Here are some photos from my intensive French class at the Point3 Language School in Old Montreal. My French still has a ways to go, but it has definitely improved after the 50 hours of classes or so.
I will to expand this post later at a later date when I have time (probably July!)
Quebec City was definitely a surprise, and ultimately I regretted only being able to spend 1.5 days there. I sort of expected to be a lot like Montreal but in fact it was very different! It had more classic, historical buildings and architecture (in fact, 2008 was the 400 year anniversary of the city), and was much cleaner. Even people’s accents were slightly different. Here are some photos.
In May 2008, I spent two weeks in Montréal to study French and see where my dad spent his youth from age 13-21. I rented a sublet downtown just about a block away from Metro Guy/Concordia, which coincidentally was only about a block away from where my friend Kathleen used to live (great since she was able to give me tips on where to eat and visit within walking distance). I also visited my friend Sylvie, who I met in the Mardi Gras Marathon two years ago. Continue reading »
According to the late linguist Michel Thomas, 60% of all English words are derived from French. Now, that should make learning French rather “easy,” but a week after commencing intensive French classes here in Montréal, I still find myself mangling and mispronouncing words worse than a first-grader overdosed on candy.
Part of my problem is that French vowels and letter combinations are often pronounced much differently than a recalcitrant Anglophone would expect them to be, and that some words have completely different meanings than you’d suspect. Here are some examples ma professeur gave today. Continue reading »
“No, not ‘tom-toms,’” corrected my French teacher, who thought at first that (in my typical mangled French) I was referring to GPS devices. “Tam-tams!”
I first heard about the tam-tams from my friend Kathleen, who used to live in Montréal. I wasn’t exactly sure where one could find them in Parc Mont-Royal, but it wasn’t hard — one could hear them a kilometer away with dozens of people (both residents and visitors) banging on leather and wood drums and even the bottoms of overturned five-gallon plastic paint cans. Meanwhile, others played hackey sack or flapped their arms wildly in the air while hopping around on the ground like a spring in an improvised dance. I merely watched, thank you. Continue reading »
