On 8/25/2020 6:35 AM, NY wrote:
"Commander Kinsey" wrote in message
newsp.0pvpqhsawdg98l@glass...
I first realised that I shouldn't *always* believe everything they
said when
a new French teacher taught us the year after I started learning
French. The
first French teacher had told us that the French for "curtains" was
"drapeaux", whereas the correct word is "rideaux". "Drapeaux" means
flags.
The new teacher has one of those "Hmmm. I shall have to have words
with Mr
previous teacher" moments...

On my first holiday in France I manged to ask for a loaf of Champagne.
The baker laughed her head off then gave me a pronounciation lesson.

That's better than the typical Parisian's response which is to feign
complete ignorance of what you are trying to say, instead of trying to
work with you to work out what you want.

The other year when we were in Hamburg, my wife fancied crepes, so we
found a stall in the Christmas market that was selling them. The woman
didn't speak English (one of the few that didn't - I'm ashamed to say
that in general their English was a lot better than my German). My wife
wondered whether they did lemon-juice and sugar. "Sugar" and "juice", I
knew ("Zucker" and "Saft"), but WTF was the word for "lemon"? "Limon"?
No. "Ein gelbes Frucht - etwa zehn Centimeter lang" (a yellow fruit,
about 10 cm long) did the trick. "Ah, Zitrone!" she cried with glee. At
least I didn't have to mime a "sucking a lemon" face! Sadly she didn't
have a Jif lemon, after all that. But I won't forget that word now.

In 1967, as a poor student trying to vacation in Paris on $5/day, of
course I was doing my laundry in the sink. I had never practiced this
at home and soon found out the difficulties of trying to use the tea
wafer sized bar of soap provided by the 1/2 star "hotel" I was staying
at. On the corner was a typical European neighborhood grocery store, 8'
wide, and literally stacked to the ceiling with dark shelves containing
everything from dried cereal to toilet cleaner. I was looking for a
small bottle of Woolite but saw nothing that might substitute. Not
knowing French, I asked the battle-axe behind the counter, "do you have
any Woolite?" My answer was a disgusted look look of scorn at the
savage across the counter who didn't know French, and didn't know that
it was mandatory to begin all conversations with a cheery "Bon Jour!".
Suddenly, behind her, I spotted a small bottle of Woolite and pointed to
it, saying "Woolite, Woolite!" She continued to grimace at me, seeming
intent not to try to understand. Of course, the remedy in those
situations is just to repeat yourself louder and point more
dramatically. "WOOLITE, OVER THERE!". She finally turned around, saw
what I was pointing to, and exclaimed, "Ah, Whooooleeete" [phonetic
spelling to imitate her correct, French accent]. She picked up the
bottle, slammed it onto the counter, and then I'm sure charged me at
least double the normal price for her bother. Those were the days!