To better contextualize the grammar, French class has included the study of such subjects as encouraging sustainable consumerism, Senegalese street food, contemporary slang for arguing with your landlord, and a group of pranksters who scaled a cathedral dressed as Spiderman. We learn related vocabulary to bolster this conversational framework, and alternate between chatting in groups, listening to short interviews, and writing. On Mondays, I also have a Civilization class -- basically, general important facts about France, like its borders and mountain ranges, and how it co-opted the Renaissance from Italy. On Fridays, I have History, in which we focus on the local contrarianism that makes La Rochelle special. (The ascendant medieval merchant class aligned with Protestantism to disrupt entrenched Catholic and feudal hierarchies; today, they host the annual Socialist Party shindig.)
As if all that weren't simultaneously stimulating and fatiguing enough, a deluge of extracurricular activity -- primarily, house-hunting -- has flooded our domestic riverbed. Prospective buyers, agents, notaries, architects, builders, square footage, sketches, plans, clumsily articulated hopes and dreams, lengths, distances, money...! A few highlights from the saga: 1) being shown a house with a burst pipe(?) actively dripping the length of the living room; 2) discovering that the water meter of our current house was never registered and no bills were issued for seven years; 3) successfully negotiating the seller's vintage leather bar seats into our purchase.
Happily, it seemed as though La Rochelle was cheering us on through the morass of uncertainty. Friends invited us for pleasant diversions, the annual jazz festival was solid, and a historic boat parade wowed the city with a fireworks extravaganza. And we uncorked some champagne to celebrate one year together.
