Je ne parle pas.
French class may well have been my least favourite subject in public school. At this point I can’t really remember why, but I thoroughly despised it. I’d justify my reluctance to spend even a moment on French homework by declaring that I’d never in my life be spending any time in a French-speaking place. So what value could learning this language have possibly carried for me?
Fast-forward 10 years. I now enviously drool over the linguistic gifts of bilingual Canadians, in whose midst I’ve spent a good bit of time this year. I can hack my way through a few sentences and, quite marvelously, through one whole (very basic) telephone conversation. But really, this situation is borderline embarrassing.
All of that time spent studying Spanish simply isn’t serving me as well as I’d hoped. And now I’m diving head first into a Rosetta Stone course. Not French, not Spanish… This fall is going to be interesting.
Photos from the past week in Quebec.
