When I was 17 my family visited France. One night in a restaurant in the Loire Valley, I summoned up my high-school French and ordered poulain, assuming it was some kind of chicken. The snooty garcon was quick to put me in my place: Does mademoiselle know she has ordered horsemeat? Mademoiselle did not.
Fast forward 40 years to another family holiday, this time in Paris with my own children. Holding my own this time with the serveur, I asked if there were any organic wines sans preservatifs. He smiled and explained that preservatif is French for condom. I took it as a small victory that the waiter laughed with me this time, not at me.
Yet despite all the faux pas, I persist. I gave my French a red-hot go on that last trip to Paris, even managed a discussion of the pension age with a very forgiving cab driver. What I lacked in fluency, I made up for in enthusiasm and hand gestures.
To have a second language is to possess a second soul Charlemagne. It's satisfying when you can bridge the language divide but beyond the practicalities of communication there are other reasons not to give up French: It opens the door to French culture, history, politics, film and literature.
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