Fezzik In Paris

Two Americans, three cats, and too many places named "de Gaulle"

This week marks the end of the summer and the beginning of the French school year, and, had things gone as planned, our own return to the alliance francaise to continue our respective courses.

As it currently stands, the Purrito is currently in class, while I am at home in our flat.

When last we attended l’alliance, the temperatures were in the triple digits and our respective classes had dwindled to mere handfuls of students. Assuming that this situation would continue, we put off signing back up for classes, only to find today while the Purrito would be able to pick up where she left off, the A2.2 class of my former peers was now full, and the A2.3 class (one is apparently allowed to jump one level [each level is approximately one month]) is as well. I could theoretically meet with a teacher and request a waiver to jump two levels, but I’m disinclined to do so, on account of the fact that early A2 is where I should be, and I’m not inclined to skip material that would be useful. Yes, yes, autodidacts are truly the best, most wonderful members of humanity (or so every one of them ever has told me), but I have a stack of workbooks that I can complete myself. It’s not the grammar exercises that are the most useful; it’s the speaking, the listening, the interaction with others that makes the classroom study of the language so valuable.

The Purrito did not know any of this when she signed herself up (they apparently updated their computer system, so she couldn’t set up and pay for the both of us simultaneously, and same-day registrations are apparently no-refund), so we are, all things considered, trapped.

It’s been interesting to me, realizing how grounded and engaged being tutored and then taking French classes has made me feel; I genuinely have felt a touch adrift without them.

In any case, I suppose we have learned a lesson here: c’est la vie.

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