The RER? I can't resist

OK, even if we do learn the language, Annette and I can't resist the look on the face of French folks when we mispronounce the name of their beloved metro system - the RER, which they pronounce "Air-e-Air." The hard 'ar sound that Americans apply to the letter R is like fingernails on a chalkboard to a Frenchman. Watch them wince when you ask, "Excuse me, where is the "Arr-EEE-Arrr!?"

Annette and I have a friend from France, and we asked him if we mispronounced RER by blurting "Arr-EEE-Arr!" A very polite, dear man, he softly shook his head and replied through his pained face, "We would not say that way..."

Shall we learn a language?

Imagine a German visits America, then begins speaking in Deutsch to someone on the street in say, Duluth. This visitor then acts bewildered, upset, and even rude that the U.S. citizen doesn’t respond in the teutonic tongue. Most Americans probably would – rightfully so – bust the clueless tourist in the mouth.

Now let’s say large groups of loud, obnoxious Italians begin visiting Minneapolis every year. They’re decked out in soccer garb, drinking like fish, demanding directions (in their native Italia) to Target Field, Mall of America, or the Guthrie Theatre, and they return in droves year after year. We probably wouldn’t have much time for Italians anymore, would we?

OK, the French have their flaws. Charles de Gaulle was an unapreciative arse, their love of Jerry Lewis is baffling, and their arrogant attitude precedes them. I get all that. (Two can’t-pass-this-up asides: Did you hear why France agreed to the tunnel beneath the English Channel? To make it easier for the French government to flee to London. Also, I understand that for travelers, France is a safe country, even though it is occassionally invaded by Germans.)

All that aside, Annette and I traveled to Paris for a few days in the late 1990s and – other than one prick waiter – found most Parisians to be at least helpful and some even congenial. We wore dark clothes, spoke in relatively quiet, respectful tones, and generally attempted to ask questions in French. We said, “Merci beaucoup” a lot.
Parisians have been dealing with the scenario outlined in the first paragraph for 100 years. So when most Americans walk up expecting French citizens to speak in our language, not theirs, one might understand how irritating sentiments toward us could develop. Riding on the RER, we saw a few groups of baseball cap-sporting, “College”-sweatshirt wearing, loud groups of Americans, and yeah, they clearly irritated the French people around them. Guess what? They irritated me, too.

Onto the point of this blog. (It sometimes takes a while to wade through the editorial comments… sorry.) I’m thinking of taking a serious crack at learning French. Annette and I have kicked this Rosetta Stone thing around for her, so maybe we’ll both try it. Though I’m confident in my abilities to get around Europe with English, immersing myself in a language beforehand can’t hurt, and it probably will improve the overall experience. If it leaves a few Europeans with the impression of an American trying to pass quietly and respectfully through their culture, all the better.