Today I began my French classes, a new chapter in my life as a student. When I finally decided that the most successful way to learn a language is to speak with people other than my local baker, butcher and pharmacist (though we were having some rather colorful conversations as of late), I was debated as to where to study. To quote an Italian I know well ‘there is no such thing as a bad school, only a bad student’. Could he be right?
In the end I chose the reputation of the Alliance Française over the prestige of the Sorbonne. Not to mention the myriad of independent language schools. I entered the classroom and felt well amidst the assortment of foreign faces, each with a unique story and all united in a common goal. The teacher, a young and vibrant woman originally from Bretagne, immediately shed any layers of fear as we began conversing with one another. The first lesson I learned as we dove into this advanced French course, is that my genealogy is far too complex to describe in great detail, in any language. The second lesson, a recurring one in my life in Paris, is humility.
