You know the saying: “Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.” In French, you’ll most often hear the cautionary half: « La curiosité est un vilain défaut. » If you’re Team-Curiosity (hi, it’s me), there’s also the friendlier « La curiosité est mère de la science. » And for those of us who won’t stop poking around until things make sense: « Qui cherche trouve. »
There isn’t a fixed French tag-on for “but satisfaction brought it back,” so when I over-investigate a café pastry or a bus timetable, I cheerfully improvise: « …mais la satisfaction l’a sauvé ! » (Native friends roll their eyes. I deserve it.)
Why am I like this? Twenty-plus years in institutional research (counting students with joyful obsession) followed by another decade in banking compliance (I know more about Bank Secrecy and financial crimes than any human should). Outcome: I am constitutionally incapable of not documenting things. Dot the i’s, cross the t’s, then underline them, color-code them, and file by date, arrondissement, and pastry type.
This blog is what happens when that same curiosity lands in Aix-en-Provence. It’s not just the language—I want to understand the culture, the rituals, the tiny frictions and the quiet joys. If I over-label a bus map or footnote a boulangerie conversation, it’s because I’m trying to see how it all fits together. Consider this my public field notes, sprinkled with bad puns, good coffee, and the occasional bureaucratic victory dance.
How I’m learning (and documenting) French—by level
A1 (brand-new brave souls)
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Keep a Carnet d’Aix: one page per place (boulangerie, marché, bus), 5 useful phrases each.
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Script tiny missions: “Bonjour, une baguette s’il vous plaît… Merci, bonne journée.” Repeat like a catchy chorus.
A2 (finding your feet)
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Build micro-checklists for errands (post office, pharmacy). Practice aloud on the walk there.
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Start a “little wins” log: first time you understood a price fast, caught a joke, or survived small talk.
B1 (hello, conversations)
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Try “curiosity interviews”: ask a vendor one cultural why-question per week (Why this cheese? Why this season?).
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Note the connector words you hear (ben, du coup, en fait) and steal them shamelessly.
B2 (you’re flying)
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Keep a phrase bank of idioms and softeners (si ça ne vous dérange pas…, j’aurais une petite question…).
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Summarize a local article or museum label in 5 bullet points, then tell a friend in your own words.
C1+ / Advanced (nearly Aixois/e)
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Choose a niche (heritage rules, olive mills, bus policy—be still my heart). Read, interview, compare sources.
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Write short explainer posts for the rest of us. If I misuse the subjunctive, correct me gently. I bruise like a peach but recover quickly.
Three tiny habits that changed everything
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Name the gap: “I understood the gist, missed the numbers.” Now I know what to fix.
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Tag your notes (vocab-market, admin-préfecture, café-smalltalk) so you can actually find them later.
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Celebrate curiosity: every “Why is it like that?” becomes a mini-quest. (Reward: a noisette.)
If you find extra dots on my i’s or militarily aligned croissants in my photos, now you know why: curiosity built this house—and documentation organized the pantry.
Your turn 🫶
What’s your curiosity superpower in France? A question you finally answered, a system you cracked, or an idiom you adopted (or hilariously abused)? Drop a note below—one line is perfect, a paragraph is glorious. If you’re shy, try this prompt:
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“I kept asking why ______, and it led me to ______.”
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“My most useful mini-checklist is for ______.”
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“One French phrase that changed my life: ______.”
Allez, racontez ! Your tips could save a future croissant—or a future cat. 🐈⬛✨