A longtime dream of mine has been to become fluent in French. I have felt an attachment to the language my whole life. When my brother Ron, in his schoolboy French, sang the Beatles’, “Michelle,” to me, I swooned. Could I ever make those beautiful sounds, my 12-year-old self wondered?
I studied French all through high school. I even worked in France off and on over the course of a year. I could read it (sort of), but speaking was a problem. I came to think that immersion was going to be the only way to even flirt with fluency.
Now, I find myself in the country for three months surrounded by Francophone speakers. However, I want to enjoy the company of my fellow Anglophones, as socializing is important too. The ex-pat community has been spectacular in their welcome. I have appreciated every minute of their generous invitations to meals, museums, pétanque, and the like. Long may those get-togethers continue!
However, as do many, if not most, in the ex-pat community, I want to learn the language of the locals. We are, after all, in their country. At present, I am investigating classes, which will be helpful. But immersion is there for me if I am willing to reach for it. One pre-Covid thought had been to join a choral group. Another, to be a regular at a Montpellier café, where, at the time, swing dancing was offered. One meets all kinds of people at such venues. Of course, both these activities are now anathema. What could be worse than singing and dancing in a time of Covid?
To the rescue: a sport picked up during the pandemic, Pickleball! Playing would involve socializing, exercising, and hopefully picking up a few words of the language. I could practice my numbers (the score), learn how to express disappointment (when the ball landed out), and the opposite (when an impossible shot succeeded)! I had been unable, however, to locate courts in Montpellier. Through researching Pickleball in France, I discovered that Port Camargue, a lovely, seaside town, had such a club. At a mere half-hour’s drive away, I decided to check it out, and spend the weekend there in the bargain.
I arrived at my hotel Saturday morning and was immediately struck by the odd sight of the guests wandering about in their bathrobes. Ahh, the spa was the thing in this hotel, and it was clearly popular. I checked in and had a bracelet affixed to my wrist to attest to proof of vaccination when in the restaurant, lobby, workout room, etc.
Port Camargue was a treat, very quiet (it’s 38 degrees in the mornings, highs in the low 50’s, not exactly high season). There is a long stretch of lovely beach (Plage Espiguette), with fine sand and waves that lap gently at the shore. Kitesurfing is big.
If pressed to describe the town’s architecture, I’d have to go with…Late Royal Caribbean. With a little imagination, one could see these buildings floating away, given the opportunity.
But, I digress. I needed to get to the pickleball courts by 2:30. After a half hour’s walk, I arrived at the Club and spotted the players. I was immediately welcomed (as anyone in the U.S. would be; it’s an extremely sociable sport). It made no difference that my communication skills were limited. All were good-natured and there to have fun. Those I primarily played with (in doubles) were Robert (a Dutchman), Karen (a Frenchwoman), and Jean-Michel (a Frenchman). We were all friends immediately; I was thrilled the first time my partner “tutoyer’ed” me, with a “Vas-y,” as in, “Go for it!” To tutoyer someone is to address a person informally, using tu, rather than the more formal vous. It was such a pleasure to hear, as I normally exist in the world of vous. We parted with, “à la prochaine fois,” which I’m going to consider an invitation. Oui, I’ll be back.