This song title isn\u2019t strictly appropriate, as the biennial Sixth Form French pilgrimage to our spiritual home actually took place in mid-February. But the weather gods were so provident that it may as well have been. Indeed, the City of Light lived up to its name as 12 A-level students spent five days with Mr Chillingworth and Mrs Harrison in radiant sunshine. Fitbits went into meltdown as we drank deep in the key landmarks of Parisian cultural heritage, from the Champs Elys\u00e9es to Montmartre, via the lush Impressionist treats of the Mus\u00e9e d\u2019Orsay and the Gothic splendour of Notre Dame Cathedral. There were several opportunities to research the A level topics, and those who sought it even had time for some retail therapy.<\/p>\n
Interaction in French was the order of the day, despite all Parisians seemingly being pre-programmed to switch into English at the slightest soup\u00e7on of Anglo-Saxon infiltration! And despite warnings from the Foreign Office, our attempts to witness the spirit of 1968 reincarnated in the Gilet Jaune protestors were thwarted, alas, as it appears that contemporary French protestors only come out at the weekend!<\/p>\n
No Chetham\u2019s trip would be complete without some musical input. A tour of the original (and best, according to most) Op\u00e9ra Garnier was followed by a trip to see the Orchestre de Paris perform Berlioz\u2019 gargantuan Grande Messe des Morts<\/em>\u00a0in his 150th<\/sup> anniversary year, complete with four brass choirs,\u00a0ten timpanists and a massed choir of 170!<\/p>\n
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