我去巴黎时，29岁了，而且是边自由撰稿（时间上占大头，所以实际等于工作）边上学。

我本来以为我已经算很奇怪了，后来发现，比我奇怪的人多了去了。

比如，2012年冬天，巴黎已经冷得呵手成霜。我一般得早上五点起床，发完几封邮件出门，7号线到Jussieu，转10号线，再坐一站，上地面就是圣日耳曼大道。走一段，向右一转，就看见远远的圣母院侧脸了。索邦的一个校区在路左手边，得进去上口语课。我初次去时，到早了，看见门口有位秃顶老先生，坐在一叠报纸上，低头看书，边啃棍子面包。我想这年纪，一定是老师，于是怯生生喊：老师？那位一抬头，看看我：啊，我也是学生！

后来上了几次课，课间聊过三五遭。这位叫古斯塔夫（我：“古斯塔夫-福楼拜的古斯塔夫？”他：“对对我爸爸很爱福楼拜我也是。”所以我后来都叫他福楼拜先生），做了二十七年的汽车销售，儿子在里昂。

为什么来上课呢？他说自己读书少，是懵懂先生（Monsieur Innocent），或者天真先生（耐夫先生……），“不想把这带进坟墓去。”

我们有一次发阅读材料，是保罗-默朗写香奈尔的文章。古斯塔夫下课就跟我说：他坐了半辈子苏利-默朗地铁站，从来不知道原来默朗跟香奈尔还有一腿。我安慰他说，时装界的事嘛，男人不知道正常，他听了点头，挠挠顶上几根头发：

“但我又少一点懵懂了。”

上完语音课，向圣母院走，到塞纳河边左转（左手边就是著名的莎士比亚书店），一路走到C线，下去，一直坐到大学城。下车的地方，总有一个何塞-圣马丁的骑像面着我们。穿过大学城的草坪——无数人在跑步——去到教室，上语言课。班上有两个有趣的人。一位是朱黛哈忒，泰国人，自我介绍时说三十八岁；与所有泰国女人一样，妆化得浓而且美，声音嗡嗡的，常带微笑；职业？一个很长的词，似乎跟香熏理疗有关。

另一位叫柳德米拉，俄罗斯人。她说她快五十了，来法国时，她故乡那片大地还没分裂呢。她在故国时，从事跟火箭科技沾边的东西——班上一位小她三十岁的波兰姑娘叫了声：“天哪！”为什么要来上课呢？“我先生嫌我口音太重了！

I was 29 years old when I went to Paris, and I was freelance writing (a big part of my time, so it was actually a job) and going to school.

I thought I was already considered weird, but later I found out that there are many people who are weirder than me.

For example, in the winter of 2012, Paris was already freezing cold. I usually have to get up at 5 in the morning, send a few emails and go out, take Line 7 to Jussieu, transfer to Line 10, take another stop, and the upper ground is Boulevard Saint-Germain. Walk for a while, turn right, and you will see the profile of Notre Dame in the distance. A campus in Sorbonne is on the left-hand side of the road, and you have to go in for oral lessons. The first time I went there, I arrived early and saw a bald old gentleman at the door, sitting on a stack of newspapers, reading with his head down, and eating a stick of bread. I thought that at this age, I must be a teacher, so I shouted timidly: Teacher? That person looked up and looked at me: Ah, I am also a student!

Later, I took a few classes and chatted three or five times between classes. This is Gustave (me: "Gustave-Flaubert's Gustave?" He: "I love Flaubert so much for my father." So I called him Flaubert afterwards Bye), twenty-seven years in car sales, son in Lyon.

Why do you come to class? He said that he did not read much, that he was Mr. Confused (Monsieur Innocent), or Mr. Naive (Mr. Neff...), "I don't want to take this into the grave."

We once sent reading materials, Paul Meuran wrote an article on Chanel. Gustav told me after class: He sat on the Sully-Meurans subway station for half his life, and never knew that Meurand and Chanel had an affair. I comforted him by saying that men don’t know how to deal with the fashion industry. He nodded and scratched a few hairs on the top of his head:

"But I'm a little less ignorant."

After the pronunciation class, walk towards Notre Dame, turn left at the Seine River (the famous Shakespeare and Bookstore is on the left), walk all the way to Line C, go down, and sit until you reach the University City. Where we got off the bus, there was always a José San Martin riding a statue facing us. Walking across the lawn of the university town - countless people running - to the classroom, to the language class. There are two interesting people in the class. One is Zhu Dehate, a Thai, who said she was thirty-eight years old when she introduced herself; like all Thai women, she has thick and beautiful makeup, a buzzing voice, and always smiles; occupation? A long word that seems to be related to aromatherapy.

The other is Lyudmila, a Russian. She said that she was almost fifty, and when she came to France, the land of her hometown had not yet been divided. When she was in her home country, she was engaged in something related to rocket technology-a Polish girl who was 30 years younger than her exclaimed: "My God!" Why did you come to class? "My husband thinks my accent is too strong!