Confession: I very nearly missed the train I'm on, which is currently speeding out of Paris. But who wants to sit around in train stations anyway? Three minutes is more than enough time to overpay a cabbie, grab your 47kg worth of luggage and haul arse to platform 21. Meh. Piece of cake.
Speaking of cake, I've been eating a lot of it lately. Well, more precisely: tarts, macarons, choc-chip brioche, pain au chocolat, croissants and pretty much anything that has a raspberry on it or in it. Or even near it is good.
All this has made me wonder how the French manage to stay so thin. My friend Bec and I discussed this online and agreed it's partly due to portion size. Which brings me to my point: as per previous blogs, it's all about savouring the moment. Although rich, there is also a delicacy to French food. It isn't actually so much about scoffing as about tasting. Every last bit.
Paris itself has a way of being utterly awesome in the most casual manner possible. An example of this was during a picnic I decided to throw for myself underneath the Eiffel Tower. There I was in front of the world's most-visited monument, delicious food spread out before me. Birds were singing, the sky was blue, the breeze was breezy and it was 25 degrees.
Just when I thought things couldnt be any more idyllic, a freaking LADYBIRD FLEW PAST ME. Seriously. She landed on the grass and I had her crawl onto my finger. If I wasn't sitting down I would have fallen over. Paris, you're killing me! And I just love you for it.
It's this casual elegance that really sums Paris up. It's not a city that wants anything out of you (unless you listen to beggars). It doesn't really care whether you like it or not, it's Paris. It can turn it on just as easily as it can shut you down.
One minute you're gagging at the stench of male urine in a Metro tunnel. The next you're standing in front of a view so beautiful it takes your breath away. It's a great place to just "be" in because you can never predict what will happen next. It was exactly what I needed.
And now for a word on the men of Paris. It's rather amusing how they operate. They don't crack onto you so much as they observe you. It is sort of like an appraisal. You strut past and they tell you what they think. I've had words thrown at me like "charmante", "mignon" and something about a chicken. Or sometimes it's just an extra-hearty "bonne soir" or "ça va" from a stranger on the street. Again, they don't want anything from you, they don't care how you respond to them. It's just their two cents.
Parisiens have a bit of a bad reputation. But so do Sydneysiders so we won't hold that against them. I like them. I think they're actually quite reserved and genteel. Away from the crowds, they're helpful, friendly, merry, charming, delightful.
Most of the grumpy ones are those who work at tourist sites. I'd be grumpy too if I had to put up with that. What is it about being in a tour group that turns people into vacuous zombies with no sense of direction, style, decency or humanity in general? The frenzied photo-taking in galleries alone is more than enough to make me wish I had a gun. Oh, that's a bit harsh. Maybe just a taser.
I will say some of the things you overhear when travelling are hilarious. The other day (the Eiffel Tower picnic day actually), I overheard a British teenager whining at her father. She was moaning, "Quick Dad, give me the keys to the car, so I can put the AC on!". Dad wasn't overly moved by her request; he was willing to tough it out. Panicking, the girl cried, "But it's SO HOT!".
For heaven's sake girl, it's 25 degrees! Get a grip! I mean, I still had leggings on; it was cool enough in the shade. Crazy poms.
Speaking of whom (like my segue?) I did catch a bit of the royal wedding today at the pub. The French aren't overly interested but the English pubs were full. I thought Kate looked beautiful and I hope it all goes well for them. Seeing her face as she looked out over Westminster Abbey made me feel for her though. For me, to live life under such scrutiny would be unbearable.
Once I'd had enough of it all, I left. Walking away, I definitely relished my anonymity, and most of all, my freedom. Being overseas alone is both thrilling and liberating. And I intend to keep making the most of it.
Oh - I nearly forgot about the Twisties. Yep. They actually taste like cheese. It's sort of... weird actually. They were home-brand ones from Carrefour, but still, someone had made the effort to put real cheese in 'em. Bless the French!
I'm in the Loire Valley for three nights; this post will be a few days old by the time it goes live I think. But better late than never. Au revoir mes petite puces x
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