Few things are as alluring as a French girl’s accent when speaking English. (Likewise, it’s hard to imagine an unpopular French girl in America.) I have a friend in France named Carine Veugeois, and the two or three times we have spoken on the phone, I beg her to say “Carine Veugeois” over and over again. I can’t hear it enough. It’s great. It’s probably why she asks me not to call anymore.
But actual French as spoken in France and here in Switzerland is surprisingly different. It can sound awfully coarse and harsh. It may just be all context, as what would I mostly hear on the streets but the loudest, most boorish, least mellifluous people?
You’d think that all the smoking would give their voices a nice, dusky, Tom Waits quality, but it’s hit and miss. I contend the dour black clothes adversely influences the speech, too, or maybe it’s my mood when it’s 28C(82F) outside and people are dressed like they are going to spend the weekend in a cave.
Switzerland might be the only country I ever have visited where I have no idea what the exchange rate is. Well, I have an idea, as it was about 1 franc = $1.20 three months ago when I was here last, but I haven’t checked it since. All I know is that a dollar is worth less than a franc, which is enough to put me in a near-catatonic stupor looking at Swiss supermarket prices.
I’m thankful I have the chance to cook. If I had to count on a “deal” like this every day from a fast food restaurant, not even hearing “Carine Veugeois” multiple times would cheer me up.