Our first day of the French course was off to a great start. Dad was mysteriously feeling nauseous, dizzy, fatigued, thirsty, bright lights seemed to bother him and he had a headache. Any of this sound familiar to anyone? He was at a complete loss for what might be going on, which Mum and I found amusing, especially since he attested that he couldn’t possibly be hungover, ’cause he never gets hungover. Poor thing isn’t as young as he used to be. Mum and I were appropriately sympathetic, occasionally uttering, “Awww, poor baby,” as we walked to class.
The first day was full on. The first week was full on. It was consistently more and more full on. I was the youngest in the class, with the next youngest being in their early twenties, then some middle aged people, and one gentleman who was almost 70 (although one class he claimed he was 24 which gave us all a good chuckle, before he admitted he misunderstood the question). Most people in the class were looking to study in France or move there, then there was us. A family of Australians looking to learn French for seemingly no reason at all.
After the first day we were expected to learn common phrases, numbers, colours, months, days of the week etc. and pronounce these all in a fairly convincing French accent. This caused us concern, rightfully so. What added to the difficulty was that the entire course was conducted in French right from the word go, meaning we couldn’t even ask questions, unless they were in French. I soon found “Je ne comprends pas,” was a very useful phrase, however it often led to an elaborate game of charades while the teacher tried to explain what I didn’t understand in French, in French, but of course I didn’t understand that either, so she would resort to hand gestures, which of course a lot of the time I didn’t understand those either.
Each day we had two sessions, each two hours long, and we ended up doing more than an hour of homework (which often my parents would copy off me, which game me endless amusement). After all this French, we found on the weekends we REALLY needed a break.
It became a weekly tradition to go to the Shapko Jazz Bar on a Friday night. Dad would have to go buy me a beer, cause of course I was still underage back then, and we would toast to a week of lots learnt, and more forgotten. The place had a great atmosphere, not like some bars where you feel like you have to be on guard all the time, but a really relaxing, fun vibe. As we got to know our classmates better we invited them along for a drink, listened to the music, and drank away our French-learning blues.
The weekends became the only times we could do sightseeing. Inspired to learn more about Nice we went to the Musée Masséna, which told the city’s history predominantly through, yup there’s no way you guessed it! Lego! You could also read about the city’s history and look at old photos, but after all the French learning I’d done my brain refused to cooperate, so I just stuck to looking at the pretty Lego like all the other little kids.
After the positive experience we had at the Marc Chagall Museum, we decided to give some of the other museums in Nice a go, starting with the Matisse museum. Now supposedly Matisse is a pretty big deal, some revolutionary in the visual arts world cause of his paintings, sculptures and prints, but again I just didn’t get it. Obviously his art isn’t meant for the likes of me, some pleb who wouldn’t know one of his masterpieces from her right toe, so the museum was lost on me a bit.
Having said that, nothing could prepare me for the complete and utter, “Huh?” that the Musée d’art moderne et d’art contemporain left imprinted on my brain. My god, I have never understood anything less than modern art. Now I know everyone complains about modern art and this isn’t exactly an original reaction I was having here, but my golly gosh darn it, it’s justified. The first level was nice, not super exciting. Then we got to the next floor. There was a broom leaning against a wall, and it was part of the exhibit! I double checked! Then there were these squares made out of wood plonked on the ground that looked like a 9th grade manual arts project, that made me think this has to be a prank. Then we get to the next floor and it was the icing on the cake. Math equations, MATH EQUATIONS were hung up on all the walls, and it was an exhibit, an ART EXHIBIT! That’s when I knew I really couldn’t take modern art seriously anymore.
After, well, whatever that was, we decided to do a day trip, and there we got to see some real art. With a group of the other students we went to Menton, which aside from having a very pretty harbor, also has an annual lemon festival. Unlike other regular lemon festivals, which are now boring by comparison, they don’t just sell lemons, or make lemon-flavoured treats. No, because when life gives you lemons, you make giant, 30m high sculptures out of lemons (and oranges). Duh.
I actually really enjoyed the day, and I’m glad we went. At first we baulked at the price, 36 euros for the three of us to look at statues made out of lemons seemed a bit ridiculous, and is definitely not one of the great wonders of the world I thought I’d be seeing when we set off on our trip. However they were actually very impressive, and dare I say it, worth the money.
Part way through the day another classmate of ours joined us. He was well known in our class for being quite the trouble-maker. Three of the boys (when I say boys I mean fully-grown men) would sit up the back, looking at their phones and ignoring the teacher; ‘Le Phone Club’ she nicknamed them. This guy, he was from Saudi Arabia, would sit there and actually argue with the teacher, claiming she, the French native, was wrong and he was right. For instance one day he sat there arguing that the French numbers are stupid and they’re wrong, and she tried to convince him for 20 minutes that she wasn’t making them up, that’s just how they are. At first it was funny, then as it continued on it just got annoying. Well this guy said he was meeting us in Menton and we got a bit scared for a while at what we were in for. It turned out not to be an issue. He accidentally went to Italy, then had to catch the train back, and when he finally found us he was perfectly pleasant. We concluded that the unpleasantness in class was might be due to ignorance, rather than contempt.
Another member of Le Phone Club was this Russian guy in his mid-twenties, who was basically a teenager. I got partnered up with him one day (we all dreaded when we were partnered up with any of the members of Le Phone Club) and he hadn’t done his homework, so this guy who was maybe a decade older than me was sitting, scribbling down my homework in his book so he wouldn’t get in trouble from the teacher. Of course then he got in trouble for cheating, and I had to stop myself from bursting out with laughter right in front of him.
Our next day trip was to Monaco. I was in a bad mood and didn’t want to go, but my parents made me. It was only when we got there and my parents announced we’d arrived in Monte Carlo that I suddenly became ecstatic. You see I’ve been wanting to go to Monte Carlo ever since I saw the movie, a fairly trivial reason granted, and I hadn’t realised Monaco and Monte Carlo were the same place. My spirits and tiredom we instantly lifted, and I was excited for the day ahead.
Monte Carlo is the destination of the rich and famous, where movie stars go to watch fast cars, and lose money even faster at the casino. I was too young to stick my head in the casino (by only two months) and of course it was the wrong time of year for watching car racing (not that we would have been able to visit if it was the right time of year) so we contented ourselves with other touristy things. We walked around the old town and had lunch, where I had the most scrumptious burger, and then headed off to the see the Monaco Cathedral, where many of the Grimaldis, including Princess Grace and Prince Rainier are buried. We also walked through the St Martin gardens and to a lookout where you can see three countries at once: Monaco, France and Italy.
The French course was coming to an end. One day in one of the final weeks it was our teacher’s birthday, and we had a small celebration for her. We made lamingtons, which we thought looked a little ramshackle, and they went down very well. The older gentleman in our class was missing at the start of the party, then surprised us all and returned with a rose for the teacher! We all agreed it was very sweet.
On the last day after class we went with some of the friends we had made during the course to Chez Pipo, and ate some socca (not the sport), which is a commonly-sold street food in Nice and is essentially a chickpea flour pancake. We remarked on how we would miss the antics of Le Phone Club and Tara’s charades, although were glad to be done with the frantic mornings’ tests (eventually we stopped worrying about studying each night for them, and crammed in the five minutes beforehand). All in all we were glad to have done the course, although agreed we wouldn’t want to repeat the experience.
With a short time until we left Nice, we were able to cram in a few more day trips. We crossed over the border into Italy to Ventimiglia, and went to a market, which is supposedly where the French go to buy cheap wares. We had some wonderful gelato (best of the trip) at a shop by the waterfront, and then with the remaining sunlight explored the medieval quarter.
The other day trip we did was to Eze, which is a village on a hill, with winding streets lined with cafes, leading up to an exotic garden at the top. Between the succulents, the view and the beautiful sculptures, it truly is a breathtaking sight. We also saw one of our former classmates while we were there, which made for a nice little surprise.
And finally, after our six week adventure, we were to leave, but not without seeing one more thing, another art gallery- Musée des Beaux-Arts de Nice. I was hesitant to visit another one after our last experience, and the bus stop we got off had a rather off-putting name (Grosso Cum Promenade), not to mention we had to walk around in circles cause of road works, but it was all worth it. The gallery was fantastic! It’s in this mansion that was built by a Russian princess, so it’s worth going to just to see the building, and has some art that I actually like in it! My favourite piece is pictured down below. There are some unbelievably large paintings on display (four metres high I would guess), as well as some incredibly detailed pieces as well. Overall their collection is quite something, and we really enjoyed our visit.
Next we were off to Marseilles, our last stop on the French tour!
Anna Fay On Holiday 