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At a loss for luggage and words
When an American couple's bags went missing after a flight to France, the education in cultural differences began.
By Jerry Lansonfrom the May 16, 2007 edition
Page 1 of 2
AIX-EN-PROVENCE, France - The challenges of communicating across language and culture can prove quite formidable.
My wife, Kathy, and I were reminded of this when my cousins arrived in Marseille from Norfolk, Va., for a week's visit. They were three hours late and without luggage. After nearly 20 hours en route and an all-night flight, they handled their predicament with grace – but perhaps a bit too much speed of tongue for Air France's baggage managers.
In English, they described their lost luggage and called twice the next day, trying politely to encourage the airlines to expand the cryptic message – "tracing continues" – on its lost luggage website. No success.
Finally, 40 hours later, my cousin Steve asked for an Air France supervisor. Could the airlines possibly list the contents of their bags on its lost-luggage website, he asked, repeating a request he had made three previous times in conversations with the airline's baggage department. Then, once again he patiently described the bags down to the frayed ribbon tied on one.
This time, within minutes, the website was alerting baggage handlers worldwide to look for Steve's "knickers" and Hazel's "music stamp."
Progress, certainement. But we weren't sure the note would help someone who stumbled across either Steve's two pairs of sneakers or his wife's music stand. The lost luggage handlers appeared to be just that.
After three months' immersion in French culture, I stifled a smile. My cousins seemed trapped in the strange dance of pride and language that on occasion can botch the most basic exchanges between cultures. I even felt a certain sympathy for the Air France agent's logic: Is it not better to write "music stamp" than to confess that I don't know this thing he talks about? And why can't these Americans learn to speak French, anyway?
So when Steve allowed me to call Air France corporate headquarters, I tried a bit of bumbling charm.
"Je suis désolé à vous déranger," I began, apologizing for disturbing the airline's corporate communications office and – I hoped – demonstrating enough bad French to gain sympathy points.
Marie in corporate called back to assure me that Air France's tracking system was quite faible – or so I thought.
"It's weak?" I asked, flipping through the few pages in my mind's highly abridged French dictionary.
As I began to agree, she saved me considerable embarrassment. "Mais non, not faible, fia-ble, reli, relia...."
"Reliable?" I asked.
"Yes, very reliable."
Marie stumbled again as I slowly read the luggage tracking number in English. Her English, it seemed, rivaled my French.
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