With the prospect of 40 17 and 18 year olds, a 12-hour
night-time journey, and an awkward host family stay, it must be said I wasn’t
feeling all that enthusiastic this time last week facing 5 days in London being
a rather culturally confused english-french tourist-come-teacher visiting the
capital. However, a somewhat ironic visit chez
moi (according to my pupils being in my native country means I was
basically sleeping in my own bed…) turned out to be a little less painful and a
little more fun than I initially anticipated. Not only did I have a welcome
excuse for shameless tourism: blending in with the group - ahhh-ing at Windsor
Castle, running excitedly around the M&M shop and of course getting
snap-happy at opportune moments… but it was somewhat refreshing to see the
familiar sights of my pays natal from
a new perspective. Becoming curiously
patriotic in the light of European company, I enthusiastically pointed out
sights, chatted about the Queen, and gave advice on the purchase of English
Breakfast Tea. As my pupils marvelled at buses, phone-boxes and city-parks, I
too ended the week with a heightened appreciation of all things English, and
fulfilled the role of petite mascotte
anglaise as designated by one of my students as we set off.
If my cultural loyalty was a little fuzzy this week, my
linguistic distinctions became thoroughly blurred. Originally hoping for a
little respite for my French-addled brain, I instead heightened my internal
juggling act as became necessary when in my English-speaking country yet
surrounded by decidedly French-speaking company. From translating random facts
from helpful guides at tourist attractions, to switching languages between
conversations with my host and fellow guests, safe to say my brain remained as
language-weary as ever. A particular highlight had to be when in a moment of
forgetfulness I declared voila to the
barista in Starbucks, only for him to respond in the same tongue (what are the
chances?) leaving to me standing for a good three minutes in foggy perplexion
trying to find the answer to an internal question I never thought would pose a
problem: which country am I currently in.
However, it was not the tourist-y excitement or linguistic
challenge that marked out this sejour en
Angleterre. Realising my initial reticence stemmed from according too much
priority to my own experiences, and not enough to the primary reason for the
voyage, I challenged myself at the start of the week to put my grumbling aside
and focus on the 40 17-18 year olds making a racket at the back of the bus.
Travelling with hyper teenagers may not be everyone’s cup of tea (culturally
relevant metaphor at last) but the accompanying almost child-like enthusiasm
was enough to make any weary traveller smile. For most of the them their first
time in England, or even outside of France, the trip represented not simply a
week away from long hours at the Lycée, but the opportunity to travel and
experience things they may never get the chance to again. Thus it was with joy
that I looked on their reactions to all things new and English. From being on
the Ferry and driving on the other side of the road, to the shopping
possibilities of Primark and photo opportunities of Abercrombie and Fitch,
their excitement was instantly cheering. Granted it was a struggle to rouse
interest in our museum visits, but the less overtly educational aspects of the
visit were in my mind just as formative. A highlight had to be finding
ourselves thoroughly in the right place at the right time in a crowded Leicester
Square, at the commencement of the film premier for the new Die Hard film. Although hardly a fan, it was with pleasure
that I huddled with my young companions by the red carpet, marvelling as
journalists, actors, and mysterious blacked-cars drove past. Although we unfortunately
having to leave before catching a glimpse of Bruce himself, this did not
detract from the excitement of our final day in the capital. We took in the
lively atmosphere, and of course cheered at necessary moments as cameras went
past, with Angeline convinced that “ma
maman va me voir sur TF1” … whether this dream of fame becomes a reality is
yet to be revealed. If celebrity
spotting wasn’t enough, the week also brought some linguistic progress. 5 days
in London may not have produced bilingual Lycéens, but at the very least most
summoned the confidence to get by with decidedly English-speaking host
families. Some even went beyond Hello and Thank you, to asking for blankets,
and even total strangers for directions. It seems the urgency to locate Top
Shop when lost on Oxford Street can motivate even the most reluctant student to
speak….
In all, returning “chez
moi” in the company of 40 French teenagers proved more fruitful than
initially anticipated. Clichéd as it may sound; it was with pleasure that I
shared in the excitement over all things not so French, the rehearsal of
beginners English on the coach, and the touristic flurry of photo taking and
souvenir buying. It brought me great joy
to see my apathetic pupils full of energy, to meet them on neutral ground and
see past the sullen faces of the classroom to a lively teenage spirit bubbling
beneath. My ironic holiday to England brought not just amusing stories for
later years, but a renewed enthusiasm to see me through the final leg of life
in Lycée Storck. And who knows, if this pedagogic
revelation induced by time outside of the classroom is anything to go by,
perhaps they’ll make a teacher of me yet.
