Learn French

My first real geography lesson in France didn’t happen in a classroom. It happened on a hiking trail in the Alps when a French friend said: On remonte encore un peu la vallée /ɔ̃ ʁə.mɔ̃t ɑ̃.kɔʁ ɛ̃ pø la va.le/ — “We’re going a bit further up the valley.” I heard: “We’re going a bit […]

The first time someone in Paris asked me Tu viens d’où ? /ty vjɛ̃ du/ — where are you from? — my brain did a small crash. I knew how to say France /fʁɑ̃s/, I sort of knew français /fʁɑ̃.sɛ/, but I panicked and answered: “Je suis… fromage.” Good news: talking about countries, nationalities, and

The first time a French friend asked me: Tu connais des pays francophones en Afrique ? /ty kɔ.nɛ de pɛ.i fʁɑ̃.kɔ.fɔn ɑ̃ na.fʁik/ — “Do you know any French-speaking countries in Africa?” …I proudly answered something like: “Euh… France? Canada? And… Paris?” He looked at me, very gently, the way you look at a confused

The first time someone asked me Quelle heure est-il ? /kɛl œʁ e.til/ — what time is it? — I froze. I knew my numbers. I knew heure /œʁ/ meant “hour”. But my brain panicked and I proudly answered: “Il est vingt heure deux…” in the middle of the afternoon. Good news: telling time in

The first time I tried to make small talk about the weather in France, I proudly announced in a café that I loved l’été /le.te/ — summer — as snow fell gently outside. Everyone stared at me, then at the window, then back at the yak. Someone kindly asked: “Tu veux dire l’hiver ?” —

The first time I tried to talk about months in French, I proudly told a Parisian friend that I was coming en juillet /ɑ̃ ʒɥi.jɛ/ — in July. Small detail: my ticket was for janvier /ʒɑ̃.vje/ — January. I was very cold, very early, and very aware that months are not just vocabulary; they are

The first time I tried to book a haircut in French, I proudly told the hairdresser I was free mercredi /mɛʁ.kʁə.di/ — Wednesday. Except I actually meant mardi /maʁ.di/ — Tuesday. She nodded, I nodded, we both smiled… and I showed up a full day early like a very confused yak. French jours de la

I still remember my first French karaoke night in Lyon. I thought I was ready. I’d looked up La vie en rose /la vi ɑ̃ ʁoz/ — “life in pink/rosy life” — and practised quietly in my yak corner. On stage, I opened my mouth… and produced something halfway between French and a dying accordion.

The first time I tried to laugh at a blague /blaɡ/ — joke — in French, I was in a noisy bar in Lyon. Everyone laughed, I smiled, nodded… and had absolutely no idea why it was funny. Later, a friend explained the joke, the pun, and the double meaning, and suddenly it went from

On my first week in Paris, I survived on exactly three phrases: bonjour /bɔ̃.ʒuʁ/, pardon /paʁ.dɔ̃/, and the panicked désolé /de.zɔ.le/ I yelled every time I bumped into someone on the métro. Then one day a baker smiled and said: Ça marche ? /sa maʁʃ/ — “Sound good?” I had no idea what he meant,