By Jenny Gross
When I signed up for an intensive one-on-one language course in France, I imagined a picturesque escape where I could enhance my French while exploring Provence through a local’s perspective.
However, upon my arrival, doubts immediately crept in. Just days before, my long-term relationship had ended. As my mind raced, I questioned how I would manage four days of obligatory small talk, far from home, conversing in another language, with someone I didn’t know.
Or could this be precisely what I required?
Brigitte Miramont, my program host, suggested during our phone call that we meet at the Starbucks near the “dépose minute” at the Marseille train station. I had no idea what that meant, but at the designated time and date, I located the Starbucks and encountered a smiling Miramont. She clarified that the “dépose minute” was the drop-off area.
That explanation marked the end of our exchanges in English.
Although there are no official numbers indicating the quantity of language homestay programs, many have surfaced in recent years as substitutes for conventional language schools, not solely in France but also in Britain, Spain, Italy, and other locations. There are organizations, such as Lingoo, that pair students with approved homestay programs, while other hosts like Miramont operate independently.
Miramont began welcoming students to her residence seven years ago after retiring from her role as a French teacher for non-native speakers at Aix-Marseille University. She has hosted over 100 students, most of whom enroll for a week-long course and stay at her countryside home, featuring an infinity pool and sweeping views of the Mediterranean.
I opted for her program, Live and Learn en Provence, which I discovered through Google, due to its positive feedback and blend of rigorous training and cultural experience. She introduces students to her favored places in the region, crafting excursions suited to their interests. For me, that included swimming, hiking, and tasting local cuisine.
On the inaugural day, Miramont took me on a tour of Marseille, which concluded with dinner and a jazz concert. We arrived at her home late. I got comfortable in my room, which featured its own entrance, bathroom, and a private patio for completing my assignments.
Having studied French for over a decade, I was captivated by the language’s elegance and encouraged by the progress I made. Yet, I sensed I had hit a barrier, repeating errors no matter how many flashcards I reviewed or how many episodes of “The Bureau” and “Lupin” I watched. I arrived in Provence yearning for a significant improvement, but found myself increasingly frustrated instead.
According to Miramont, the issue was that incorrect grammar had become “fossilized” — “fossilisé” — in my mind. She aimed to reprogram my thinking.
Any form of reprogramming sounded beneficial. We proceeded to Miramont’s study, a place that her students affectionately nickname “la chambre de torture,” to commence our first lesson. She reviewed a test I had completed before my arrival, highlighting my misplaced pronouns, incorrect transitions, and, using blue and pink highlighters, incorrectly gendered nouns.
Later, during lunch in the shaded gardens of the Hôtel de Caumont in Aix-en-Provence, I ordered a “tarte aux abricots,” fumbling the pronunciation. “Liaison! Liaison! Liaison!” Miramont urged, referring to the rule that necessitates the blending of certain words in French. She pronounced “tarte aux abricots” (pronounced: tar-toh-zabry-koh) for me to mimic. I considered whether to refrain from speaking altogether.
Even in my confusion, certain aspects of the trip filled me with pure joy, as discovering new places always has. Miramont brought me to Christophe Madeleines, a quaint bakery where I tried a warm, orange-flavored madeleine, the finest I have ever tasted.
Miramont recommended hiking paths outside Cassis that lead to secluded narrow inlets, known as calanques, where I swam in crystal-clear waters. At an outdoor concert at the Théâtre de la Sucrière in Marseille, we were mesmerized by a performance from Cuban jazz pianist Omar Sosa.
Miramont also escorted me to the Eden Theater in La Ciotat, which opened in 1889 and holds the distinction of being the oldest operating public cinema in the world, where the Lumière brothers, among the pioneers of motion pictures, showcased their early films.
During car rides, strolls along the coastline, and over glasses of wine, Miramont and I conversed not only about grammar and language usage but also about her daughter’s decision, a dentist, to pursue a career in acting, our professional aspirations, and how to navigate political discussions with friends holding opposing views.
With Miramont, mistakes weren’t glossed over. She tells her students that she is “not a magician” and that improvement demands daily effort. You make a mistake, acknowledge what went astray, and begin anew. Perhaps this was the reminder I needed, not just in my journey of learning French.
On the final day of my trip, Miramont drove me to the La Ciotat train station to bid farewell. I asked the clerk for a ticket “à Marseille.” “Pour Marseille,” Miramont corrected me moments later, clarifying that “pour” is used when purchasing a ticket to a specific destination. We embraced, and I boarded the train, setting off for new adventures.
