(VILLEFRANCHE-SUR-MER, France) – We are seated in a magnificent villa perched on a hillside on the French Riviera with a spectacular view of the Mediterranean in the distance. And we are terrified.

Some of us are expert at not showing fear. Others, like Susan, who works in London as the assistant to actress Hayley Mills, are a bit more transparent.

It is the first day of class at the Institut de Français in this gorgeous fishing port between Nice and Monaco. Most of us underestimated what it would be like to speak French, and only French, for eight hours a day, five days a week. And not just for one week. We’ve signed on for the school’s month-long immersion course, considered one of the best in the world.

Despite the fear factor, the institute is so popular that some people book months in advance and return again and again. Queen Sonja of Norway, actresses Kathy Bates and Kate Capshaw, and assorted diplomats, ambassadors and international CEOs are also alumni. Word has it everyone loved hairstylist Vidal Sassoon when he was here.

Some couples attend; some come with a parent. Some, like me, are second-generation students. My mother studied here 15 years ago.

In theory, my class has it easy. After being carefully tested in audio comprehension and writting and speaking ability upon arrival, we landed in one of the two advanced classes. We have been deemed superior to the débutants who can’t speak a word or even the intermediates, who are struggling with the basics…

“It’s a very humbling experience” says Frédéric Latty, the institute’s executive assistant, who began here as a teacher 17 years ago. “You can’t cling to your ego. And we don’t promise miracles. But if you play the game here, you will make very, very rapid progress in French.

Fortunately, our group of nine students – ranging in age from 22 to 66 and hailing from England, Wales, Japan, Switzerland, the United States, Australia and Morocco – is in good hands. Our patient, yet sardonic teacher, Jean Segarra has been teaching at the institute for 24 years and is often so hilariously funny that you forget you are in a classroom.

“Our teachers have personality” says Latty. “I can’t tell you how many people tell us at the end of their four weeks that they had the best teacher. Then they come back another year and get another teacher and this time say, I had the best teacher.”…

The day begins around 8.30 a.m. when students start streaming in from nearby school-run apartments, most of which are also perched on the hillside with exquisite views of the sea. We eat breakfast together in a big cafeteria-style room. Class begins at 9 a.m. sharp – and the teachers don’t brook latecomers. The day is divided into classroom work, a noon hour spent in the language lab, or “la chambre de torture” , a typically long French lunch (teachers are stationed at every table to make sure everyone speaks French), and post prandial “seances”.

The best séances involve adult parlor games or charades, watching and analyzing French movies, or listenning to a history of cheese that ends with a sampling of different types and sipping wine. The worst sessions require students to huddle in the salon, listening to news taped off the radio.

Ultimately, the process is a paradox, one of the teachers warns. The more you learn, the more overwhelmed you feel, and the more you think you still don’t know.

Then something magical happens. After 10 days of classes, I went to bed one night, and everything I dreamed was in French. I’d walk along the Villefranche harbor at sunset after school and realize I was starting to think in French. It’s almost as if the language has gotten into your blood…

That French alter ego develops rapidly as a result of the immersion process. The results become visible quickly when you leave the school grounds.

The school arranges a day trip to the charming hill town of St Paul de Vence where students visit the Fondation Maeght, the magnificent modern art museum. Students are also encouraged to see a play, usually something by Molière in Nice.

When our month came to an end, everyone in my class agreed the time had gone by too fast. The fear I felt at the start of the course was replaced by a feeling of angst over having to leave.

Many people enjoy their time at the institute so much that they buy property in the area. They are almost like institute groupies.

“We call it the French connection” says Latty. “The same students keep coming back and coming back. And then they wind up living in the area part of the year. Villefranche and the Institut are the ultimate picture-perfect cliché of the south of France – and people just can’t get enough.”

“… Our days were varied but carefully structured with total emphasis placed on the spoken, not the written, word. There were classroom sessions with film strips and systematic usage of new phrases and grammatical complexities, and group games, with variations on charades; there were poems to read, songs to hear, and stories to tell, all in French, naturally. And, of course, there was the language laboratory.

Evenings and weekends we spilled out into Villefranche or such neighborhing Riviera towns as Nice and Monte Carlo, to use our ever-expanding knowledge of French in shops, buses, museums and restaurants. It was gratifying to be able to ask directions in perfect, if slow, French and mortifying when a bus driver responded in perfect English !

As the first week drew to a close, students struggled to get accustomed to the rigorous routine as the sun and sea, looming large beyond the windows of the institute, vied for our attention. We leaped at the chance to spend half-hour breaks and practice sessions in the garden, and sun baths were snatched furtively. But all too soon we returned to the classroom to watch “Pierre and Mireille” go to the cinema.

By the fourth and last week, there was a final burst of energy to learn, to speak, to comprehend. Class discussions in Intermediate II became hilarious as students outdid one another to provide the funniest lines of imaginary dialogue to accompany the filmstrips. We became cocky, giddy, anxious, relieved – feelings mixed with a twinge of sadness, for soon we would be leaving our fascinating little community…”

… I am enrolled in the month-long French language immersion course at the institute, housed in an elegant Provençal villa set within orange tree gardens on a high-terraced hillside above the Mediterranean. Our modern classroom overlooks the deep blue bay of Villefranche and beyond that to Cap Ferrat.

For eight hours a day, five days a week, speaking any other language but French during the course is forbidden, with a €1 “fine” for any lapses.

One of the students turns to me and says (in French, of course): “This is the first time for 30 years that I feel like I am a student again and I love it”. Bruno, professor of our advanced class, performs a great balancing act, bringing humour and much diplomacy to the daily task of our improvement. It feels like we are in a safe boat on a very fast-moving tide – whatever our age, career paths and position in our respective countries, we are all at the same level here.

There are 65 students in all, aged 21 upwards and from such countries as Australia, America, Brazil, Japan, Scandinavia and Ireland. The motivation to learn free-flowing French varies: work requirements, the desire to integrate into the French lifestyle or just the pure pleasure of communicating in another language.

Charlene Wittstock, the South African swimmer rumoured to be the next Princess of Monaco, has been studying here recently. Other well-known students have included Queen Sonja of Norway, Hollywood actress Kathy Bates and even Vidal Sassoon.

The language teaching is based on the St Cloud-Zagreb method, which takes the 1,500 most frequently used French words in everyday conversation – originally recorded, in the 1950s, via strategically placed microphones in stores, cafés, subways and offices around Paris – as its basis. These words are the “fundamental French vocabulary” used for the audio-visual elements of the course.

Different classes mix for the afternoon séances pratiques sessions – which cover business vocabulary, how to understand radio and TV news, useful phrases for shopping, telephone calls, going to dinner and entertaining at home. And what better way to pursue our knowledge of French cuisine than the wine and cheese tasting sessions that tantalise palates with the superb variety of French cheeses, together with lessons on how to mix and cook crêpes.

Our lunches are held with a teacher at each table to encourage informal conversation. My favourite topics include Jean-Pierre’s tales of travel and precious stones, and the chef’s recipe for home-made Limoncello. French speaking is kept alive on evening visits to local restaurants serving regional cuisine and wine, to the theatre in Nice and to the cinema.

There is, however, serious intent beyond all these fun outings. Says Frédéric Latty, executive assistant of the institute: “In this way the students don’t return to their first language or risk losing any of the benefits of the true immersion of the day – rapidly developing French conversation skills in a correct and spontaneous manner”.

At the weekend, some students take time off to ski in the nearby mountains, walk around Antibes or hike in the Massif de l’Estérel beyond Cannes. Others take a train ride to Monte Carlo and then into nearby Italy for shopping.

In Villefranche-sur-Mer itself, wandering through the cobbled streets of the medieval fishing port, lined with clusters of pastel-shaded houses, draws you back to the end of the 13th century when the “free port” was created by Charles II, Duke of Anjou…

… By contrast, looking out straight into the brilliant light of the harbour, it’s easy to see why artists such as Matisse, Chagall and Léger were drawn to this area. It is as if you are actually walking inside a painting – in the intense and shimmering light, detail is lost and replaced by small strokes of pure colour bouncing off the expansive blue of the sky and sea.

For the final occasion, I am back in the institute’s language laboratory, and the mist gradually seems to be clearing. I am now actually thinking in French.

“Je pense que, j’aimerais que … L’humeur, l’humour, le mur, l’amour “… We repeat in unison and on our own and we love it ! What an improvement. After speaking nothing but French, it seems strange to hear classmates talking in their own languages at the end of the course.

As I leave town I notice Betty, who runs the local café-bar. Popular with students for welcoming all attempts to speak French – even happily correcting any mistakes – she is leaving in a tall white wool hat, owlish dark glasses, white coat and high heels. And I see Julien, one of the teachers, whistling on his way up to the school.

Sadly, it’s au revoir for now.

“… The Institut de Français, here on the Côte d’Azur, has a reputation as one of the world’s most intensive year-round schools in spoken French. Friends chortled knowingly when I told them that I was going to brush up my French on the Riviera, little did they, or I, guess that eight hours a day, in the Côte d’Azur’s worst heat wave in years, we 70 students would toil in the midst of paradise.

The Institut, uses a method that, in its inception, was positively Cartesian: language snoops placed microphones in French subways, offices and stores, pored over the result, and came up with a “fundamental vocabulary” of words most in use in everyday conversation. The Institut potboiled the list to an even more basic 1.200 words. The teachers speak in this rigorously selective prose, musically, clearly and rapidly. And almost from the first day, with a strange sensation of having fallen through the looking glass, you understand perfectly.

I had worried about my student stamina. But the Institut’s varied curriculum made it easy to stay alert. We whisked from grammar to films to lab to French songs; and even – sheepish but dutiful – played parlor games during the sacred postprandial “hour of digestion.”

Our teachers were dazzling. Good-humored, tactful, radiantly clear and gifted with celestial patience, they could remorselessly insist on le mot juste and the non nasal or take 10 minutes, if necessary to extract the correct verb from a floundering student, and yet never deflate our ever-growing confidence.

A miracle did happen, after all. Classmates became friends, met and known only in French. It was as though we had each discovered, exhilaratingly, a fresh persona. Racing ahead, we forgot the helplessness of the early days. So much of our sense of self is bound up in language : acquire a new language and you feel more powerful, more alive. After the exciting intensity of effort, we felt – and almost were – triumphantly bilingual…”

“… During the first week of the “Total Approach” French language course at the Institut de Français, a fellow student endeared himself to the teaching staff when he came to class and gleefully exclaimed (in French, of course), “this total immersion stuff really works! last night I had my first dream in French!” And then he continued, “Je n’ai aucune idée de ce qu’ils disaient, mais c’était complètement en français! ” (“I have no idea what they were talking about but it was all in French!”)

The method – state-of-the-art, modern technology, sink-or-swim “Total Approach” or total immersion – was developed 37 years ago by Jean Colbert, a French avionics engineer. Colbert was interested in taking a scientific approach to teaching a spoken language, and when he started is now one of the world’s most highly regarded and intensive total immersion courses – eight hours a day, five days a week, for four weeks. (So much for “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist…” In this case, I guess it did). It’s offered by the Institut de Français in Villefranche-sur-Mer, a charming fishing port located between Monaco and Nice on the French Riviera.

Despite its science-oriented origins, the institute’s teaching method is based on the simple premise that learning a language by ear – the way children do – is easiest.

Since it began in 1969, the program has attracted all manner of high-profile students, the queen of Norway probably being the most famous. There were no queens in my class, but there was an interesting melange of people, including a professional interpreter who had served as a Russian translator for Richard Nixon when the former president was in Moscow, a Dutch engineer studying French for a two-year stint on a United Nations water-purification project in Africa, a teacher/farmer from Melbourne, Australia, the president of a large Swiss paper company and “moi”, a freelance journalist and crew member with Delta Airlines.

On the first day, the only thing that mattered was how well – or how little – we could speak and understand French. We were tested in oral comprehension, speaking ability, and the intricacies of French vocabulary and grammar, then carefully placed in one of eight possible levels of no more than 10 students per class – “débutant” 1,2, intermediate 1,2,3,4 or advanced 1,2.

The adventure began the following morning with an 8:30 breakfast in a cheerful French country kitchen. From that point on, only French was permitted; anyone caught speaking another language faced a fine of 1 euro ($ 1,2). Even the gardeners were prepared to pop out from behind the bushes to collect the obligatory “amende”. (Fortunately, the kitty goes to a very good cause: a substantial supply of champagne and French Provençal hors d’œuvres on graduation day).

After breakfast, we had ear training, a swift-paced program aimed at training students to comprehend the language as spoken by the French – way too fast.

This was followed by a brain-twisting language lab session – also known as “la chambre de torture”, or “abattoir” (slaughterhouse), as some dubbed it – to improve listening comprehension. Ultimately, students are expected to be able to slip direct and indirect pronouns into “passé composé” (present perfect) and negative sentence structures – something about as easy as in-line skating downhill at 60 mph on the Grand prix Circuit in Monaco.

The key is patience and faith. Eventually, that “chambre de torture” and the professor in charge will ensure that no one leaves without getting those pesky pronouns in the same irrational places as the French put hem. It’s when you stop thinking about where everything is supposed to go and start relying on instinct that, suddenly, the babbling starts making sense.

Lunchtime at the institute provides a pleasant respite from the intense morning sessions. Students and teachers not only enjoy a delicious French “déjeuner” (midday meal), but also can chat and joke – only in French, of course, unless you’ve come with a pocketful of Euros. Oftentimes, full-day discussion-excursions extend to villages in the area.

Reality-check time comes during afternoon sessions in the grand salon or in the beautiful garden where we played adult games like Pictionary and charades. This is when you begin to get an idea of how much of the information avalanche from class and labs is actually being retained.

In the evenings, we learned French in such pleasantly grueling way as going to the theater, the opera, restaurants or screenings of French films.

All the while we thought we were just having fun, but the learning found a way to sneak up on us. By the second week, even the “débutant” were conversing in present, past and future verb tenses.

Most inspiring was the Russian student who started as a “débutant” in July with a French vocabulary of about 10 words and by the end of September had reached the advanced level.

At the conclusion of the program, all students are required to present an “exposé” in which they must speak for about 20 minutes on a topic of their choice, followed by a question-and-answer session. The more advanced students must also lead a 20-minute class discussion on a topic of their choice.

Fortunately, success is inevitable at the Institut de Français. From my perspective, the only possible improvement would be to teach a total immersion class entirely on a sailboat while cruising along the Côte d’Azur and inland waterways.

When not in New York, Delta crew member

Patricia Lewis practices her French

during her regular run to and from Nice.

“…I was in France and no one would speak to me in anything but French. Not only that, they expected me to talk back to them in their own language.

The people were, in fact, teachers at the Institut de Français in Villefranche-sur-Mer, a small town overlooking one of the loveliest bays on the Riviera.They are specially trained to teach adults to speak French as correctly and as fluently as possible, and to teach it in the shortest time.

The four-week course runs for eight hours a day, five days a week. It is a total immersion into the French language. The results are stunning; within days even beginners are conversing in French.

Such is the success of the methods that people have been coming from all over the world to the school since its establishment 28 years ago. It is recognised by the diplomatic corps, the United Nations, and international business organisations.

This total approach to French is the only way to learn French in a hurry, and it can be fun.Sometimes the “immersion” is so great that you sink, but it soon passes. The teachers know all about it – they even warn you of it.

If you cannot speak French at the beginning, you are advised not to speak at all until you can. And that is where the “miracle” takes place. You soon can. Emphasis is on the oral rather than the written word.

The teachers talk only in French. If you do not understand the first time, they simply keep on explaining it in different ways until you do. They use a basic vocabulary of 1500 words, those most used in everyday French.

The great drawcard of doing the course at Villefranche is that you are in France. Once school is out, you are out among the French of Villefranche-sur-Mer. You continue to speak to them in a real-life situation. And you find they are only too delighted to help you in your efforts to speak French; they are used to students from the institute.

Villefranche is a gem of a place, sitting tranquilly between the two giants of the Riviera, Nice and Monte Carlo. Across the water is Cap Ferrat, where Somerset Maugham and David Niven once lived.

Despite its position in such a famed area, Villefranche has not been taken over by the 20th century. There are no huge hotels, no discos, no casinos, no shops full of luxury goods. It has retained the atmosphere of its beginnings as a 14th century free trading port, with its fishing harbor, 16th century citadel and old streets. Therein lies its charm…”

When I climbed the hill to the tiny flat I’d rented for a month in Villefranche-sur-Mer and looked out over one of the Riviera’s most beautiful bays, I remembered Mrs Wickham, my third-form French teacher. « Bon jewer, » she pronounced each morning. « Come ant allay voo ? »

Mrs Wickham mangled the French language and I loathed reciting what at the time seemed meaningless conjugations. Yet something of those classes resonated and by the end of high school all things French had become a passion. Arriving in Villefranche to spend a month at the Institut de Français last northern summer was the realisation of a long-held dream.

There is a huge range of language schools in France. Most offer classes in the morning, leaving the afternoons for sightseeing. At the Institut de Français, they take things much more seriously. This was total immersion. My day started at 8.15 a.m with breakfast and finished at 5 p.m. And French only, s’il vous plait. Anyone heard speaking anything other than French was fined instantly, $2 a word. Happily this was a rule easy to keep because our limited French was the only common language.

The institute has about 70 students at a time, with eight to 10 a class, and they come from all over the world. My classmates included university students from Germany and Britain, retired school teachers from Norway and the United States, an economist from Argentina, a fashion designer from Russia and a policeman from Switzerland.

I regretted not arriving a few days early to give myself time to get over the jet lag because the course began with a three-hour oral and written exam, an ordeal that set the tone for the next four weeks. You can attend a course for two or three weeks ; I chose a month.

It doesn’t matter how much French you have because the school caters for speakers of all levels. I was somewhere in the middle and each day was a fairly demanding round of classes, discussion groups and language laboratory, followed by homework in the evening.

Sometimes we returned to school after dinner to watch and discuss a French movie. Some evenings we walked into the village to one of its many marvellous restaurants, or took a 20-minute bus ride to Nice, always speaking only French.

But it wasn’t all hard work. The Institute’s excellent teachers were good company and discussions over lunch each day were interesting and topical. An exemple of a meal was onion soup followed by trout with almonds, with a cherry savarin for dessert, all served by the school’s chef.

The lessons were always fun. Each afternoon, for example, started with two classes coming together to talk about, say, French wine and cheese (with plenty of both to taste) or what was in that day’s newspaper. I found this particularly helpful for understanding the news on French television.

There were parties and guided tours. We took trips to Monaco and to the medieval villages of St Paul de Vence and Tourette sur Loup.

Just living in Villefranche for a month was a joy. I walked to school each morning along cobbled streets lined with old stone walls dressed in riotous hats of pink and purple bougainvillea. Across ochre rooftops was the soft blue haze of the Mediterranean, St Jean Cap Ferrat to the south, Nice to the north. In the weekends I swam in the bay, wandered through the themed gardens of the Villa Rothschild or, best of all, sat in cafes and watched the local world go by.

I missed the end-of-course party, the champagne financed by those fines, $12 of which was mine. It was hard to leave but I had an early plane to catch to Paris where I spent the weekend revelling in the use of my much improved French. It has come a long way since those tortuous classes at girls high !