After a lot of argy-bargy with my French school, in the end I decided to stay with my first host family.
Yes, it’s a long way from the hospital – and the school, in fact – but the host mum (slightly older than me) is very experienced, and her cooking improved tremendously after the first night. There’s no aircon but I’m getting used to leaving the blinds down to keep the light and heat out. Living like a local in effect. The house is near a river called the Lez, sadly it’s forbidden to swim in it but I’ve just come back from a very pleasant evening stroll along the banks. There are a lot of people out and about later in the day because it’s cooler.
I’ve worked out my favourite route to school in the morning, it takes me through an airconditioned shopping mall that has escalators which deliver me up to the middle of town. It takes about 40 minutes. My classes are in the morning which is lucky because if I had to go to observe at the hospital in the mornings I’d have to be there at 7 am. Yikes. As it is, classes start at 9 am. Luxury.
I’m enjoying school. I’m at about the right level, which is lucky as it’s possible I may have cheated a little in my online placement test, in anticipation of doing more work before coming here than I actually managed. There are people in my class who are worse at French than me so I’m all good. Everyone else is considerably younger though.
My afternoons are free, I’ve been to the hospital once and I’m going again on Wednesday. It doesn’t seem to suit them that I come in the afternoons so I’m not pushing it.
There are two other students staying in the same house as me. One is a 17 year old Colombian girl, Celeste. Her French is not great but she’s going to be here for three months so she’s bound to improve. The other is a 22 year old Dutch girl called Emma. I’m in her class this week, much to her chagrin I feel. They go out socialising every night. I was worried about sharing a bathroom with two girls but in fact it’s fine apart from the odd G string lying around.
Our host mum speaks with a thick local accent, her husband is essentially incoherent to us but he’s basically nonverbal anyway so that’s OK. His wife does all the talking.
There are a lot of dogs in Montpellier, including various fluffy ones in spite of the heat, but I haven’t seen a single poodle or oodle of any kind.
