Parlez-vous……..?
Martinique not only is part of France, it is fiercely French. It seems as though you can only get here from a place where French is spoken. One of our co-guest/crew members on Eye of the Wind had to fly through Montreal to get back to St Louis, Missouri. Those returning to Europe had no option but to fly to Paris.
Typically when you go to a beach in a tourist location and you will hear a United Nations of languages. Not here, just French, In fact we have never been to a place where so few people speak English (or are unwilling to do so). Good thing Jennifer and I decided to brush up on our depleted high school French using Duolingo.
A couple of days ago we entered what appeared to be a public building or information centre. After consuming an excess of coffee that morning I stood cross legged and asked “Parlez vous Anglais?” Reply “NON!” I blurted out “J’ai besoin des toilettes publiques”. To my great relief the lady pointed and replied “Derrière la poste”. Indeed there were free and spotlessly clean toilets across the square behind the Post Office. Result!
Despite our flamboyant use of phrases like “Enchante Madame” and “Bon après-midi Monsieur” we were busted by a guy from “La Belle Province”. He spotted Jennifer’s Tilley hat in the vast sea of French headgear (please see example, right). After his intial greeting “Canadien Eh?” his rural Quebec accent made his “English” almost as unintelligible as the local Creole.
One Comment
Tim
Glen, you are encountering la fraternité Internacional de la Francophonie! I’ve usually found that when travelling in Thailand, Japan, China, Taiwan, Venezuela, or Brazil, there’s still a willingness to try to “bridge” across the language gap. But in Quebéc, Paris, or the Loire valley, you are out of luck unless you make the first effort – and that’s what you did!
At root, there is of course an ancient animosité entre les Rosbif et les Frogs. And it has to be admitted that as a scarcely-cohesive group, los Angloparlantes are probably the real cause… We remain obstinately resistant to acquiring any ‘other’ language! Whether from Macclesfield, Montana, or Moosebreath, Manitoba, we tend to assume the rest of the world has acquired the lingua franca of Dickens, Chaucer, and Monty Python in readiness for our arrival, (or our urgent need for le toilette or el baño).
Well done!