London Calling.

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.