French Lessons and Chocolate Cake

Comment dit? How do you say? Je ne comprend pas. I don’t understand. Comment ca secrit? How do you spell? Ummm. Desolé! Sorry! Ah oui! Yes! D’accord! I understand! Merci bien! Thanks a lot! Tu es tres gentil. You’re so kind. À la semaine prochaine. See you next week.

One evening in late March, I attended a sidewalk apéro twenty feet, six mètres from my front door. My husband and I were the only Americans, the only ones who didn’t speak French, and the only neighborhood renters in the group. To say we felt like imposters was putting it lightly. Arriving with a bottle of bourbon and a tray of chocolate mendiants, we were welcomed with friendly smiles and bonsoirs.

With only a couple weeks of French school in my repertoire, I could introduce myself, state where I was from, my hobbies, and why I moved to France. As basic as a toddler, but without the proper French accent. What I didn’t expect was the warm English that returned to me, genuine interest, hospitable glasses of wine, and hours of feeling included among my new French neighbors. A truly special moment for an immigrant.