The First Hurdle, Language

My family arrived Friday afternoon to the U QUAM dorms. Bustling students were unloading cars and bidding farewells to their families. Here I was in Montreal embarking on my first study abroad experience and I could not wait to explore the city. With energy and enthusiasm high I joined orientation students in a dinner at a local sports bar, went shopping for groceries with my family, and attended an NHL game at the Bell Center. Initially I had worried that I would feel out of place and lost in a city that spoke English as a second language, and in a world where the names on street signs sound like the names of fancy pastries. My parents do not speak French at all, yet in their company I felt no pressure to interact with native Montrealers. Yet when my family pulled into traffic and out of sight on Saturday evening I began to feel that tingle of nerves in the pit of my stomach.

I was now officially on my own. No one else was going to hold my hand the way parents do when they coo over what kitchen towels are needed or wither five tubes of toothpaste will last me the semester. It wasn’t that I had no interest in delving headfirst into the culture of Montreal. I had plugged the cities name into Google many times before in order to get a heads up on what's going and what to expect. It wasn’t the thought of venturing out my own to a restaurant and sitting alone in a corner booth. I had my good friend Kellie to act as my partner in crime and thousands of other U QUAM students and about 30 other Champlain College students to do that. My main fear, the one that keeps my mouth shut when buying gum at the corner convenience store, is not knowing the language.

Silently, I go over a phrase I picked up from the French for Dummies book my mother bought for me at Boarders before I departed. A simple phrase even, one that may translate to “where is the restroom” or “may I please have a cup of coffee.” is too much to muster in my awful American accent. I fear putting the wrong emphasis on the wrong syllable, and saying “Oooo” instead of “Ouuuu.” I fear the flush of embarrassment when a French Canadian hears their butchered language. Kellie, my suite mate, is much more fluent in the language than I. Cabbies instantly warm up to her friendly attempts at conversation. She does make mistakes at times, as any high school level French student would. Yet what I have noticed this far is that native Montrealers are thrilled to hear an attempt at their language than nothing at all.

My most brazen moment so far has been at lunch time this past afternoon. Kellie and I joined the friends of some friends from back home at Saint Huberts, a chain restaurant popular in Quebec. Each was a native of Montreal, though they had also spent years in Toronto, an English speaking part of Canada, as well. Before the complimentary coleslaw even landed on the table the conversation was flickering between English and French as easily as a scanning radio station. I could pick up few words here and there in French, but not much. Ryan, the oldest at the table with a scruffy beard and small square glasses heard me mumble to Kellie about not understanding items on the menu. “You want chicken fingers?” he said and as I nodded he turned to the waitress and repeated my order in French. The waitress left the table and conversation flowed on in the strange mix of English and French. It seemed to be that from then on if I wanted anything from the waitress, Ryan was my designated translator. I never even had a chance to try a phrase Kellie whispered to me about how to say “Check” or “More water please.” I hated that, being so depended on someone else to do something as simple as place an order in a restaurant.

After today's lunch I have my first goal for the semester. Learn French and learn it well! I recognize that learning the language is my ticket to digging deeper into the French speaking worrld of Canada. Family cannot go to the fishmart and order a filet of salmon for me anymore. This time I am really on my own. In a way I can’t wait to get rolling. Ready, set, go!
--b--