slacker. So I minored in English instead. And I placed out of Freshman English by writing an essay. Looking back I think it might have been better for me to take Freshman English. I put the minimum effort in college because all I wanted out of it was a commission in the US Air Force so I could go to pilot training. All I needed was a degree in anything; there was a war on, and the Air Force needed pilots. I learned quickly that I would have to apply myself to get my wings, and I did. I remember very clearly my first instructor pilot in the T-37, Captain West, pre-solo, saying “Do you have a death wish? Are you trying to kill me?” He had been an IP for almost 4 years, was about to leave the Air Force, and was burned out. I am forever grateful that he eventually taught me to fly. By the way, those words from West are an exact quote, and they were preceeded by him rapping me on the side of my head (albeit in a helmet). This airplane had side by side seating, and the air conditioning didn’t work well at low altitudes, and it was Oklahoma in the summer, so we were both probably covered in sweat.

Walking the trail with my new friend Josette in September of 2018 was when I realized that after four years of academic French many years before I didn’t know French. This was before Google Translate came along for me, and I couldn’t understand much but I got her phone number and name. I stayed in touch with her by calling on WhatsApp video call. That first year I walked with her on GR65 fro Le Puy en Velay in France for about two weeks, much of the conversation was with the aid of our mutul trail friend (Swiss) Anne Marie, who spoke five languages, her first language is French but she is competent in English, and she translated for us. The next year we three walked 10 days together on GR 651 (the Cele Valley varaint, pure magic) in France. Then the pandemic intervened, and we met again on GR65, this time in Moissac, and walked three weeks to St Jean Pied de Port. Anne Marie was with us but ran out of energy about half way and returned home. When she left she said to us, “You two go on without me, friends, lovers, whatever you are.”

You see, Anne Marie knew. Apparently Josette was clueless. When I first met them they had just become fast friends, and somehow I found myself walking with them. I learned later that they discussed it and decided my French was so poor that I wouldn’t make it and that I needed their help. I walked into a gite d’etat with them (a hostel on the trail), and after a bit was in the garden in the back with a beer. She came outside, and I looked at her for the first time really, and my heart skipped a beat.

My heart really did skip. I can still remember that feeling. I thought to myself, “Oh —-, I don’t need this.” I talked myself out of taking that seriously for three more years. By the end of our third walk together, which was three weeks long, I decided it was worth the risk.

When we talk on WhatsApp (thank you, Meta) I use my iPhone and have my PC with Google Translate up. I use it to formulate sentences and get the verbs right. I now speak French almost exclusively when I am with Josette and her family. I often think in French. I throw in French words with my English speaking friends, not trying to be clever, but because that is what pops into my head.

Au revoir.

Robert