Azurlingua school

8.15am and I’m leaning back on my chair, arms stretched up to the ceiling, eyes squeezed shut to accompany a contented yawn. As my eyes re-open I view the room of the café in which I had stopped en route to Azurlingua school of French. I had never before given much time for stereotypes, but there I was with my pain-au-chocolat and espresso resting on a small round table in front of me whilst an elderly gentleman grumbles to himself about some article or another of Le Monde. To my left a disinterested yet flawlessly stylish waitress stares at her nails, ignoring the American tourist who is loudly asking her husband how one can attract the attention the staff in this “cawffee bar”.

I chose this moment to sigh affectedly and take up le Nice-Matin staring, with my own air of disinterest, at the article on the first page. My personal disinterest, however, did not originate from having been born into an attitude of being by and large the best at most things; from having the best wine, the best pastries, the best coffee and the best language, but more from the fact that I didn’t understand a word I was staring at in the newspaper. This was my first week in Nice, my first week in France and my first week learning the French language…

It didn’t take long to confirm the reputation of the coffee and pastries, and even less time to confirm the well-justified reputation of French wine. All that remained was for Azurlingua to prove the magic of the French language. And what better proof can I give you of Azurlingua’s success than the fact that I am here, sitting in my flat in Paris, accompanied by my coffee and freshly bought pastry, writing this blog for Azurlingua school of French. Magique!