[continued from previous entry]
Next morning, there I was, ready to go. In my seat in the right classroom. Fresh-faced and caffeinated, carrying notebook, French dictionary, pens. Made it there and found my place before the first bell* -- by the time the second bell sounded there were seven of us: a 30ish woman from Brazil, a 20-something male from Germany, the previously mentioned 30ish architect from Turkey, a college-age guy from Chile, a sweet college-age woman from Mexico, and a girl from Columbia, 18 or 19 years old, looking to be fresh out of high school.
Something I learned during all those classes taken in Madrid: you never know what kind of classmates you're going to find yourself corralled in with. Sometimes it turns out to be a joy, sometimes it's more routine, every once in a while it turns out to be absolute hell. And all it takes is one loose cannon to send the experience off toward darker, more chaotic places. Something I genuinely appreciated about the group I found myself with in this class: good people, every single one of them. Not a bad vibe to be found. Not that it was a love fest at all times, but it was benign. People were there to learn, with good will toward their classmates. Not a small thing.
And the instructor: another good person. A 30ish woman named Sana, who launched right into the work, me dealing with the stream of 100% French, scribbling pages of notes as fast as I could, trying to absorb sentences of introduction we were expected to understand and begin using (Comment tu t'appelles? Quelle est ta nationalité Que est ton état civil?). All that did was raise one question after another for me -- what's the infinitive form of the verbs, what are the conjugations? why use tu in one case, ta in another, ton in the third? -- leaving me with no way to ask questions (lacking the ability to toss together sentences) and longing for simple charts re: some basics: verbs/conjugations, nouns/pronouns, direct objects/indirect objects, blahblahblah. No charts, though. Just a whole lot of verbiage, me scrambling to get some of it.
That feeling of not being able to put together basic questions or statements? Not much fun. And my defensive reaction was to start blurting things out in Spanish. Which led to one strange thing -– I've known French folks who say 'si' just as much as they say 'oui,' I've always had the impression it was normal. I found myself answering 'si' sometimes, getting told it was dead wrong, had no way to explain my experience with that or ask about it.
Well. That day ground to its end. I returned to my temporary squat and studied.
*This school uses signal bells -- one at 8:55 (five minute warning, the equivalent of a nudge in the direction of one's classroom), then a second one at 9 a.m. If you're not in class by the 9 o'clock bell -- and I am not making this up -- you have to wait until a bell that rings at 9:30 before you can skulk in and take your seat. What happens during that 30 minute penalty period? Not sure -- could be they use it to brand you, leaving a shameful, livid L on your forehead.
[continued in following entry]
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In the Plateau, Montreal:
España, te amo
rws 5:44 PM [+]
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