So, Montreal ended with some unnecessary drama.
Whilst overcome, it clearly indicated that my time there was up.
Having survived my time in “Preliminary France”, it was time to graduate to “Practice France” aka Quebec City (and the wider province, Quebec). Not for nothing is it the only province in Canada where the only official language is French. I’m not kidding – English is optional here.
The history of Quebec, separatism and Canada is a long and convoluted one steeped in acrimony and division
None of which is particularly relevant to a traveller, other than to understand the French contingent is proud, militant and uncompromising. And predominant.
If you’ve been to France, you’ll understand what I mean – without the benefit of speaking the native tongue, you are treated as somewhat of a second class citizen.
However, like in France, a few practices phrases can elevate you back into their good graces. From experience, of particular importance is the phrase:
“Excusez-moi, je parle un petit petit peu français. Je pratique, mais il est beaucoup plus facile pour moi en anglais. Parlez-vous anglais?”, which tranlsates to:
“Excuse me, I speak a very very small amount of French. I practice but it is much easier for me in English. Do you speak English?”
It elevates you from the sneered upon rabble who rely entirely on English and talking loudly, as well as indicating that you might understand a few words, therefore preventing people openly talking about you behind your back.
If you’re feeling confident, you can add the following:
“Si vous parlez lentement, je pourrais vous comprendre, mais je ne pourrais pas”, which means
“If you talk slowly I may understand you, but then again I may not”
<Editor’s note – the presence of any grammatical or language errors in the above cannot be ruled out. Also accents and other grammatical items have been omitted. Please use at your own discretion. Also, for any smartarses wanting to correct the grammar, well you can finish the rest >
However, be cautioned, by pursuing the second gambit, you may be faced with a native French speaker trying to make you understand an accent and articulation of basic French words that is impossible for anyone other than a native of these parts. Seriously, it’s not like they taught you in High School.
The Frenchness of Quebec was clearly evident on my first day.
Before leaving Montreal, I had unusually done a spot of research, perhaps inspired by the fringe festival fun I’d experienced.
Quebec was having it’s own comedy festival – Comedy Ha!.
Tickets to one of 4(?) gala events supposedly included the yellow glasses that allowed entry to all events, and where priced very reasonably, so I bought one online.
The event was to be held at the Grand Theatre de Quebec, on a Wednesday night. I arrived, and after finding Charlotte a park, and a very quick wander about Quebec old city (more on that later), I made my way to the theatre, where an excited crowd was growing. A preliminary drink allowed me to checkout the place – a modern, wonderful theatre on at least 3 levels.
This was going to be fun.
Perhaps the first warning came when the ticket checker told me in quite halting English that I was on the Mezzanine level on the other side of the building. I put the unease with the language down to Quebec’s French nature.
The second warning came when I couldn’t find my seat. I’d bought a front row seat on the mezzanine, Row Something Seat 7. So I counted 7 seats in and went to sit down.
Wrong.
Seat numbering here is done differently. I’m not convinced I have the system worked out, but after much confusion, questioning, and annoying other patrons, I think it starts at Seat 1 in the middle front row, the progresses to 2 in the row behind, 3 in the row behind that before snaking back to the front as 4, 5 and 6. You get the picture.
So, I’m finally seated, smack bang in the middle of the front row (front – 1,2,3 back, 4,5,6 front; 7 front)
My third warning came as the introductory warm ups, thank yous and announcements continued in French, without translation. Though puzzled, I figured that there was little point in doing them in both languages. Once the show started and the acts started their comedic adventures in English I’d be fine.
Nope.
You might have guessed by now, but this was a French comedy night, in French, for French speakers. The hosts came and opened the show entirely in French, before throwing to the first act, again entirely in French.
I understood about one word in 25. (That’s probably a generous estimate)
It was an interesting social experiment. Whilst there were a very few visual hints to help my understanding, I did find myself chuckling along with the crowd in a unusual version of peer pressure. Or was it more akin to the contagious yawning phenomenon?
I suppose it doesn’t matter. Sitting where I was, I was trapped – no chance to shuffle past the other front row seats to freedom without running the risk of being called out by one of the comedians, (let alone the inconvenience to the other patrons).
By my count 8 acts came and went, complete with linking bits from the hosts, before intermission came. A full 90 minutes of amost zero comprehension, without any other distraction to occupy my mind.
I must admit that although at first I had that sinking “oh no” feeling, as time went on, I settled in and actually quite enjoyed the challenge of trying to work out what was being poked fun at using non verbal cues (supplemented by my very limited French)
Though, it must be said, that as much as I “enjoyed” it, once intermission came, I hightailed it out of the theatre to go find a drink (in an English speaking pub).
What a wonderful introduction to Practice France.
Clearly I had been warned.
