The moment I hopped off the train at a small regional town an hour north of Paris and into my host family’s car, I knew I’d plunged into the deep end – where I would remain for the next five weeks.

At 14, with two years of high school French under my belt, I struggled to understand more than a few words in any conversation that wasn’t severely slowed and simplified to toddler level.

My host sister Romane and I going for a walk with her friends Heloise and Elisa.

Romane, my host sister, was an excellent interpreter, carting her clueless sidekick around to everything from Christmas at her grandparents’ house to Zumba classes with her mum and even a few weeks of middle school.

The difficulty of lessons ranged from breezy English classes, where I became the fountain of knowledge, to Latin classes delivered in French (which quickly humbled me, leaving me more confused than when I’d walked in).

My favourite subject was social science, where, despite spending most of the time........

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