Sunday 16 September 2012

La fenêtre


In every
French room
Is a window
La fenêtre

And if you
Have been there
You'll know
Tu vas connaître

How charming
They can be
So pretty
Très jolie

Any artist
Is aware
Of the light
La lumière

And the noise
Of the street
Floating up
Tout de suite

Life
Is never far
Every night
Chaque soir

You'll hear voices
Clinking sets
Of forks
Les fourchettes

Sirens
Will occur
Sending help
Au secours! 

In the morning
As you lay
Comes the sun
Le soleil

Open shutters
Once more
Once again
Encore



Text and image COPYRIGHT 2012 © Elisa Lee Butcher

Thursday 13 September 2012

Life, death.... and chocolate chips

Chocolate chips are called pépites de chocolat here. Isn't that like, the cutest thing ever? They're in a lot of stuff too. My favourite is a type of pain au suisse (full name = brioche suisse à la crème pâtissière et aux pépites de chocolat), which is basically a doubled over crossaint-type-pastry thing with custard in the middle. And pépites de chocolat. Yeah, I know. 

OMFG

The best one I ever had was last year, somewhere near St Sulpice. I went looking for the same boulangerie the other day and I couldn't find it. I'm very upset. Those pain au suisse were pretty much the only reason I came back here.

The search will go on. Watch this space.

Relevance of pépites to today's post? Pretty much nil (you'll find more pépites de chocolat in your breakfast pastry than this blog entry). I just wanted to start on a light note as the rest of this entry may well be a bit, erm, grave. Literally.

Inadvertently, I have just spent two days in cemeteries. Two VERY different cemeteries I might add, but graveyards nonetheless. I didn't plan to do this; I only realised it once I started writing.

Yesterday I visited Les Catacombes of Paris. Definitely one of the strangest experiences of my life, and one thing that I have ticked off my bucket list.

I felt like a kid from The Goonies navigating through tunnels beneath my favourite city. There was even some dripping water (though no boat or pirates at the end). Plenty of bones though. Rows and rows and rows of neatly lined skulls with femurs and other long bones stacked above and below. Trust the French to make sure that it all looked nice.

Some of Paris' older inhabitants...

You should be able to see more photos here.

It's very odd how our bones remain and that burial is not necessarily the "end of the line". The city of Paris ran out of space and was having some health issues so had to find alternative accommodation for the residents of one of its cemeteries.

Imagine that at your Monday morning meeting. "So, Georges-François... Have you and Xavier come up with any ideas for that graveyard issue? I'm going to need a Gantt chart on that by COB Wednesday."

Yeccccch. Well, anyway, glad they sorted that one out, and unwittingly created one of the most unusual tourist attractions in the world.

The other place I have just visited is Villers-Bretonneux. This village was the site of heavy fighting in WWI, and where many Aussies died.

The town is a sister to Melbourne, and has streets, schools and restaurants named after Melbourne and Victoria. Which is kinda weird and nice at the same time.

There is a museum there which documents many of the events that occurred. It was very touching to see the way that Australians are still appreciated. A school hall adjacent to the museum even had wooden carvings of Australian animals on its walls. Très bizarre!

Fancy seeing you here matey!

Villers-Bretonneux is a tiny town. There are hardly any shops, and of these, only a few were open. I don't know why because it was not Sunday, Monday, a public holiday or time for a siesta. Pickings for lunch were slim - I had a choice between two optometrists, a chemist, a kebab shop and a rather dubious buffet at a restaurant named Le Victoria. (I wasn't kidding about stuff being named after our Melbournian friends.)

I went with the buffet. It was... interesting and involved green beans, beetroot and boiled eggs. Enough said.

Afterwards, I began to make my way towards what was to be the most profound part of my trip. Thousands of young Australian men are buried in a memorial park about 2kms out of town.

Trekking through bucolic farmland on a sunshiny day, it was hard to imagine the incredible pain and useless suffering that occurred here. I picked a few wildflowers along the way, including one of those famous red poppies.

A stunning landscape

(I was also offered a lift to the cemetery by a random man, but I said no, of course. My propensity to attract inappropriate men has not abated. This morning when I asked about which platform my train would depart from at Gare du Nord, the attendant suggested that I abandon my journey and spend the day with him and his friend instead. Um, no. Why can't I attract any NORMAL men?!)

Anyway, as I made my way along I focused on the young Australian men who had taken the same path, under such different circumstances, almost 100 years ago. I really felt as though I had flung myself to the end of the earth. I was in the middle of nowhere. I wondered how that felt, back then.

It took about 20 minutes to reach the cemetery and memorial. It is very beautiful and well-maintained. Bright red roses bloom amongst immaculate white graves. There were so many. They were so young. 

"Their names liveth for evermore"

There isn't much more that I can say about it other than that without sounding trite. It was upsetting but I'm glad I went. It was a quiet, reverent place. I thought that I could sense a bit of the camaraderie that existed there, before they all died. I hope so, anyway. 

Here is a video I took from the top of the monument tower. It shows how truly idyllic the surroundings were today. Lest we forget. 


Apart from that, I love being a pseudo-Parisian. I love the house I'm in. I love my room. I love the people. I love le petit chien Bob. Am having a great time à la maison.

I spent some time in Amiens after my trip to Villers-Brettoneux. It's a very pretty town, with wide boulevards of shops, beautiful buildings and a spectacular cathedral. But when I walked down to the platform for my train back to Paris, I was grinning like an idiot. I was going "home".

À bientôt x

P.S. In case anyone is wondering, I am doing ok health-wise. I had horrible anxiety initially, but it is easing up now. I still shake. I have tablets, but they now seem to make me feel more anxious while I'm on them so I've decided to avoid them during the day. I'd rather shake. I'm kinda used to that now I guess >:[

Friday 7 September 2012

Why I love this city!

I haven't even been here 24 hours yet and already strange things are happening. Here is a quick summary:

- Have (obviously) met my host. He's very lovely, inclusive and interesting. He has already given me a very strict lesson on French men. Haha!

- His girlfriend is beautiful and an absolute sweetheart.

- I love my little room and have unpacked all my stuff (I'm here for six weeks after all!)

- I have been invited to the party of my host's ex-girlfriend who just got married, and is celebrating the event here at his house. (Apparently they are still friends).

- Have kicked off the eating of many ridiculously unhealthy and glorious things with the chocolate tart below. Do you think it's rich enough? I dunno. Could have more cream / chocolate.

It begins...

- Have had a poem written for me by a random guy on the street. Yes, really. He offered to give me a tour of the cemetery near here (which is not as creepy as it sounds; it's a tourist attraction - Chopin, Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison are buried there.)

- Have also been taken to tea and given a whopping bag of samples by a random pharmacist. Yes, really. I figured tea couldn't hurt, and I could practice my French. I'm not doing too badly in that department for someone who has just spent the better part of 30 hours getting here.

- Am blaming my new Alannah Hill hair clip and purple beret for the peculiar attention (although JSeb attributed it to my decolletage - only, I had my decolletage last time too and nothing much happened then!). I got a few weird looks (mostly from women - they dislike me) at my beret, probably because it was about 23 degrees. But for an Aussie, that's not really that hot, so if your hair needs washing and there's a cool breeze - chuck on a beanie.

The purple beanie / hairclip combo appears to be a hit with les garçons français

- Hence, lessons from JSeb re: French men. Men are the same everywhere though, essentially. They're all after the same thing. I get it. Although, it's actually nicer to be told that you are "magnifique" than to have obscenities screamed at you from a truck window.

- Bought a cookbook that features only recipes make with and from Nutella. Maja - I'm thinking of you!

A valuable addition to every kitchen

- Have formed a love / hate relationship with JSeb's poodle, Bob. Bob is ADORABLE, and totally knows it. When I got home today he was here alone and came straight up to greet me. I was having trouble getting the key out of the lock and so he started sooking, making whimpering noises because I wasn't patting him. Eventually, he gave up, and went and curled up on the couch to sulk.

When I sorted out the lock I went to have a chat with Bob, only he wasn't prepared to reciprocate anymore. I gave up and came upstairs and got changed. When I opened my door again, lo and behold, there was little Bob, sitting nonchalantly outside my door. He haughtily sauntered into my room for a brief cuddle, but spent much of his time staring solemnly out the window. (See picture below.) It's a hard life.

 J'aime Bob!

- I have managed to stay awake all day despite the fact that I arrived at 8am this morning after a double flight and a decent layover. I guess Paris was just too exciting! I'm starting to fade badly now though... *yawn*

So that's all for now. Who knows what will happen tomorrow. God help me when I put on my red lipstick!!

Luv moi xoxo

Tony Soprano, green tea and Valium – the only way to fly

I’ve been having one of those, what the hell am I doing in Guangzhou? moments. You know the feeling. You rock up to Guangzhou, float around a bit, buy a few trinkets you don’t need, pay nearly $30 for a burger and some suspicious-looking chips… and then you think (a) How did I get here and (b) Why am I here again?

Happens to the best of us, I know.

As you may have gathered, I’m already beginning to reach that spaced-out jet-laggy headspace and I’m only two hours out of sync with Sydney. But by the time I get on my next plane, I will have been awake for nearly 24 hours.

I had a pretty good flight. I read my book. I watched four episodes of The Sopranos. I had nice people sitting near me (but not too close). Luckily I brought my laptop and James Gandolfini, as there was zero in-flight entertainment.

It was definitely a no-frills affair, but for <$1500 to Paris and back, I am not complaining. I just pressed that button a lot that makes someone come and frown at you and ask you what you want. I want some green tea please. And some water.

Water – OMG. This appears to be in perilously short supply ever since I stepped on the plane. Like, even more than usual while travelling. To top it off, Guangzhou is the second hottest airport on the planet (the first is Vanuatu’s).

I don’t know why airlines serve water in such scant supply. IT’S NOT EXPENSIVE. Okay, I know it’s heavy, but seriously, I’m parched! And then I rock up to this subtropical humidifier of an airport and I can’t even find anywhere to refill my drink bottle.

Oh no wait, I can. They have a water fountain downstairs. It serves a selection of warm, hot and boiling water. No, I’m not kidding. THEY ARE TRYING TO TURN US INTO DUMPLINGS. I refused to partake.

Hence, I paid $28 for a burger, two chicken wings, some Pringle-type things, a few pieces of random fruit that I probably shouldn’t have eaten (why do you always get honeydew melon when you travel?), a can of Sprite AND a bottle of Evian.

The latter two are what pushed my bill over a reasonable limit (and the USD$20 I had prepared in my wallet). The meal was supposed to come with a Coke, but since it’s getting on for midnight here, I can’t have caffeine in general and I’ve been shaking all day, Coke was really not a viable option.

But Coke was the *only* option. It could not be swapped. I begged and pleaded and almost cried, until eventually the waitress agreed to swap it for l’eau. Which turned out to be a thimble-full of lukewarm tap water. That was enough for me. I broke down and ordered two real drinks and used the glass of warm water as a finger bowl. (Seriously, the chicken was greasy. Take that you water-hogging waitress.)

But all in all, Guangzhou is not such a bad airport. I had read some fairly intense horror stories online. I was expecting all out guerrilla warfare over seating and phone charging points, and squat toilets that I’d wouldn’t physically be able to use. (Travelling alone = peeing with one’s luggage – think about it. Actually, don’t).

Just an ordinary airport...

Guangzhou is a pretty average airport. It’s an airport. Airports are boring. Nobody wants to be in them. You don’t go travelling to be at the airport (unless you are Kath or Kim). You go travelling to be somewhere exciting that is written on the sign at the airport.

I’d say that most of the scathing reviews (eg: nothing to do, no wifi, filthy toilets, overpriced food, rude staff) were written by les américains. After all, they think Hawaii is international travel.

The first two complaints are neither here nor there. It’s not a hotel or a theatre, it’s an airport. I’m not quite sure what they expect in terms of entertainment. A marching band? It’s not the Super Bowl! Buy a book!

The toilets are totally fine. The food is overpriced and the staff are pretty much indifferent, but I’m from Sydney so none of that really registers with me. Meh. It’s not the greatest airport in the world, but it’s not the complete disaster that online reviewers would have you believe.

There was also a review by a woman who complained bitterly that she had to exit a plane via the tarmac. And it was hot outside. Oh, the horror! Do these people have any concept of travelling, whatsoever?

Back to my flight. I’ve been having bad shaking lately. I was worried about this on the plane. Not just for my sake, but for the sake of those around me. I asked at the check-in counter if I could be quarantined, or similar. (And yay if I got an extra seat. It’s not that often I get to capitalise on having a movement disorder, so bring it on.)

I was hoping that I’d get upgraded or something – at least to Economy Plus. Although, the only discernible difference I could see between us and them was a slight alteration in chair upholstery. Apparently they get extra snacks. Whatevs.

I did get an extra seat. But I also had to be screened by the airport doctor to certify that I was “fit to fly”. I’d be fit to fly off the bloody handle if he declared me otherwise. I also had to pay $80 for the privilege. But I did get an extra seat on the way to China.

So I had my seats, my green tea, my HBO and my benzos. I’ve been quite anxious lately and the Rivotril now seems to be making that worse (which makes no sense, but apparently that can happen – reverse effects). So the doctor gave me some Valium for the next few weeks. So I had that too.

But it’s not really for me. I don’t like the uneasy feeling of pills wearing off and on, and the benefits are short-lived. Once they wear off you often feel more strung out than before. What is the point?! However, they have been a godsend during my flights. I don’t think that I could have tolerated 28 hours of constant shaking, claustrophobia and feeling on the verge of a panic attack.

I’m now really looking forward to simply walking around Paris and starting to feel normal again in a normal way. Every time I feel that awful stab of anxiety I picture les Jardins du Luxembourg. I feel better just walking around this bloody airport!

So there is my experience thus far. I will have to post this once I get to Paris, because you have to either be Chinese or have a Chinese sim card to get wifi to work here unfortunately.

Elle xoxo

P.S. I am editing this on my second flight. We’re less than an hour or so from Paris! I didn’t get an extra seat this time, but I did manage to pass out for a while. Woo hoo! I feel like something Kurt Cobain coughed up, but I’m nearly there.

Also, we got a proper, new Airbus this time that had like, movies and stuff and didn’t look like a relic from the 70s. C’est bon. Still loving James though ; ) x

Saturday 1 September 2012

How can I go to Paris if I can’t even do the dishes?

Don’t hate me.

I’m going to Paris on Thursday, but I have been struggling. 

I’m not exactly sure why… but it has been coming for a while. I’m at a bit of a crossroads in my life, and this appears to have freaked me out somewhat. I'm drowning. 

Essentially, my purpose in life is lacking. I still can’t work and I am no longer at uni. (Uni proved to be a little bit more advanced than I was ready to tackle; my program started in second year.)

I had a bit of a mini-breakdown. I withdrew from uni. I fell apart. I booked a ticket to Paris. As you do. When I asked my friend D what he’d think of me if I dropped out of uni to go to Paris, he went silent for a second and said, “OMG. That is like, so totally Bohemian.”

I suppose it is, by definition. Do I want to be Bohemian?

To be honest, I have NFI what I want right now. I think that must be the crux of the problem. Paris is all well and good, but what on earth am I coming back to? And why am I spending money that I should be saving for my future?

I guess I was feeling rebellious. I *had* planned to go to Paris in 2013, so I decided to go anyway. Screw it.  

Being prone to fairly dramatic mood swings, I’ve since questioned the wisdom of this decision. I honestly think that it will work out fine in the long run. I know this instinctively. I’m just freaking out right now.

And when I say, “I’m freaking out,” I guess I don’t mean “me” so much as my mind and body (if you can separate the three). My body is a continued source of betrayal. Apart from depression, since I switched to a different brand of melatonin, I’ve started shaking again.

My mood has been in freefall. It took me a little while to notice. The starting point that I can pinpoint is when I dropped out of uni. I was incredibly distraught and felt like the world’s biggest failure. I couldn’t handle it. I should be able to handle it. Perfectionist, much?

I’ve really got to learn to chill and give myself an easy life for a while. Maybe for a few years even. I’m just used to pushing myself and earning a certain amount of money and having a certain amount of career prestige and wearing nice black dresses to work. But none of that is as important as my health.

So what do I do instead of uni? Panicking, I bought a ticket to Paris. I immediately needed some sort of purpose / self-definition. Je vais être une touriste.

I kinda forgot that being a tourist can also be a fairly demanding “job”. This brings me back to my initial point: Don’t hate me.

I’m not looking for sympathy; eg: Oh, woe is me, I’m going to Paris. Boo le hoo. I’m not even expecting understanding. I don’t really understand what’s going on myself, so I can’t expect anyone else to (except maybe my shrinks). I actually don't really care what anyone thinks, to be honest. At the end of the day, it’s me who has to deal with it, as rational or irrational as it may be.

I just know that I have been feeling utterly horrendous for the past month or so. It’s a bit like the cartoon below...

 The beast...
(Source: National Council for Community Behavioural Healthcare)

Depression is easy to miss sometimes. It’s insidious; it sneaks up, and by the time you realise it’s there, it’s pinning you down and you can barely move. Or see. Or feel. Or care.

I was feeling a bit lost and I wanted to see where I was at, objectively. I have been using an online mood tracker since last November and have found it to be quite effective and accurate in monitoring my mood.

I’ve mostly scored in the “severe” category, with my psychological diagnoses confirming this. However, during May this year, I dropped right down to “mild / moderate”, which was great news.

I knew that I wasn’t going to be in this category again, but I wasn’t quite prepared for the result. I got 76. This is the highest score that I have ever had. If you want to do the test, the link is here

I wasn’t quite sure how to cope with this, and I was terribly upset. I mean, what is wrong with me? I know that I’m having a bit of an existential crisis, but this is ridiculous.

The problem with severe depression, or a major depressive episode is that it doesn’t always make a whole lot of sense. It is certainly very confusing for the person affected. You spend a lot of time wondering what is wrong, and if you are actually depressed or not (which always seem ridiculous in hindsight, once you feel better again).

As I mentioned earlier, I likened the feeling to drowning. No matter how hard you kick and gasp for air, something dark and menacing is pulling you down. And all the kicking and gasping is exhausting. Plus, your brain just doesn’t work properly.

I mean this in a literal way. Following my psychologist, Ms G’s advice, I dragged myself out of bed one weekend and walked down to Cremorne Point. It was a stunningly beautiful day, the sun was out, the breeze was warm, the views were amazing. And I felt… nothing.

A glorious day!

Right, I thought, I just need to work up some endorphins. They should boost me up to “normal” again at least. I walked the kilometre or so uphill back to my house. I worked up a sweat. I was out of breath. And I felt… nothing.

This is the point where I really started to get frightened. It’s pretty rare where a half decent workout on a beautiful day will not evoke any positive chemical change in the brain. I felt like rapping on my head to try to elicit a response. I felt like I was in a glass box screaming at the top of my lungs and nobody could hear me.

It took me a while to get the message through to Ms G and Dr J. I’m not very good at letting them see how much I’m sinking at times. Apparently other clients go in with dirty hair and slouch and speak in a monotone. I guess that’s just not how I roll. I put on a mask. Or something.

I saw them both recently and they’d wished me bon voyage and sent me on my way. It was probably a bit early; I was still getting my head around how I was feeling and hadn’t given all the behavioural tasks I’d been assigned a proper go, so I didn’t push the issue.

But the behavioural tasks have had limited success. I am still just going through the motions. I get up, I walk, I cook, I socialise. Sometimes I perk up, but mostly I feel dead inside. I feel hollow and pointless and empty. I realise that everyone I know envies me right now, because of my trip and my fabulously whimsical, easy life. This makes me feel even worse. Guilt is a huge part of depression.

To make matters worse, for some reason, I have been almost constantly hyperventilating for a few weeks now. Not crazy hyperventilation, that you’d notice, just chronic breathing that is too fast.

The problem with this is that it upsets the chemical balance in your bloodstream between oxygen and carbon dioxide. Not enough carbon dioxide puts your body into fight or flight mode. If you can’t stop hyperventilating, you’re always on edge. I’ve had a lot of panic attacks over the last few weeks, and general feelings of unbearable, stabbing, inexplicable anxiety and self-hatred.

So what I have been feeling is physiological, as well as psychological (but can we ever really separate the two?). What to do? I phoned and spoke to Dr J a week ago. He was about to leave the country for an American medical conference, but he still make the time to talk to me. He was concerned, though not surprised.

We decided to increase my antidepressants. Not what either of us would have wished, but he said that two weeks to wait (until Paris) was too long. Had I not been going to Paris, he would have potentially swapped me to another drug as I may have hit “the wall” with mianserin. But I am going away, and so we work with what we have.

Increasing antidepressants is not for the faint-hearted. I felt hungover for about a week. They are über dehydrating. I’m also on the maximum dosage, and part of me will always feel that so many drugs in my system is just wrong. But I’m also not prepared to drift through life feeling like a cicada shell at the end of summer.

*crunch*

As for the chronic over-breathing, Dr J had already left the country by the time that one came up. It may be a result of the increased meds (they tend to make you feel worse before you feel better). I spoke with Ms G yesterday, and she has squeezed me in on Wednesday.

Everyone keeps telling me, “It will be fine,” and it’s doing my head in. “It” being my health, my shaking, the trip. I’m not a moron, I know it more than likely will be. But I’m still scared and concerned at the moment. I'm still shaking at the moment. I actually do realise, in the rational part of my brain, that the trip will be just what I need. But when it’s just me, alone, every night, shaking and swallowing those damn pills, there is nothing about it that feels alright.

Dr J said that people expect that when things appear to be “fine” that we are also expected to be “fine”. But unfortunately the brain does not work like this. It takes a while for things to sink in. He said time, increased medication, Paris and a bit of luck and I’d hopefully start to feel a bit better. Paris is by no means a panacea, but it will definitely help. 

Ms G made a very good point in that anxiety and excitement are two very similar emotions. In my overly-sensitive state, it is easy to understand how my brain could be confusing the two. Think about when you’re excited – your heart rate goes up, your thoughts start to race a little, you breath is shallow and quick. These feelings are akin to panic, physiologically, so she said that it makes sense that I am feeling the way that I am.

I HATE all of this. I hate being problematic. I just want to be excited and happy like a normal person. Some nights I look at the bowl of pills and want to chuck the lot in the bin. But I can’t.

Yesterday I spent $214 at the chemist buying six weeks’ worth of drugs for my trip. Luckily I’m not going to South East Asia; I’d make the Bali Nine look like a naturopath society. Seriously.

But I am off, and even though it took me a about 25 minutes just to choose two bags in which to store my copious medication, I did choose them in the end (see below, aren’t they pretty?). If I can just fling myself to the other side of the world, via China, hopefully things will start to fall into place in my head.

Mexican oilcloth sandwich bags! 

I certainly am plunging into the unknown. The part of me that doesn’t feel (a) literally petrified – in that I can’t move or get out of bed half the time and (b) numb is completely intrigued by what lies ahead.

On my last trip I stayed alone, and only met up with friends twice. This time, I am set to meet up with four lots of friends, and I will be staying in what appears to be a guest house slash headquarters of Gallic hedonism. There will be far more mingling I feel, and that’s going to be good for getting me out of my current context. 

Dans la maison de JSeb!

I sometimes feel that when you travel, you get to be your “perfect self”. You pack all your favourite clothes, your nicest make-up, your best shoes. You update your playlists on your iPod so that you have a perfect soundtrack to your adventures. 

You have no responsibilities and you tend to be more daring in unfamiliar surroundings. You tell taxi drivers whatever the hell you want when they ask you what you “do”. I’m tempted to say “rien” when someone asks me this trip, just to see their reaction.

When you’re on the plane, you’re all packaged up with exactly what you need, and nothing you don’t. Suddenly you’re off on your own, context-less, footloose and fancy free. A blank slate, you could say.  

Somebody hand me the goddamn chalk already. 

Thursday 23 August 2012

L’après-midi

What happened to me?
I thought
As I sat
On the bus
Sucking date rape drugs
Because I shake
Which is weird
And unexplained.

Where did I go?
Did I leave?
Or did I die?
And who is here, now?

Off to Paris
To stay in a garret
A photographer’s muse
Or not
As the case may be
(If in doubt
Transplant self
A million miles away.
C’est facile!)

Increase my meds!
We said
Ruefully
Because
There’s no time to swap
Now that I’m off
(Because she is sad, or just empty.)

Fill me up!
With more drugs
Every night
In the dish
By the bed
In which un homme japonais
Talks to his wife
Who makes tea
(Bought at a flea market
In Paris
With loose change
Last year.)

Paris will help
Though its exact effects
On serotonin
And dopamine
And norepinephrine
Are yet to be determined.

Off the bus
To walk home
When a vicious cold rain
Sucks the heat from the streets
And makes steam on the road.

People run, they are scared
Of the water
It’s a surprise
But I smile
Because
At least
Something is finally more inexplicable than me
And my moods
Which are not
Exactly what you’d call predictable.

I stride through the rain
In my boots
Getting soaked
Getting looks
Unperturbed
My hair starts to curl
My breasts catch the rain
Plump, cold and white.

Fill me up!
With more drugs
Cos I'm sad
Or empty
Or maybe just numb.

But the fear
Is intense
When it’s there
And the voice is quite savage
That insists
That I’m wrong
And I’m bad
And I’m small.

So there is something, inside.
(Though it wants to turn her inside out
Skin parting obligingly
Like butter
Left out on the bench.)

Fill me up!
Twenty-three pills
Every day
To feel normal
Or to try
Which means that the something, inside
Goes away
Or at least
Doesn’t come to Paris.
Where it is not welcome.
(How did it come to this?)

On le metro
I shall ride
Sans the something inside
And eat tartes aux framboises
Every day.

(La fin.)


Thursday 9 August 2012

40 nights in Paris

I took the plunge today and booked a trip to Paris.

This has come somewhat out of the blue, but I think that makes it all the more exciting. I'm still pinching myself. I'll be leaving for my favourite city in the world in exactly four weeks.

To celebrate the occasion, I have dragged out my old French blog from the dusty relics of cyberspace. If you're wondering what's up with the name, you can read about it here. I'm really looking forward to writing a travel blog again and I hope that people enjoy it... especially with pictures!!

In case you wonder what I look like in France, here is a picture from my previous trip in April-May 2011:

This is how I roll in Paris...

In case you're wondering what that thing in the background is, here is a closer picture: 

Oh, the things you'll see! 

Once again I'm going to be taking things fairly easily on my trip, so I'll have plenty of time to write. I do have a few tourist-goals that I hope to fulfil as the tourist season ends and the queues diminish. I'd like to climb the Eiffel tower again and I'm yet to visit les Catacombs, le Musée de l'Orangerie and Monet's gardens. 

I also have a personal goal. When I was last in Paris, I found, to my delight, that we Aussies have a promenade named after us there. I really think that it needs a furry little clip-on koala attached to it... Thoughts?

Crying out for some tacky Australiana! Watch this space...

That's all for now. I need to start getting fit and practising my French. 

À bientôt!

Elle xo