Back in School...

The last time I sat as a student in the classroom was in 1990. Quite a lot has changed since then but on the other hand there is something quite universal about sitting in class and absorbing knowledge from someone else.

I am at the Institut de Touraine, a private language school dedicated to teaching French. It was founded early in the last century and encompasses a few buildings with the main office dating to the French Renaissance and my classroom building being an urban 19th-century chateau. I would guess that there are some two hundred students attending this January. My purpose here is to shake the rust off of my French. Before coming I could read French decently well, certainly well enough for my research (in case my administrators are reading this!) but my listening and speaking abilities had degraded to a pitiable state. Upon the recommendation of a French colleague who had lived in Tours I came to the Institute for a one-month "refresher" course.

Structure: I have a variety of courses here. I have one instructor, Madame "X" (to protect her identity), for about fifteen 55-minute class room sessions a week where we cover grammar and general conversation. I have six classes a week with Madame "Y" where we sit in a lab with headsets and go over pronounciation. Three afternoons a week I have specialized classes (in French, obviously) that cover literature, civilization, and art history. In total, I have about five hours of class a day with a ninety-minute lunch.

First, Madame X. Madame X, a trim, late 50-something, has probably been teaching French a long time. Maybe too long. As an instructor myself I am loath to criticize other instructors (professional courtesy and all) but Madame X is a bit disorganized. We will cover some grammatical topic for a few minutes and then she will lose steam (before there is any closure or any sense of real comprehension of the topic at hand) and then we will move on to some aspect of French culture for some tortured discussion. And then back to some other unrealized grammatical point for a few minutes and so on...

I also had the misfortune of being in a class that is slightly too difficult for my aural abilities. As noted before, I can read French fairly well. What I cannot do well at times is hear it and actually understand what is being said. Even after three weeks here spoken French for me is still a rushing stream where I can get a spoonful here and there but by the time that spoonful of pablum is digested about a million gallons have gone by, unheard. Learning French grammar in French that is spoken a bit too quickly for my abilities is not the most pleasant thing I've ever done.

Of course, I cannot blame Madame X for everything, as teaching is a dialectic between the class and the instructor. As an instructor she faces a challenge as I did not land in the best of classes. In my class of 19 there is a bloc of 8 students from an American University who may be pleasant on the surface (Have you seen the film "Heathers"?) but as classmates they are not very accomodating (cellphones going off in class, endless petty conversations sotto voce while the teacher is talking, passing of notes back and forth, coming in late and leaving early). Madame X, unfortunately, has allowed this to happen and has "lost" the class. Some of my gentle readers know that once a class is lost it is hard to get back and it appears that Madame X, a rugged veteran of so many years of teaching pampered and privileged students, has other battles that she would rather face.

My final complaint is that the class also "grew." After the first week we only had twelve students--a good size for an intensive, short class. However, week two saw three students added and week three saw four more added, totally changing the classroom dynamic. Madame X had to try to weave in these extra students and as a result I felt a bit cheated out of contact time. I suddenly can relate to students in an overcrowded classroom (sorry, deans and chairpersons).

Of course, it is not all bad and I do not mean to be overly negative but it has been slightly disappointing. Perhaps I have not worked hard enough (most likely) and I can also blame my left-handedness at times for my inability to acquire language well. I've especially noticed this in "Labo."

Madame Y is made of sterner stuff than Madame X. Certainly the "Heathers" do not get away with as much in her lab. Our first day of labo began with Madame Y handing us a piece of paper and then writing a few incomprehensible instructions on a blackboard. We were all seated at desks with a console of various buttons and a headset. Madame Y barked out some instructions at us and all of us students had no idea what she said (as we looked at each other for affirmation). Should we be pushing buttons? Saying something? Reading the text? Having a glass of vin (my idea). Then she made a motion for us to put on our headsets which we all did like frightened rabbits. More instructions, incomprehensible, followed. Madame gave a disgusted shrub of her shoulders (she also has done this hundreds of times) and drew a diagram of the console of four buttons for us on the blackboard. Then she motioned for us to push the middle-left button. However, I had three buttons on my console. Which one should I push (maybe one was an eject button that would eject me to the nearest bistro). I could hear buttons clacking around me in the room as frightened students frantically began to follow orders. Rather than press the wrong button and face a tirade I raised my hand and Madame huffed over and I pointed at my console saying "Trois" in my finest French (and not remembering the French word for button, "bouton," in this moment of panic). "Oh, you have the different machine," she said in a French that even I could understand, but in a tone that also said that it was my fault and that I should know which button to push or that I should have sat at a different desk altogether (which was now impossible as the class was full). She indicated the middle button, a record button, and she returned to her desk and began to do a reading.

At first, it was pretty simple, just a repetition of phrases. Even I could handle that, especially as shre gave us the text and all we had to do was read along. However, as usual, things became progressively harder and faster, with more 'r's and 'l's and other sounds that I cannot produce particularly well at times, especially at speed (some of you may know that as a child I went to a speech therapist for about a year because of difficulties of pronouncing "sh" and "th").

But it got worse than just simple repetition...We were given texts (exercises) in which Madame Y would read a phrase and then we had to do various tasks...substitute words, use relative pronouns instead of nouns, put sentences into past tenses, redo word order in sentences...the like...all on the fly.

I simply froze at first...each sentence had to be completed in short time and suddenly to me all looked like gibberish...i honestly was not even recognizing simple words and i was just seeing letters. It truly was the infamous "I Love Lucy" scene in the chocolate factory. The only analogue I can think of is some sort of mental traffic jam where everything just stops and then starts to pile up. Then panic set in and it gets worse. I am sure if the instructor was listening in I sounded like a raving lunatic trying to put strange sounds together.

And, I am not exagerrating either for at one point I could see her shake her head and throw up her arms in despair. She was not looking at me at that time so it could have been some other student stumbling along equally as poorly as me.

The exercise ended. However, the next step was nearly as bad as we now had to "rewind" and listen to ourselves. If I ever had thought I could speak French at all that illusion was now shattered as I listened to myself. Then, after listening to ourselves, we had to repeat the exercise all over again...

On the brighter side, I enjoy quite a bit my three specialized courses in literature, civilization, and art history. My first literature class (every Tuesday afternoon) covered existentialism in Camus and Sartre and I was most pleased at understanding over two-thirds of the French and just as much of the content. It felt like a total (and much needed) victory. Of course, the instructor was speaking in a slow, child-like French, but, hey, I'll take what I could get.

Civilization class on Wednesday afternoon was even better in the sense that I already knew the material being covered (French government). As a result, I could sit back, not take notes, and just absorb the material.

Best of all is the late Friday afternoon (3:30-5:00!) History of Art class. While I can only comprehend about half of his French, his delivery, enthusiasm, and choice of slides make this class a real winner. A small, compact man with a Van Dyke beard, Monsieur "Z" glides around the class, emulates the painting with his body, waves his arms about, and generally transmits his enthusiasm to the class, something that is more than necessary late in the afternoon on Friday. Of course, I do not mind looking at Renaissance paintings but he shows more than just the usual "standard" paintings one sees in a Ren class and that makes it all the more interesting. Certainly, I wish that he would teach a grammar class!

In a long nutshell this is my life for my weekdays here...leaving for school at 8:30, classes until mid to late afternoon, a blog entry or a few emails, and then home by 4, 5, or 6 p.m. for an occasional run. Some of you have asked me if I have gone out to any good restaurants but I actually have only sat at one for lunch on my second day here...Madame Puissant's meals are so good I really don't want to miss out. And, starting next Wedesday, I have more than two months in Paris to eat out...

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The Institut...