The first thing we noticed in Nice was the light. It was different — softer, warmer, bouncing off pastel walls and the sea at the same time. Suddenly, the French we had practised in class didn’t feel like an exercise anymore. It felt like a tool we actually needed.

In the old town, the streets seemed to twist and turn on purpose, as if they wanted us to get lost — and maybe we did, just a little. But that was the fun of the treasure hunt. Reading clues, asking passers-by for help, laughing over misunderstandings — it wasn’t about finding the right place fastest. It was about realising we could find our way in another language.

Between Glamour and Silence

In Cannes, everything felt a little more polished — palm trees lined up neatly, yachts rocking gently in the harbour. We imagined film stars stepping out of black cars and onto red carpets, while we walked along the same waterfront with backpacks and sun in our eyes. It made us smile — our own version of glamour.
Then came the boat ride to Île Sainte-Marguerite. The engine stopped, and suddenly there was only the sound of water and wind in the pines. After busy streets and voices and traffic, the island felt like someone had turned the volume down on the world. We walked under tall trees, breathed in the smell of resin and sea, and for a moment nobody needed to say anything at all.

Words, Colours, and Courage

Inside the Musée Marc Chagall, colours seemed to float. The paintings of Marc Chagall were full of blue skies, floating figures, and dreamlike scenes that felt familiar and mysterious at the same time. Some of us stood there, each seeing something different.
Meeting French students was a different kind of challenge. There was that little moment of hesitation before speaking — What if I say it wrong? But then the conversation started, and suddenly we were talking about music, school, and weekend plans. Not perfect French. Just real communication. And that felt like a small victory each time.

The Taste of a Place

Cooking together brought a different kind of energy. There was flour on hands, onions in eyes, and lots of laughter while preparing une trouchia and une pissaladière. Recipes became language lessons, and the kitchen filled with smells we will probably always associate with this week. Sharing the food we had made ourselves felt like sharing a piece of the region.

More Than a Trip

Somewhere between narrow streets, boat rides, museum halls, and kitchen tables, something shifted. French stopped being just vocabulary. It became conversations, signs, flavours, and memories.
We are coming home with photos, yes — but also with more confidence, new friendships, and the quiet realisation that the world feels a little less far away now.
And maybe that is the most important souvenir of all.