The night before my first day at Regina Coeli (a.k.a. Dutch Princess School), I lay awake, and not just because it was the World Cup final, and rowdy Dutchies were still filling the streets.
What the hell am I doing? Who studies Dutch…for fun?
And did I also mention it cost thousands of dollars?
I had plotted out the route to the school the night before, winding my way through a series of wrong turns and construction zones until I found a reasonable path and knew that it would take me roughly thirty minutes to get there.
But the bigger question remained: Why wasn’t I on a beach somewhere, rather than heading to a classroom at 8 in the morning?
The night before, lying in bed, I thought: Maybe I’ve hit my novelty wall. Maybe going to a town you’ve never been to, to speak a language in the most intensive immersion environment possible, is actually beyond the pale. Maybe it was actually a bad idea.
