UPDATE 6/17/108 re: le dictée
It’s really hard to understand spoken French.
I don’t understand spoken Spanish at all well, either, but still. With Spanish, it seems like I could understand a person speaking Spanish if I put my mind to it. Which I intend to do the minute I get back to the U.S. All these years studying Spanish, off and on, and still not fluent — arrgghh.
French is a different kettle of fish.
Ed says the rule he was taught for speaking French was: pronounce the first half of each word, then move on.
That sounds about right to me.
The upshot is that an awful lot of words in spoken French sound exactly like other words in spoken French.
Apparently this is a problem for French children, too, which French teachers address through the practice of dictée.
I recall someone telling me, years ago, that the reason schoolchildren in France write dictées every day is that it gives them practice using context to discern the meaning of words and phrases that sound exactly alike.
e.g. If you hear toi, has the speaker said toi, trois, or toit? A child writing a dictée has to figure it out.
Looking up web pages devoted to dictées today, however, I mostly see talk of improving one’s spelling and vocabulary.
Nevertheless, I assume the original explanation is right, seeing as how neither English- nor Spanish-speaking nations boast a two hundred-year tradition of dictating text to schoolchildren for transcription. (Maybe we should ?)
The reason we don’t have dictées in English and Spanish, I presume, is that most of the time, in English and Spanish, different words sound different. At least, I think they do.
Anyway, long story short, I’m not understanding a lot of spoken French.
Neanmois, as our hostess said last night–and as I understood her to say, thanks to my 120-day streak on Duolingo and my 100-something-day streak on Lingvist–I’ve been able to pick up a few words of spoken French here and there.
Last night, for instance: Ça va bien ?
The instant I heard those words, I knew exactly what they meant !
Is it better ?
But then, after the initial thrill of comprehension, I was lost.
Is it better ?
Is what better ?
My French, you mean ?
Is my French better ?
Ça va bien = Are you feeling better ? (I had been sick with some kind of deadly tour-bus recirculated-air virus when we arrived.)
Then there was the aforementioned neanmoins, which popped out of the word stream. I heard neanmois clear as a bell, no doubt because it was the first word in our hostess’s sentence.
Another satisfying moment: when we got here and were being instructed on the workings of the apartment we’re living in, I flat-out got the phrase “la poubelle.”
La poubelle !
I knew at once, without further ado, that the owner was about to show me how to take out the trash. That moment of simple comprehension was highly satisfying, and I have Duolingo to thank for it.
Then tonight, in the restaurant, I picked up two repeated expressions from the table over by the wall:
Donald Trump !
And that was all I got.
Donald Trump. Singapore.1
Ed tells me the French (all of the French?) are furious about tariffs and the proposed trade war.2
I’m completely agnostic on the subject of what French people should or should not feel re: tariffs, the proposed trade war, Donald Trump, and Singapore. I just wish I could eavesdrop in French.
Bonus points, re: Trump:
Idiot or genius: In the head of Donald Trump
His success, his bluffs, his excesses, his troubles
And here is Brigitte Macron, photographed standing in 4-inch heels.
A couple of years ago, Ed, Chris, and I flew to Chicago for a wedding, where, the day before the ceremony, I bought a pair of 4-inch heels. I had never owned a pair of 4-inch heels in my life; I had never so much as tried on a pair of 4-inch heels.
Turns out there is apparently a critical period for learning to stand and walk in 4-inch heels, and I had missed it by several decades. Chris said I looked like a baby giraffe.
I spent the wedding party in bare feet, and the next day we exchanged the shoes for a more manageable pair with 3-inch heels.
So, Brigitte Macron — hats off