''French, misguided American Girls and the other options out there''

Yes, the posters in high school said, the promised land has it all, all the splendor of life missing from ittle-bitty Jackson, Tennessee:

-Wine as a way of life, cheese as a dessert, fine art and people wanting to look at it, shopping and the vespas to help lug back the loot

Populating this land and filling it with the passion, love and romance you're missing are European dudes and dudettes somehow able to be both sensitive without being stale, cool without being clique-y; beautiful beaches and balconies and the associated Starcrossed Lovers and the Consumptive Geniuses chronicling them (or their own) ecstastic excesses. People that hold Baudelaire up just as high as they do the Clash.

But not only that, these posters say, you also get :

-world-renowned literature, cuisine, fashion, public transportation... the list goes on. Brigitte Bardot and Serge Gainsbourg -types on each corner.

AND, miraculously enough it's true. I've seen it with my own eyes. Kissed them lips! Of course, I'd say, Jackson Tennessee has many of those things, too, so long as you know where to look. If I've been to an Iranian feast there, I figure there's a great deal more hidden among the enormous walls of the gated communities and elsewhere than is apparent to the eye. But the point of what I'm writing today is, the question to ask yourself is: How do you get meaningful and worthwhile access to that Utopia?

And that matter of access becomes important when you're 13 and you're choosing which of the two you want to study, Spanish or French. You're a high school student and you want to experience the aforementioned things, too. SO to help you decide you visit the classroom. The Spanish homeroom has posters too but the portraits of Che, Frida and Frida's Man are missing that Euro-chic ... too strong of a whiff of revolution and socialism. You're looking for indulgence.

So you head to the French classroom. And it's all right there. You decide, this is the one for me. And, all across the US, most girls seem to sign up for French, dreaming of Bordeaux and baguettes. Most guys go for an easy grade, and a few are aware that Latin America has its own treasures worth pursuing, so they sign up for Spanish.



Having been there and done that, take a look at your French teacher. He/she's gotten access to the Continent, she's an insider. But don't be fooled: wave bye to her/him, go back down the hall and sit down at the front of the classroom there. The Spanish class is where you want to go. Then, study it hard so that when you go to college, you'll have a great base to learn the one you really want: Italiano.


Why not French? Cut to the chase, right? Shortest path between two points is a straight line. Well, that's a complicated question, but everything I said before, all those great provincial things somehow miraculously happens to be part of the Italian panorama, too, not just the French one. And, luckily, the people there are much more willing to share access to that lifestyle.

Lots of American high school girls have worked hard to master the language, to adopt France as their sovereign guide for living their life the European way, and most of them never get the satisfaction promised to them. Language-wise, people seem to flounder somewhere between Intermediate to Advanced and never are able to superate* that. Or, say you do, but you discover the dirty secret, that often it's not the sexy beautiful romantic gorgeous language that you'd heard it was. MY issue has been more, I've learned from nonnative people who have studied both that a person can be good in French or in English but not both. Excelling at one comes at the cost of the other. That is closely related to the same problem that has haunted me, of how it's not removed quite far enough from English for it to be able to stick.

Similarly, the social aspects of trying to get access:

You're walking towards Paris with your arms wide open, only to find when you get close that it is hugging itself, hands buried in the crooks of its elbows and facing the other direction! And you're so blinded and hurt by this, you don't see that the rest of France is still virgin territory** and it's watching you go through this process, its arms open wide and making beckoning motions-- ''we don't get tourists 'round dese parts, z'etes bienvenues ici''-- but malgré you, you're already back on the plane with your ego bruised.

Italy, on the other hand, is around the corner and is standing there alongside Statale 25, eager to hand you the keys and the helmet to your own Vespa, AND waiting for you to come so you can both head South together. For those lucky few that still are fighting for what was promised them back in French 101, off you go to Italy, down towards glory, you in the driver's seat and him/her behind you, arms wrapped around your chest and the sunset off to your right framed by the port of Riomaggiore.

Sure, Italy doesn't have Proust, but those artifacts--from a France that no longer is-- have been universally consumed and have been made their own in Italy. Maybe in the '30's it was useful to know French if you were interested in being among the avant guarde, but that was quite a long time ago and both seem to have not contributed to high culture since Warhol/Botero took it back over to our side of the pond, NYC and Latin America, in the '70's.

A real-life example of this : a friend of mine at the Sorbonne still gets shut-out and dissed for not speaking absolutely flawless French, and in a way her relationship to her adopted homeland has become a passive-agressive one, with an unhealthy dose of ''trying to prove my worth to them.'' Again, not everyone is surrounded by the Parisian Ecole 'Normal' Superior elites, nor is everyone in France a P.E.N.S.*** but... Still.

By stark contrast, Italian people are surprised when anyone other than them has studied their language, and often react joyfully, even to the point of helping you. Not everyone, of course, but often enough to keep your motivation going, to help you along towards the Eat Pray Love -ish Utopia you're seeking. And Italian words seem to me more able to stick in my brain, and yeah maybe it looks a little unwieldy/ugly/confusing on paper at first (until you get the accent down, something that ain't so tough to do). Not at all like a good French accent.

Likewise, both are concerned with looks, a lot more than us Americans for sure, but in Italy it's not the be-all-end-all. That makes a difference.

Let's back up : does this seem that I'm telling you to forget the fantasy of learning French and being accepted into French culture? Or, worse, to settle for less before you even begin? No. IT's more: love the one that loves you back, and it's: think of the value you're getting with the amount of effort you're putting in, as well as to remember that France doesn't have a monopoly on European whimsy and charm.



The French version just seemingly demands lifetime devotion before you're accepted, and the ones that are willing to do that end up making a career out of it, up to the PhD level. Whereas, Italy can pay big dividends with just a passing interest and it is willing to accept a more realistic amount of dedication required of you before you're 'in'.

This came from considering how, of the people I've known, a lot more of those who focus on Italy and Italian have found their dreams come true, rather than the many who focus on French and have their heart broken when they are unable to self-actualize into Amelie, or the man into Jacques Brel****.

*a real English word

**In the same way here that we say, there's the United States and there's Texas, they should say the same.. there's France and there's Paris

*** did you catch the penis joke? say it out loud and you'll get it.

****Not a Parisian nor a Frenchman, I should point out, and maybe that's partly why I adore him.

P.S. But-- here's the fine print--I'd say, do both. Noone's making you choose at all! And learning one actually complements the other, 'faire' and 'fare', etc.