Cycling adventures and feeling at home

I've been here for six weeks, isn't that crazy? Some days I feel like I've been here forever, which is great, but also scares me a little because I never, ever want to take being here for granted. I'm a big believer in always appreciating what you've worked for, and what your family, friends and teachers have helped you to get. It's lovely to feel at home, but I don't ever want there to be a morning where I'm walking to the métro and don't think, 'Wow, I'm in Paris. This is where I live, for at least three years.' This thought never fails to lights up my day.

 Autumn has definitely set in here. In the little square where I sometimes eat my lunch (nothing beats a chicken wrap), the leaves are falling fast, and I've bought myself a fluffy grey scarf the size of a beach towel to wrap myself up in. I can't wait to experience this city in the winter!

My walk from the métro to Uni takes me past the Assemblée Nationale, which is rather exciting because there is sometimes a protest happening. The other day there was a protest against the job cuts at Air France. Another time, a diplomat of some sort arrived in an armoured vehicle, and  a harassed-looking man was giving a statement to at least twelve journalists who were all sticking cameras and microphones in his face. I just sauntered by in the background, wondering if this was my fifteen seconds of fame! It's also pretty crazy that some of my lectures are focussed around the Assemblée Nationale. I sit there thinking, I walked past it on the way here!

I now cycle home from Uni most days, something I really look forward to because I just love whizzing down the Boulevard St Germain! I've been going out on little bike rides just for the fun of it. On Sunday I cycled to the Jardin des Plantes. It's great for getting my bearings in this city, because I have a terrible sense of direction. But the Left Bank seems to be made up of lots of long Boulevards that all interconnect at one stage or another, so finding my way is easier than I thought.

When I first started this cycling malarkey I was certain that I was putting myself in an early grave. It's true that drivers in Paris can be very pushy to say the least, and the motorbikes and mopeds are probably the scariest of all. But luckily the government has made sure that there's a lot of cycle lanes, and cyclists can also go in the bus lanes, which makes me feel a lot safer. Of course, sometimes I have found myself having to navigate very scary junctions. In these situations, I behave like my responsible adult self. (ahem.) Actually, I pedal at top speed looking wildly around me for cars, while shouting 'HEEEEEEEELP'. I don't think I could stand out more as a British girl if I tried! 

Today, I had the misfortune of choosing a bike with a seat that was very well oiled. So well, in fact, that it suddenly turned round just as I was zooming down Boulevard Raspail, and I found myself sitting on nothing! I couldn't stop because of the traffic on my tail, so all I could do was cycle standing up on the pedals and laugh at myself! 

This week I also joined the local library; which made me very happy because it means unlimited French books are at my disposal! I can't wait to browse the many shelves full of novels; maybe this will stop me spending so much in second hand bookshops.

A conclusion that I have come to is that the UK and France seem to have no consistency when it comes to the prices of items in supermarkets. I don't know if I'm shopping in the wrong places, but I've found things like shampoo, deodorant, meats, and fresh fruit and veg to be horrendously expensive. On the other hand, pastries, milk and things like olives seem to be very reasonably priced. I'm still not used shopping in another currency, but nevertheless I was shocked when I bought two small oranges and paid 1.28! Truth be told, I'm missing the 99p bags of clementines in Morrisons. 

The cashiers at my local supermarket are starting to recognise me; I can't decide if this is a bit sad, or if this is great because it means that I'm one step further in making my home here. I think I'll go with the latter. 

Another thing that is expensive is getting your eyebrows done- girls, beware! In the UK, I got them done for £2. Last weekend I paid 10 euros out of pure desperation because I was beginning to resemble some sort of abominable snowman. My brows turned out okay, and I learned a new word when I winced as the lady ripped off the wax strip, and asked me if I was 'douillette', i.e. if I had a low pain threshold. I never thought that brow waxing could turn out to be an educational experience! 

These next few days will be intense as I have a very scary essay to hand in, but after that's done I'm celebrating with a Halloween party, coffee with some girls visting from home and a trip up the Montparnasse tower. 

Big hugs and kisses to everyone at home, 

K x 

A few improptu Uni and language learning reflexions

In terms of this semester, we're on Week 4 and the pressure is starting to set in. Today I got set the second essay so far which determines 15% of my grade for the history module at the end of the year. This unwelcome news accompanied the realisation that I have not only come to Paris to aimlessly wander around old streets and read second hand books in parks, but to actually do some work and get a degree.

The thing about going to university in France, even if my uni is part of the University of London, is that everything is in French. This may seem blindingly obvious, but it doesn't stop hour long lectures on French politics being a little overwhelming at times. Of course, I love learning and taking notes in French, but it means that I sometimes come home very tired and wondering if my overloaded brain will ever function normally again.

Today, after a particularly frustrating exchange with a man in a post office and a class in which I made some stupid grammatical errors, I found myself thinking, 'I don't feel as if I've made any progress in French at all since I got here. I spoke better French in class at college than these past few days!' I sat grumpily on the métro contemplating life, and when I got home I went to the kitchen and made myself some comforting pasta. That's when a lovely girl from the room next to mine came in to make some tea, and we had a catch up. After our conversation, I felt so much better, having spoken in French with a friendly face. It restored my confidence; I am capable of speaking this language!

It made me realise that the standard I had for myself in college is impossible to maintain here. In language lessons I wanted to write and speak perfectly with no mistakes, and if I did make silly errors, I would get frustrated with myself. (Any of my friends from my classes will know what I'm talking about). That was the only way I knew how to learn a language; learn everything as quickly as possible and make as few mistakes as possible. Of course, that is unachievable when you are using the language to communicate on a daily basis, especially when it comes to post offices, banking, and over complicated things that require specific vocabulary.

Now, my main aim is to just chat with people and get my meaning across. Of course, I would prefer to make minimal mistakes, but whenever I get the gender of a word wrong or forget the subjunctive, the girls I live with just correct me with a smile. It's hard to be annoyed at yourself when nobody else sees it as a big deal!

So, a lesson I have learned not only from today but from my time here so far is this; it is okay to make mistakes. This may seem obvious to a lot of language learners, and I agree that to a certain point it is, but when you have a perfectionist mindset it is difficult to accept anything less that the standard you have set for yourself. From now on I've resolved to be a lot more laid back, and to have more realistic expectations of myself.

Well, this has turned into a semi-philosophical Tuesday. I'll post more soon about my Parisian adventures! 

K x 

First month in Paris

Today I hired my first vélib (Paris' take on the Boris Bike), booked tickets for the opera at Versailles, and the heating has gone on in my room, which I have now occupied for a month. Life is sweet.

Pretty much everything that has happened this week demonstrates that I have a long way to go when it comes to fitting into Parisian life! I'm staring to notice a pattern when it comes to embarrassing moments; they always seem to come along just as I'm feeling like I've cracked this whole adult, earning a living, studying abroad thing. 

For example, take the time I went to the swimming pool at 7am (which we shall hereby refer to as the Incident of the Overly-Complicated Locker). 

The Piscine Armand Massard is near to me, and in a well-meaning but misguided attempt to get fit I decided buy a 3 month subscription and go in the mornings before Uni, as it opens at 7am. Those of you who know me are probably staring incredulously at your computer screens, and rightly so, as me getting up early to do sport is about as likely as France restoring its monarchy (casual reference to this week's lectures *applauds self*).  But nevertheless, that is what I did. 

I got to the pool, changed and put my stuff in a locker. They have a different system over here; you need a PIN code to access your locker instead of a key. Great, I thought, and went off to have a nice refreshing swim. 45 minutes later I came back and entered the PIN, and tried to open the locker...and could not.

Picture this; a frantic English girl wearing only a bikini and swimming hat (yup, they're compulsory here) running through a sports centre full of fully clothed dignified French people in order to find someone at the desk to help.

As if this wasn't mortifying enough , when a very patient security guard came my aid, it turns out that my locker was actually open the whole time. I hadn't shut it properly in the first place, which was why the PIN wasn't working. All that embarassment for nothing!

Yes, I will carry on swimming, despite running through centre in nothing but a bikini. There's nothing that a glass of wine with my friend from the 5th floor won't cure, and that includes mortifying pool incidents!

Around Paris I have seen some funny sights, one of the oddest being a goat and a couple of sheep grazing on the Esplanade Jacques Chaban-Delmas behind the Dome des Invalides (I have yet to find an explanation). Another is an elderly lady wheeling her cat down the rue de Rennes in a special cat suitcase (I feel like this is my future self).

I also had an odd moment on the Métro. I saw a man looking very confused, in a very Anglophone way (I can't explain this. You have to see it to believe it). I helped him find his stop and he gave me a pancake. Odd, yet strangely heartwarming.

On Sunday, I came home from a lovely visit to Versailles to find a protest happening practically outside my window. Literally thousands of people were marching along the Boulevard du Montparnasse against reforms to the school system. When I saw on a placard that languages were under fire, I felt like joining the march myself! Just as I was contemplating whether it was socially acceptable to join a protest halfway through and alone, a woman shouted through a megaphone, 'At 3pm, we lie down in silence!' I kid you not; thousands of people just dropped to the floor. It was almost eerie; of course the police had stopped the traffic, but seeing people lying down as far as the eye could see on one of Paris' busiest Boulevards for a cause they believed in gave me goosebumps. 

And then, I went home and ate a baguette. What an anticlimax. 

These past few weeks have been super busy and the next few seem to be similar- apart from the fact it's the school holidays next week, so I have time off from babysitting, which I shall use appropriately (ahem, most likely reading second hand novels in the Jardin de Luxembourg and having a few glasses of cheap wine with the girls on my floor). 

I must go off to bed now like the sensible adult I am, because I've planned another 7am swim tomorrow! I must be mad. 

K x 

Opening ramblings

I've been living in Paris for three weeks today, and I feel like the time is finally right to start my blog. I'm not yet sure what my actual plan for this blog is- I'm thinking maybe (hopefully interesting) snippets of my life, funny happenings and maybe some pictures, if it so takes my fancy. 

I feel like I'm starting to find my place in this city. I realised this today when I jumped off the Métro at La Défense to go to pick up the kids I babysit from school.

 Brandishing my Navigo pass, I found my place in the stream of commuters and allowed myself to be carried along by the current until I reached Sortie A; at which point I seamlessly broke away from the crowd and hurried up the steps in the direction of Courbevoie. Wearing my trench coat and clutching my current Métro reading book (Elle s'appelait Sarah by Tatiana de Rosnay- an amazing read but maybe a little too emotional for public transport!), I felt like I fitted right in with the hoardes of other commuters. And I loved it. 

I feel at home too when I'm walking down the Boulevard du Montparnasse in the crisp autumn mornings on my way to Uni. The leaves haven't yet fallen, but there is a general feeling of approaching winter as everyone is wrapped up in their cashmere scarves against the biting wind. There's an odd charm to everything in the 14th in the mornings; sometimes I find myself smiling at nothing in particular as I pass by the green kiosques selling the daily papers and the trench-coat-clad mothers ushering their children to l'école maternelle. I shake my head and roll my eyes along with all the other Parisians at drivers who try to jump the lights, and sometimes stop to pick up a warm pain aux raisins from the street vendor at the Place du 18 juin 1940. 

It's very strange to think that I've only been here for three weeks. Sometimes when I come back from work late at night on Line 6, which takes me past the Eiffel Tower all lit up, I can't help but look up from my book and pinch myself. The other day, my friend and I were crossing the Esplanade des Invalides on the way to the library. We had to pause on a traffic island, and suddenly the wind picked up and blew our hair around our faces. Laughing, we looked around and there was the Eiffel Tower peeping over the rooftops, the Dome des Invalides to our left and the Pont Alexandre 3ème to our right. My friend shouted above the roar of the traffic, 'Oh my God, is this where we actually live?!' It's hard to describe what I felt, and I'm not going to try. But whenever living here is difficult (and I'm under no illusions that sooner or later that may happen), I will remember that moment. 

I could ramble on for a long while about this, but alas it is late and my roommate is already asleep. 

More soon x