After 150 days on Duolingo, I put my French to the ultimate test

PARIS – One language, 150 days. That was the challenge I took on when I found out that I was going to the Paris Olympics: to be fluent in French by the time I got there.

Ambitious? Yes, very. I have struggled with Mandarin, a language I studied for 12 years as part of my formal education, and now I was trying to pick up French in a matter of months.

Save for a few words like “bonjour” (hello) and some from – I am ashamed to admit this – the Netflix show Emily in Paris, I barely knew any French.

So I turned to the language app Duolingo in my bid to master it.

I was excited to start this journey. For one, French is one of the most romantic-sounding languages in the world.

But more importantly, knowing the local lingo would add to the experience of being in Paris, to fully immerse in the culture and assimilate with its residents – as much as 17 days would allow.

I flew through lessons in my quest, giving me false hope that I had a flair for it.

But I was soon handed a reality check as the lessons got harder. It began to feel more like a chore, and the only thing that kept me going was maintaining my streak on the app.

Over the next 150 days, I picked up some practical phrases along with some more off-beat ones like “Are you a horse?”

Perhaps Duolingo thought it might come in useful for covering equestrian, or, worse, getting my press accreditation revoked. For those who are curious, it is: Tu es un cheval?

Would I be good enough to survive the streets of Paris, or to be a horse whisperer? I was not confident but after months of daily lessons on the app, it was time to put my French to the test.

Shortly after arriving in Paris, I faced my first linguistic challenge – pronouncing the name of the metro station, Neuilly Port Maillot, where the Main Press Centre is located.

My pronunciation drew confused looks from the station staff and we eventually resorted to pointing to the station on the map in order to buy the train tickets. After this shaky start, there was some inertia to even attempt speaking the language, for fear of butchering words and appearing silly.

It was clear that my French was not going to cut it when a photojournalist from Chinese-language newspaper Lianhe Zaobao and I tried to communicate with police officers while attempting to cross a bridge from the metro station to our hotel.

It was the day of the opening ceremony and security was tight, especially following

a “coordinated sabotage” to train services

that morning.

After a few minutes of attempting to explain in a mix of botched French and Google Translate that we were just trying to get to our hotel, we were told to find another way around.

But for the most part, everyone I have come across so far has been accommodating and patient – even those who are not fluent in English have attempted to communicate either through gestures or translation apps.

I have since learnt to keep it simple with words like bonjour and merci (thank you).

My French is far from what I had hoped it would be, but I will take the small victories, like being able to recognise some words on restaurant menus and in supermarkets.

Maybe I will be able to string together a proper sentence by the time the Olympics are over. If not, perhaps there’s a horse show I can visit next time I’m in town.