NATALIE IS 21, Scottish and a student at Oxford. Herbert is 36, a music “prof” in Lucerne. Felix is just shy of 30, a business executive in Frankfurt. Tsin-Ti Lai is 19... she looks more like 15... in business school in Taiwan. And me. On this flawless July morning we are gathered round table in a classroom overlooking the Rhone in the leafy city of Lyon. What have we in common? Well, short term we're out to master the French subjunctive. Long term, we seek to ratchet up our fluency in French.
The École Suisse de Langues or ESL, is headquartered in Montreux, Switzerland. I had discovered ESL on the Internet, and signed up through an ESL booking agency called CACTUS in East Sussex, England (44.845.130.4775). I chose Lyon from among a half-dozen French venues where, under ESL auspices, I could have studied French.
And, as it turned out, Lyon was a just-right choice. Lyon is the second largest city in France. When Paris was but a backwater fishing village, Lyon was already a political and military hub. Strategically situated at the confluence of the Rhone and the Saone Rivers, Julius Caesar made the site his base camp from which he launched his conquest of all of Gaul. That may be but trivia to you and me but, croix-moi, to a Lyonnais it's as relevant as the time of day. Of more immediate interest may be the fact that Lyon is the gastronomic capital of France. It has more multi-starred restaurants than any other French city and is home turf to Paul Bocuse, probably the world's most famous chef. His restaurant, Collonges-au-Mont-d'Or brings foodies to Lyon from all over the world.
My fellow students and I were housed with families all around Lyon, either in apartments or townhouses. I was billeted in an apartment whose owner, a young school teacher, cheerfully gave up her spare bedroom for my one-week stay. It was an arrangement that obliged each of us to master the city's excellent public transport system of buses and trams. Every morning at 9 we would convene before the handsome portals of 6 Quai Jules Courmont. Along would come, key-in-hand, Madame la Directrice in the person of Romy Saint Denis, the genius who kept us all gainfully occupied in the classroom and after classes, happily shepherded us around the city. Since each of us had different lingual proficiencies, our instructors had to work with us on widely diverse levels. It was a tribute to their expertise that they all managed that balancing act with dexterity and good humor. By day we labored in the classroom using visual aids, written texts, newspaper articles and free-for-all conversational bouts. En francais of course. On the tree-shaded balcony overlooking the river, we took time out for coffee and Gitanes or Gaulloises. Note: "la vie en rose" is not yet and not even close to being smoke-free.
By six in the afternoon we all were ready for livelier pastimes. One day we took the funicular up Fourviere Hill to wander the basilica of Notre Dame with its stupendous views of the city and the river. We clambered over Roman ruins and snapped each other's picture in the Roman amphitheater, a marvel of design and preservation. We took a sightseeing cruise upriver to view the city from the same vantage point as, down through the ages, countless marauders had viewed it, itchy-fingered to plunder its treasures. One afternoon I took off on my own to visit the Museum of the Resistance.
During World War II Lyons was a major nerve center of resistance against the German occupation. Countless men, women, even children, accused of courier and sabotage activities were tortured and executed by the Germans. The museum, though woefully under-funded, conveyed heart-breaking tales of incredible heroism. Departing, I asked myself would I have had the guts to carry out those perilous missions? A troubling question with no comfortable answer.
In the 16th and 17th centuries Lyon was the silk capital of the world. Its techniques, looms, artisans were universally acclaimed and the city accumulated great wealth through its silk trade. Remnants of those golden years have been lovingly preserved in the Museum of Textiles. There I ogled the glorious rose and green silk tapestries, their colors still garden fresh, that Marie Antoinette had ordered for her bedroom at Versailles. I bought a miniscule bit of scarlet silk, hardly enough for a hair ribbon and nearly fainted at the cost!
By night in a succession of "bouchons,"... a cross between a pub and a bistro... we all had dinner together, happily tossing around the French phrases and idioms we'd newly mastered that day in the classroom. On returning home I was asked if at some future date, I would consider returning to Lyon for another week or two of ESL language instruction. Said I: "Would that I could!" Ah, my newly burnished subjunctive!
IF YOU GO: For information about ESL French language courses in Lyon: www.cactuslanguage.com