That Time I Played Interpreter

So about three years ago now, (wow has it really been that long??) I flew to the South of France and stayed with a lovely family near the small town of La Ciotat. Patricia and Bernard (my wonderful host parents) ran a Bed and Breakfast out of their home and I helped out in a variety of ways; laundry, dishes, cleaning, etc.

Most guests were French and it was a great place to practice my language skills! However one evening over dinner Patricia mentioned that new guests would be arriving tomorrow, Americans.

What! Americans…in teeny tiny La Ciotat? What were the odds??

“Oui, donc j’ai besoin de toi d’être ici quand ils arrivent” Patricia continued.

Translation: “Yeah so I need you to be here when they arrive”.

I realized that what Patricia was really saying was that she would be adding “interpretation” to my list of duties.

It’s important to note that Patricia spoke English pretty well, not the best but not the worst. Especially considering she was from a small town in France and hadn’t taken English courses since school.

However, she still insisted I be there to help greet the Americans, which I found really cute and surprisingly relatable. I mean I’d been speaking almost exclusively French with the family and B&B guests for about a month. And the first week I’d barely understood anyone due to my lack of exposure to native speakers prior to the trip and the super bizarre Southern accent spoken there.

Thus I’d grown used to the slightly uncomfortable feeling I constantly had while speaking a second language with native speakers. I viewed Patricia as an authority on the French language, I guess I’d never considered she’d view me in the same light when it came to English.

The next afternoon I was cleaning up after lunch when I heard Patricia exclaim from the next room, “Sydney, les Américains arrivent!”

Sure enough a car had pulled up the drive and a middle aged couple was getting out. Patricia and I scrambled down from the kitchen to greet them.

“Bonjour!” the woman said.

“Parlez-vous français?” Patricia asked.

“Juste un petit peu” she answered.

“None at all” her husband followed up.

We proceeded to introduce ourselves and find out a bit more about them. Apparently they had a son who lived in Paris, and a house near Montpellier which they’d driven from to Venice and were now headed back.

As we prepared to show them to their room the woman asked where they should park the car. This was the first time (besides a few words when they were explaining their trip) that Patricia looked at me with wide eyes and confusion.

I jumped in to interpreter mode immediately “Où devraient-ils garer la voiture?”

“Oh!” Patricia said upon realizing their question, “là” as she pointed to the guest carport.

After the car had been parked and they’d put their bags away Patricia proceeded to show them around the property. As she spoke in English for the couple’s benefit she went slowly and occasionally made a grammatical or syntax mistake, but nothing impossible to understand.

She’d occasionally look to me for a word. “There is breakfast in the morning; fruit, cereal, juice, yogurt – “

“Coffee??” The woman asked hopefully.

“Yes, ummm….autant?” she looked at me.

“As much” I whispered the translation to her.

“Yes as much coffee as you want!” she proudly told the couple.

They then asked for lunch recommendations in town and Patricia looked at me a bit confused.

“Ils aimeraient des recommandations de déjeuner”.

“Oh!” Patricia exclaimed before rattling off a few names and using a map to explain location while I occasionally interjected for English clarifications.

This pattern continued for their stay; I’d quietly sit in the kitchen or nearby when they were around, ready to jump in whenever anyone or anything became lost in translation.

The funny thing was, I really wasn’t needed as much as Patricia seemed to think. The American woman spoke grade school level French and Patricia got by pretty well in English.

I think it was the confidence Patricia was mainly lacking, I mean she rarely spoke English on a day to day basis. Sure she practiced occasionally with me but there was always a crutch since I spoke French. This was one of the rare instances she was thrown in the deep end so to speak.

It was interesting for me since I too was a language learner, just more advanced than Patricia. I realized that I too had initially lacked that confidence when I landed in France earlier in the summer.

However, I hadn’t had a crutch since La Ciotat is a tiny town in the South of France that doesn’t draw too many Anglophone visitors, plus the entire family spoke French as a first language. I’d been immersed since day one, and had to throw any shyness away immediately unless I wanted to be known as the town mute.

I really hadn’t realized how important that was for my French language development until I observed Patricia and the Americans. She had all the tools, just no confidence. Not that I blame her for using me as a stand in interpreter, I’d probably do the same thing in her shoes!

Since I wasn’t given that option though I’d become more comfortable and more fluent in a shorter amount of time, and for that I’m forever grateful.

How about you? Have you ever been a default interpreter? Or been thrown in the deep end when learning a language? Comment below!