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The fishy is right. As usual.
This post started in a Making Light thread:
From 63, on French and Spanish:
When I was in Paris, nine years ago, I took a sidetrip to the Museum of French Prehistory (which runs from the Paleolithic to early CE). It's in a suburb, and I carefully looked up the price and worked out the French for "one round-trip ticket to St. Germain en Laye" before walking up to the ticket counter. [I speak little French now, and had less then.] From the rail station, it's a short walk to an old castle (complete with moat, though grassy rather than watery).
I was one of only a few people visiting the museum that day: it's not a big deal tourist destination, and this was on a weekday morning in late November. There isn't a word of English in the place, but plenty of stone points and such, and significant overlap between French and English archeological terminology. When I was basically done and went back to the cloakroom, another visitor was trying to communicate with the staff. When I came along, she looked at me and hopefully asked "Habla usted español?" and, accurately and without thinking, I said "oui."
She understood that much French, or maybe my tone, and I was able to help her a little with my high school Spanish.
[That's as much as I posted on ML.]
I think that was when I realized that I have a spot in my head that is tagged either "non-English" or "Romance language." It defaults to Spanish, but a few days in Paris or Montreal sets it to French, and it stays there for a bit after I'm back in New York.
That museum trip was serendipitous in another way: the town was holding a Christmas market between the museum and the railroad station, and I wandered around, bought I think a handmade blank book and some Swiss chocolates (indifferent, I'm afraid) and then went looking for lunch. I walked into a sandwich shop, and ordered a turkey sandwich on a baguette. By default, it came with lettuce, tomato, and mayonaise. Until that day, I had thought I didn't like mayonaise, because no ordinary American sandwich shop makes it up fresh shortly before serving. It's one thing to be told that there's a difference, another to taste it. I still avoid mayo in most places, because I don't like the jarred version (except on BLT sandwiches, where it seems appropriate).
From 63, on French and Spanish:
When I was in Paris, nine years ago, I took a sidetrip to the Museum of French Prehistory (which runs from the Paleolithic to early CE). It's in a suburb, and I carefully looked up the price and worked out the French for "one round-trip ticket to St. Germain en Laye" before walking up to the ticket counter. [I speak little French now, and had less then.] From the rail station, it's a short walk to an old castle (complete with moat, though grassy rather than watery).
I was one of only a few people visiting the museum that day: it's not a big deal tourist destination, and this was on a weekday morning in late November. There isn't a word of English in the place, but plenty of stone points and such, and significant overlap between French and English archeological terminology. When I was basically done and went back to the cloakroom, another visitor was trying to communicate with the staff. When I came along, she looked at me and hopefully asked "Habla usted español?" and, accurately and without thinking, I said "oui."
She understood that much French, or maybe my tone, and I was able to help her a little with my high school Spanish.
[That's as much as I posted on ML.]
I think that was when I realized that I have a spot in my head that is tagged either "non-English" or "Romance language." It defaults to Spanish, but a few days in Paris or Montreal sets it to French, and it stays there for a bit after I'm back in New York.
That museum trip was serendipitous in another way: the town was holding a Christmas market between the museum and the railroad station, and I wandered around, bought I think a handmade blank book and some Swiss chocolates (indifferent, I'm afraid) and then went looking for lunch. I walked into a sandwich shop, and ordered a turkey sandwich on a baguette. By default, it came with lettuce, tomato, and mayonaise. Until that day, I had thought I didn't like mayonaise, because no ordinary American sandwich shop makes it up fresh shortly before serving. It's one thing to be told that there's a difference, another to taste it. I still avoid mayo in most places, because I don't like the jarred version (except on BLT sandwiches, where it seems appropriate).
This post started in a Making Light thread:
From 63, on French and Spanish:
When I was in Paris, nine years ago, I took a sidetrip to the Museum of French Prehistory (which runs from the Paleolithic to early CE). It's in a suburb, and I carefully looked up the price and worked out the French for "one round-trip ticket to St. Germain en Laye" before walking up to the ticket counter. [I speak little French now, and had less then.] From the rail station, it's a short walk to an old castle (complete with moat, though grassy rather than watery).
I was one of only a few people visiting the museum that day: it's not a big deal tourist destination, and this was on a weekday morning in late November. There isn't a word of English in the place, but plenty of stone points and such, and significant overlap between French and English archeological terminology. When I was basically done and went back to the cloakroom, another visitor was trying to communicate with the staff. When I came along, she looked at me and hopefully asked "Habla usted español?" and, accurately and without thinking, I said "oui."
She understood that much French, or maybe my tone, and I was able to help her a little with my high school Spanish.
[That's as much as I posted on ML.]
I think that was when I realized that I have a spot in my head that is tagged either "non-English" or "Romance language." It defaults to Spanish, but a few days in Paris or Montreal sets it to French, and it stays there for a bit after I'm back in New York.
That museum trip was serendipitous in another way: the town was holding a Christmas market between the museum and the railroad station, and I wandered around, bought I think a handmade blank book and some Swiss chocolates (indifferent, I'm afraid) and then went looking for lunch. I walked into a sandwich shop, and ordered a turkey sandwich on a baguette. By default, it came with lettuce, tomato, and mayonaise. Until that day, I had thought I didn't like mayonaise, because no ordinary American sandwich shop makes it up fresh shortly before serving. It's one thing to be told that there's a difference, another to taste it. I still avoid mayo in most places, because I don't like the jarred version (except on BLT sandwiches, where it seems appropriate).
From 63, on French and Spanish:
When I was in Paris, nine years ago, I took a sidetrip to the Museum of French Prehistory (which runs from the Paleolithic to early CE). It's in a suburb, and I carefully looked up the price and worked out the French for "one round-trip ticket to St. Germain en Laye" before walking up to the ticket counter. [I speak little French now, and had less then.] From the rail station, it's a short walk to an old castle (complete with moat, though grassy rather than watery).
I was one of only a few people visiting the museum that day: it's not a big deal tourist destination, and this was on a weekday morning in late November. There isn't a word of English in the place, but plenty of stone points and such, and significant overlap between French and English archeological terminology. When I was basically done and went back to the cloakroom, another visitor was trying to communicate with the staff. When I came along, she looked at me and hopefully asked "Habla usted español?" and, accurately and without thinking, I said "oui."
She understood that much French, or maybe my tone, and I was able to help her a little with my high school Spanish.
[That's as much as I posted on ML.]
I think that was when I realized that I have a spot in my head that is tagged either "non-English" or "Romance language." It defaults to Spanish, but a few days in Paris or Montreal sets it to French, and it stays there for a bit after I'm back in New York.
That museum trip was serendipitous in another way: the town was holding a Christmas market between the museum and the railroad station, and I wandered around, bought I think a handmade blank book and some Swiss chocolates (indifferent, I'm afraid) and then went looking for lunch. I walked into a sandwich shop, and ordered a turkey sandwich on a baguette. By default, it came with lettuce, tomato, and mayonaise. Until that day, I had thought I didn't like mayonaise, because no ordinary American sandwich shop makes it up fresh shortly before serving. It's one thing to be told that there's a difference, another to taste it. I still avoid mayo in most places, because I don't like the jarred version (except on BLT sandwiches, where it seems appropriate).
.