I think I need to rename my blog. "Vite" ("quick") was possibly a mistake. All week, I've done nothing but tell myself to slow down. I forgot how tiring traveling can be... and I was sick before so I'm not very fit. Instead of racing around town, I've been listening to my somewhat startled body and taking it easy.
And it has been divine. This is a holiday, after all. The idea is simply to live in the moment, and to cherish it. Most psychologists will tell you this is an excellent plan for happiness. They will also tell you that it is rather hard to do.
In Paris, it's an absolute pleasure. First you have to turn off your Sydney brain that tells you to hurry no matter how little you have on that day. Then you take a deep breath... and then you just meander down whatever avenue you're on... and see what's at the end of it. Sometimes it's a man selling raspberries. Sometimes it's la tour Eiffel.
It's funny how you actually have to tell yourself NOT to rush. And resting is a conscious decision too. Resting is GOOD. It means stopping to eat at gorgeous places. It means long stints in beautiful parks.
And once you slow down a bit, it runs deeper than just going through the motions. You savour each and every flake of pastry on your pain au chocolat. You notice the little girl in the park who stops her parents, picks up a stone, dusts it off, and puts it in her pocket.
In doing less, I am actually doing more. Rather than thinking about what I should have done earlier, or what I'm going to do next, I'm trying to think about what I'm doing now.
The French are pretty good at this. They turn their chairs and sit and look at their city. They eat ridiculous breakfasts that are far less about fast-breaking than the sheer pleasure of the morning. When the sun comes out, they flock to sit in it. Just sit. Not necessarily read, not check their BlackBerries or update Facebook, just sit. I tried this today myself. Being Australian, I was somewhat nervous... but the sun here is different. It's not as strong and it's tempered by the breeze. (Yes, Mum, I had sunscreen on.) It was insanely relaxing.
So overall I'm having a great time just soaking it all in. In terms of more active things, I've also revisited the Louvre, done d'Orsay, been to H&M three times, been to a flea market, seen the Eiffel tower (by night and day), the Arc de Triomphe and Notre Dame. Today I stumbled on a lovely square in the 6th with an amazing old church in it (St Sulpice).
I'm staying in the 15th now rather than Montmartre. This is a bit sad cos Montmartre was just so beautiful, and much more lively. It's a bit dead here and nowhere near as pretty. It has a bit of Berlin-type feel to it.
But the Metro is not far away and being here has led me to some fabulous local sites such as the antique book market I found yesterday. Also, there are less annoying tourists and the Parisians are much friendlier.
I do miss my little studio flat (apart from the whole toxic mould situation). It was definitely fun to live like a real French girl. My new room is tiny, very clean, newly renovated, largely without character (except for a pretty view into the neighbouring courtyard)... and has the world's smallest shower. Bear in mind people, that I just stayed in JAPAN and then a 30m square Parisian studio.
It's so small that doing anything other than standing upright under the water requires intense yogic movements and balance. Sometimes I have to leave the curtain open to avoid feelings of claustrophobia and general angst. When I stand with my back to the water, my nose is approximately two centimetres from the shower caddy. BUT, as I said, it's brand spanking new and entirely without fungal infestation.
My French is coming along well. I think being on my own helps with that... you end up chatting to people and taking linguistic risks you wouldn't bother with if you had a mate. I also totally get the whole "immersion" theory with languages. If you "must" speak a different language (and I'm not speaking a whole lotta English lately) it's like your brain gives it a higher priority or something.
Twelve years after I last learnt French, and ten years after my first trip here, I'm suddenly better at it than I was at school or uni. I have been revising with an iPhone app but still... it's pretty amazing what your mind can do in a new context.
I'm only talking about really basic stuff, but it's more than I've ever managed before. I went on a date with a French dude a few months ago and barely muttered two words to him in French. Now I can order my breakfast, haggle with flea market vendors and tell my cabbie where I live here and where I'm from.
My cabbie that brought me here (to the 15th) was pretty cool. I had a great moment driving through the middle of town. I asked him "what's that?" and he answered and told me that Napoleon was buried there. (It was the Hôtel des Invalides.) All in French, and I understood, and the sun was shining, and I was crazily, dizzily happy to be here : )
And that's it from me for now. Bonne nuit! x
P.S. My favourite TV show here is "Paris C'est Fou". I'm not too sure what it's about, other than Paris being fun and all, but the host is so pretty and I love her eye make-up.
Sunday 24 April 2011
Wednesday 20 April 2011
This isn't your hotel / Find the ninth box
I am in Paris! As I'm sure you're all quite aware due to my extensive Facebooking. Must be like I never left. Well, before you all block me from your newsfeeds, my next hotel does not have wifi so you may actually miss me next week ; )
So, me + Paris. My bodyclock is slowly adjusting and I am loving it here. I could spend months in this city and still not see it all.
I had another good flight and a lovely cabbie from the airport who was quite chatty and spoke slowly for me. We had a great old chat about Paris, boys, pickpockets and real estate prices in Sydney.
I got dropped off at the address that Expedia provided, only to be told that it was not in fact my hotel. Which made sense since I'm actually staying in a studio apartment this week. Damn you Expedia! Oh, and the key for my studio is at yet another hotel down the road. Grrrrr! With all my luggage with me, mysterious agonies in my stomach due to unfamiliar foods, and my body clock being set to well-past-midnight, I was SOMEWHAT unamused.
C'est la vie though, right? I hauled my bags down la rue and claimed my key and felt rather pleased with myself. A kind lady even asked me if I was lost. So far, so good. But then I arrive on Rue Constance and I'm about to lose my mind again.
I buzz through the street door but then my hard-earned key does not turn the second communal door. Moreover, there is no indication of which apartment is actually mine. None. What. So. Ever. There is only a panel of rather cryptic numeric information which makes no sense (and still doesn't).
Honestly, I could have cried. Instead, I decided I had to find a helpful resident and get them to assist me. I was NOT going to drag my luggage back down the street again.
But luckily, I was rescued. A lovely French girl came in from the street at the exact moment that my head (and possibly my stomach) was about to explode. She patiently showed me that you BUZZ the second door, and pointed out which apartment was mine. Ground floor - no steps. Woo hoo!
So I made it into my little home. Apart from a rancid miasma of black mould, it is adorable. Honestly... you don't notice the stench when you're in it. It just hits you when you open the door like some sort of fungal tsunami.
After I'd settled in I found a sign telling me I had free wifi, and the code was on the "neufbox". Hmm. Neuf means "nine". Thinking I was in some kind of thriller novel... (I finished reading 'The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo' on the plane. Oh, and about 20 mins after I finished it we flew over Uppsala and Stockholm, cool!)... I spent the next few hours trying to figure out what exactly this ninth box was (ok so I hadn't had much sleep). I was counting paintings and plants, everything.
Finally I re-read the sign and realised that "neufbox" is a brand of modem. Of course it is. The neufbox IS the modem, and it has a code on it, and it's under the bedside table in case anyone needs it. Phew! Et voila, mon blog!
In other news, my French lesson iPhone app is paying off and I'm having fun trying to converse with people. Generally, I do not understand what is being said to me but on the odd occasion that I do, I am absolutely stoked. Talking is easier. I have found that overthinking it and mumbling shyly doesn't work. It is better to just blurt it out. To my complete and utter astonishment, this seems to work 90% of the time. I got exactly what I asked for at breakfast today. That doesn't even happen in Sydney.
Something really cool happened today too. I was all ready to tackle the rather long line for the Musée d'Orsay in the heat. I'd been there for two minutes when a girl approached me and asked if I wanted to buy one of her tickets. She had three freebies as she was a student. I said, YES. I mean, OUI, and within about eight nanoseconds I was DANS la musée. Yay.
I loved the museum; I saw Van Gogh, Degas, Monet, Cézanne and Renoir. It wasn't too crowded either so you had time to really see each painting. I bought one of the catalogue books after and read it in the park. It was interesting to learn that when painters like Manet and Courbet started to paint 'real' looking nudes with normal skin and dimples and cellulite, it was highly controversial. Critics wanted smooth, pearly, glowing bodies (think Boticelli).
I've always found it interesting to see what is considered as ideal in women throughout time; I'd never known this subtelty before. I thought all pale naked ladies were kinda cool (cos sometimes I'm a pale naked lady too). It seems that the concept of airbrushing has been around for quite a while! And the ideal female body type has long been a controversial topic.
Why is it that we so rarely see these depictions / images / arguments re: men? You don't usually see a painting of a nude male sprawling on the lawn covered in cherubs / flowers / long hair / other men. What's up with that? As I said, I'm all for pale naked ladies but it seems there is a fine line between glorification and objectification.
And on that far-too-serious note, I am going to bed. Bonne nuit mes amies x
So, me + Paris. My bodyclock is slowly adjusting and I am loving it here. I could spend months in this city and still not see it all.
I had another good flight and a lovely cabbie from the airport who was quite chatty and spoke slowly for me. We had a great old chat about Paris, boys, pickpockets and real estate prices in Sydney.
I got dropped off at the address that Expedia provided, only to be told that it was not in fact my hotel. Which made sense since I'm actually staying in a studio apartment this week. Damn you Expedia! Oh, and the key for my studio is at yet another hotel down the road. Grrrrr! With all my luggage with me, mysterious agonies in my stomach due to unfamiliar foods, and my body clock being set to well-past-midnight, I was SOMEWHAT unamused.
C'est la vie though, right? I hauled my bags down la rue and claimed my key and felt rather pleased with myself. A kind lady even asked me if I was lost. So far, so good. But then I arrive on Rue Constance and I'm about to lose my mind again.
I buzz through the street door but then my hard-earned key does not turn the second communal door. Moreover, there is no indication of which apartment is actually mine. None. What. So. Ever. There is only a panel of rather cryptic numeric information which makes no sense (and still doesn't).
Honestly, I could have cried. Instead, I decided I had to find a helpful resident and get them to assist me. I was NOT going to drag my luggage back down the street again.
But luckily, I was rescued. A lovely French girl came in from the street at the exact moment that my head (and possibly my stomach) was about to explode. She patiently showed me that you BUZZ the second door, and pointed out which apartment was mine. Ground floor - no steps. Woo hoo!
So I made it into my little home. Apart from a rancid miasma of black mould, it is adorable. Honestly... you don't notice the stench when you're in it. It just hits you when you open the door like some sort of fungal tsunami.
After I'd settled in I found a sign telling me I had free wifi, and the code was on the "neufbox". Hmm. Neuf means "nine". Thinking I was in some kind of thriller novel... (I finished reading 'The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo' on the plane. Oh, and about 20 mins after I finished it we flew over Uppsala and Stockholm, cool!)... I spent the next few hours trying to figure out what exactly this ninth box was (ok so I hadn't had much sleep). I was counting paintings and plants, everything.
Finally I re-read the sign and realised that "neufbox" is a brand of modem. Of course it is. The neufbox IS the modem, and it has a code on it, and it's under the bedside table in case anyone needs it. Phew! Et voila, mon blog!
In other news, my French lesson iPhone app is paying off and I'm having fun trying to converse with people. Generally, I do not understand what is being said to me but on the odd occasion that I do, I am absolutely stoked. Talking is easier. I have found that overthinking it and mumbling shyly doesn't work. It is better to just blurt it out. To my complete and utter astonishment, this seems to work 90% of the time. I got exactly what I asked for at breakfast today. That doesn't even happen in Sydney.
Something really cool happened today too. I was all ready to tackle the rather long line for the Musée d'Orsay in the heat. I'd been there for two minutes when a girl approached me and asked if I wanted to buy one of her tickets. She had three freebies as she was a student. I said, YES. I mean, OUI, and within about eight nanoseconds I was DANS la musée. Yay.
I loved the museum; I saw Van Gogh, Degas, Monet, Cézanne and Renoir. It wasn't too crowded either so you had time to really see each painting. I bought one of the catalogue books after and read it in the park. It was interesting to learn that when painters like Manet and Courbet started to paint 'real' looking nudes with normal skin and dimples and cellulite, it was highly controversial. Critics wanted smooth, pearly, glowing bodies (think Boticelli).
I've always found it interesting to see what is considered as ideal in women throughout time; I'd never known this subtelty before. I thought all pale naked ladies were kinda cool (cos sometimes I'm a pale naked lady too). It seems that the concept of airbrushing has been around for quite a while! And the ideal female body type has long been a controversial topic.
Why is it that we so rarely see these depictions / images / arguments re: men? You don't usually see a painting of a nude male sprawling on the lawn covered in cherubs / flowers / long hair / other men. What's up with that? As I said, I'm all for pale naked ladies but it seems there is a fine line between glorification and objectification.
And on that far-too-serious note, I am going to bed. Bonne nuit mes amies x
Monday 18 April 2011
Mission: lemon cheesecake Kit Kat
Daniel only asked me for one thing from this trip: a lemon cheesecake flavoured Kit Kat from Japan. I was like, really? (1) they exist? (2) that's all you want? He said I'd get one from the 7 Eleven, which would be nearby. I told him not to get too excited since I was going to be staying in the middle of nowhere (the airport hotel). Thanks to the wonders of Wikipedia and Google Maps respectively, I learnt that he was correct on both counts. They do exist and I was in fact staying next door to a 7 Eleven.
So the very first thing I did after checking in here was to set off for the Quik-e-Mart. Which I promptly found, even though a lot of its lights were off (power shortages I guess). But that is where my luck ended. Not a Kit Kat in sight! I tried the next Quik-e-Mart on the block and managed to scrounge up a couple. I think one is crème brûlée flavoured. I'm really not sure. Sorry D.
I did get some awesome slash 'interesting' treats myself though. These included a banana sealed in a plastic bag (in case he escapes to Australia in order to double his net value), peach and mint flavoured gum and black cotton tips. Yeah. Those things you clean your ears with. In black. Should I save them for when I have been listening to emo music?
I have had a few other Japanese experiences. Let's use bullets; I'm tired.
- Managed to see and smell some cherry blossoms.
- Am wearing a kimono as we speak.
- Got into a lift full of Japanese schoolgirls in matching uniforms who all agreed I was, "totemo kirei desu". Thanks girls!
- Had dinner at the Japanese equivalent of a roadside diner. Got a few looks. Managed to spill rice everywhere. V graceful.
- Green tea, hot or cold, is the best drink ever on a plane trip.
While I'm on that note, I think my flight was maybe the best ever...? I had a whole row to myself, the food was nice, the plane was new, the flighties were LOVELY. Like, old school air hostesses with beautiful make-up and perfect hair. I told one I was hungry and within three seconds I had a tray in front of me with a warm bread roll, Lurpak butter and a Tim Tam, of all things. Hooray! I love JAL.
So that's about it from me. Hopefully I can find some WiFi and post this tomorrow. Sorry for spelling mistakes. I'm on my phone and it's set to French so spellcheck is turned off.
Speaking of French... every time I try to think of how to say something in Japanese my brain comes back with the phrase in French instead. Which bodes well for tomorrow onwards but it has been a bit frustrating today. I did Japanese for three or four years at school and all I can manage is an enthusiastic yet largely moronic "doomo arigato" every three minutes. Oh well. Pas de quoi. Thanks brain... you'd better be this fluent demain.
Luv me x
Wait... it's Sunday night... why were those girls in school uniforms??!
So the very first thing I did after checking in here was to set off for the Quik-e-Mart. Which I promptly found, even though a lot of its lights were off (power shortages I guess). But that is where my luck ended. Not a Kit Kat in sight! I tried the next Quik-e-Mart on the block and managed to scrounge up a couple. I think one is crème brûlée flavoured. I'm really not sure. Sorry D.
I did get some awesome slash 'interesting' treats myself though. These included a banana sealed in a plastic bag (in case he escapes to Australia in order to double his net value), peach and mint flavoured gum and black cotton tips. Yeah. Those things you clean your ears with. In black. Should I save them for when I have been listening to emo music?
I have had a few other Japanese experiences. Let's use bullets; I'm tired.
- Managed to see and smell some cherry blossoms.
- Am wearing a kimono as we speak.
- Got into a lift full of Japanese schoolgirls in matching uniforms who all agreed I was, "totemo kirei desu". Thanks girls!
- Had dinner at the Japanese equivalent of a roadside diner. Got a few looks. Managed to spill rice everywhere. V graceful.
- Green tea, hot or cold, is the best drink ever on a plane trip.
While I'm on that note, I think my flight was maybe the best ever...? I had a whole row to myself, the food was nice, the plane was new, the flighties were LOVELY. Like, old school air hostesses with beautiful make-up and perfect hair. I told one I was hungry and within three seconds I had a tray in front of me with a warm bread roll, Lurpak butter and a Tim Tam, of all things. Hooray! I love JAL.
So that's about it from me. Hopefully I can find some WiFi and post this tomorrow. Sorry for spelling mistakes. I'm on my phone and it's set to French so spellcheck is turned off.
Speaking of French... every time I try to think of how to say something in Japanese my brain comes back with the phrase in French instead. Which bodes well for tomorrow onwards but it has been a bit frustrating today. I did Japanese for three or four years at school and all I can manage is an enthusiastic yet largely moronic "doomo arigato" every three minutes. Oh well. Pas de quoi. Thanks brain... you'd better be this fluent demain.
Luv me x
Wait... it's Sunday night... why were those girls in school uniforms??!
Saturday 16 April 2011
So I'm off and stuff
Hello. I don't have much to say other than I'm off early tomorrow morning. I'm now only spending one night in Japan and then going straight on to Paris. Am v excited and am all packed and ready to go. I hope I can update this while I'm away; I downloaded an app that lets me log into Blogger. So far it has proved fairly useless but perhaps it'll start working for me. If not there, are always internet cafes.
x
x
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)