this all began a year ago...

Actually, it all began when I was in sixth grade. After learning a few random phrases of Spanish in elementary school, I ended up in a Catholic school that only offered French. I was not overly enthused about this prospect; I liked Spanish just fine, and anyway... who in the US speaks French?

All of that changed when I realized that my French teacher was truly a Great Teacher – one of those that even we with privileged educational backgrounds only encounter a handful of times in the course of K-12 education. Madame’s pedagogical prowess ensured that at least one 8th grader per year placed in the top 10 nationwide in the corresponding level of the National French Contest, a sort of standardized exam for French. I was one of three in the top 10 my year. From that perspective, it seems only natural if not inevitable that I would end up studying in Paris at some point. Ironically, eighth grade was literally HALF my life ago... I’m a little late to the party, and instead of pursuing French (which I took for another five years), I majored in Spanish and have used that regularly in my years since college, including two years as a Spanish teacher. (My French teachers forgave me for this.)

And so it was that I finally saw Paris for the first time one year ago, 16 years after I first walked into a French class. I had delayed going to Paris when planning previous trips because I knew that a) I’d end up going eventually and b) I would need a significant amount of time to truly “do” Paris. My trip last summer – a mere 48 hours in length – was an amuse bouche.

My friend Kelsey, who’d spent a semester in Paris during college, was kind enough to allow me to accompany her for the weekend. I had expressed an interest in just experiencing Paris in a very broad, cultural sense – not museum hopping or a marathon of tourist attractions. As a result, we had a wonderful, relaxed time. We ate breakfast in stages at patisseries between our hotel and Sacré-Coeur, chatted with artists in Montmartre, contemplated Monet’s beautiful water lilies at the Orangerie, had a pique-nique on the banks of the Seine, ate falafel in the Marais, and (purely by chance; we didn’t even know this was happening) witnessed the end of the Tour de France on the Champs-Elysées.

At some point during the trip, I recalled that my law school offered the opportunity to study in Paris. I had noted this during the application process, but even then I didn’t think my French was up to snuff. After all, I haven’t really used French since the end of 2003. I can still read it pretty well, but speaking is a challenge. That being said, I managed to have two conversations in Paris that strengthened my confidence: I asked enough questions of one artist that he asked me if I were an artist myself, and I discussed education policy with a cab driver. On our flight back to Amsterdam, I decided to find out more about the program in Paris.

Now, a year later, here I am. My French is still a work in progress, but I trust in the assurances of my first, amazing French teacher that it will come back to me quickly. I’m nervous about a lot of things, but I’m also excited beyond words. I knew the first time I left the US that I wanted to live abroad, and now, for the first time, I’m truly going to do that. I will be in Paris for eight months, with no return trips to the US.

Let the adventure begin!