HAPPINESS SUDDENLY KNOCKED ON THE DOOR IN SILENCE
Hot July day. I'm sitting at home, gloomily chewing a sandwich, despondently pondering plans for the evening, and at the same time thinking that it would be nice to buy a ticket somewhere at random and go off to meet adventures away from this city bustle. Right at that moment the phone rings, and Lenka (very tall, a year ahead of me at university) tells me there's one spot free in the exchange program between our Financial Academy and the French School of Insurance (Ecole Nationale d'Assurances) in Paris. "There aren't many students with French, go, maybe they'll take you." I went, absolutely not believing in success... And I got lucky!
Although, perhaps, I got lucky much earlier: in childhood I wasn't accepted into an English school, as a result I became a student at the specialized French language school named after Polenov. Here I not only learned French but also learned to love this divine language, France, its literature and history. After finishing school, I entered the Financial Academy at the Faculty of Insurance – despite the fact that I always dreamed of journalism. And so, along with three other Financial Academy students, I went to study insurance in Paris for 9 months. How can you not believe in fate and luck after that?
THINGS ARE DIFFERENT THERE...
The school has two cycles: the student cycle (3 years of study) and the professional cycle (1 or 2 years – depending on the class schedule). The French Federation of Insurance Companies – Federation Francaise des Societes d'Assurances – pays a scholarship to foreign students in the professional cycle. A few words about what it is. People who have worked in the insurance field for the last several years, i.e., "professionals," take academic leave from work and immerse themselves in the magical world of student life for a whole year. The minimum age for admission to this cycle is 24, but in our group the youngest student was 28. You can imagine the reaction my future classmates had to the appearance of a 19-year-old girl. I felt as if I was studying with 22 dads and moms worried about my health, appetite, and mood.
The curriculum was very extensive: in addition to general insurance courses (insurance legislation, actuarial calculations, life insurance marketing and property insurance marketing) there were subjects focused on personal development, leadership skills, and basics of team management.
Western education is fundamentally different from post-Soviet education (no need to smirk that I've discovered America): the relationship between teachers and students is friendly, conversation is on equal terms. To us, accustomed to strict discipline, remarks only after raising a hand and with the teacher's permission, this seemed simply wild. Just imagine: a teacher comes to class, comfortably settles on the table, with possible options of putting feet on a chair, adjusting socks, or simply taking off shoes to let the feet air out. One of the unflappable French students sitting at the front desk opens a cola, splashing almost in the teacher's face. This is met with an innocent joke, everyone laughs, and the lesson begins. Now imagine your own "favorite" teacher, outwardly resembling Freken Bock, in a cotton dress, sitting on the table and sweetly laughing at your puns. Utopia...
The professionalism of the teachers is beyond competition: accounting is taught by the chief accountant of a large company, marketing by a person who has implemented more than one successful marketing campaign in 30 years of a successful career. By the way, about marketing. In this subject, the whole group split into teams, each of which had to develop an insurance product meeting the requirements of a certain market segment and come up with ways to promote it. A very interesting creative work, requiring, however, thorough knowledge of the course material.
Classes run every day from 9 am to 5 pm, with a lunch break from 12 to 2. There are only two subjects per day, 3 hours each (and this despite the fact that at my academy I could barely sit through 1 hour 20 minutes). I really enjoyed going to classes: every day something new and interesting, and the group was well-chosen in terms of fun and friendliness: all jokers and laughers. Remembering my boring institute group, I just wanted to sing with happiness.
The pinnacle of our studies was a joint trip to Austria, organized and paid for by the school as a graduation trip. We spent a whole week in Vienna, combining pleasant recreation with visits to German insurance companies – for exchange of experience. By the end of the trip, though, we got a bit tired of each other and started constantly quarreling over trifles.
In June, our school organized a gala concert, gathering all recent graduates. We didn't lose face: we participated in the concert with two songs – "Katyusha" and a kind of medley of "In the Grass Sat a Grasshopper," "Moscow Nights," and "Let's Rejoice in Our Lifetime." As expected, at the words "Merci beaucoup" the hall roared and gave a standing ovation. Blushing from such success, we practically ran off the stage.
The school often held meetings with former students. Besides such pleasant moments as a buffet and meeting old friends, these events helped students establish connections in the insurance world, find internships, and see what heights can be achieved with a diploma from the insurance school. We went to these meetings, as befits Russian people so prone to the word "freebie," – attracted by the buffet and driven by the thought that at home the refrigerator was bare.
ALL WORK AND NO PLAY...
I rented an apartment together with the aforementioned long-legged Lena not far from Place de la République. The apartment was in a permanent state of disarray, and there was absolutely nothing to eat except yogurts, bread, and pâté (despite the fact that two girls lived in the apartment). All my conscious life I lived under my parents' wing, and only here did I first realize that living alone is beautiful only in dreams and movies. There are, of course, advantages: you can go out for a walk at two in the morning on the eve of an exam, not wash dishes for several evenings in a row, wear a short skirt when the wind blows rare pedestrians off their feet outside, but otherwise...
After two months, I was climbing the walls because shampoo would inevitably run out on the eve of a stunning date, and there was naturally no spare; because my turn to wash dishes and take out the trash came much more often than Lena's, and so on.
We went to a self-service laundry to do our washing. They are exactly as shown in the 7UP commercial: 'Where did my sock go?' Going there is very fun, especially with full bundles. You walk along and wonder: will the handles break off or not? Washing is not difficult; the only unpleasantness occurs when you need to drag the washed laundry across the entire laundry room to the dryer, exposing your nightgowns to the view of the Parisian public. You put the laundry in the dryer and, with a face not burdened by the stamp of intellect, watch the vicissitudes of the centrifuge, which, as if on purpose, sticks the most embarrassing underwear to the window. Often we didn't have enough money for drying, so for a couple of days after washing, our already small apartment resembled a refugee camp.
We basically lived together amicably, and above all, cheerfully, although I am a terrible nuisance (Lena, forgive me for everything!) And in general, it was the most wonderful year of my life. So, if you are ever offered to go to Paris, be sure to agree.