SIMPLE TIMES

This week has not been great. There, I said it. Swollen tonsils, blocked sinuses and all that goes with the dreaded “la rentrée” germs… The family were over it in a mere two days but here it is, still lingering with me, getting far too comfortable. A day out of Paris is exactly what I was in need of. 

The alarm went off at 6.20am and after I’d thrown my clothes on and gulped down a cup of coffee I was out in the empty streets - one of the few joys of early mornings in this city, you get to experience the elusive peace and quiet. A mere hour or two later and I arrived in Rambouillet, Mum and the dogs meeting me at the station and showering me with equally lovely greetings. The air was close and heavy and the drizzle was thick in the air, and there I was of course, in an unpractical outfit. 

We meandered back to the hotel for a slap up hotel breakfast with the grandparents then after a quick haircut in the hotel room (thanks Mum) and a chat with family we ventured to the park belonging to the chateau- a park whose history spans centuries. There’s rolling green hills, woodland, geometric borders and perfect topiary yet sadly with the persistent dank drizzle, we abandoned it for coffee, a little wander then lunch. It was simple, sweet and relaxing and more than anything a joy to see family and breathe in fresh air. You could say I have been just a tad homesick, well not homesick per se but just missing people, as one does. So this simple day in Rambouillet soothed the soul a little. 

It’s two days after now and a cold update- it’s still lingering. Autumn arrived yesterday, as I headed out for a jog in my usual t-shirt and leggings the air felt cold to my bare arms, the Tuileries is littered with a menagerie of autumnal tones and conkers beaming in the light. Everyone is layered up feeling the shock in the drop of the temperature, cafes are calling us all inside as we catch site of the tip of red at the end of our noses and the steam rising from a rich espresso is just too glorious of a site to resist. This is going to have to be another week of taking it slow, taking my time and simply meandering around with no real direction, I need to get over this damn sniffling irritating cold and bounce back in to life. 

Sorry this is a short and sweet update, I’ve not done an awful lot over the past week except for going through the motions and you know what? Sometimes, that’s just quite alright. 

THINKER, DOER, DRINKER

The thinker girl. That’s probably what I should be called, what I should call this blog. My mind does not stop. In the central courtyard of Les Beaux-Arts de Paris is where I find myself right now and I need to put pen to paper to empty my mind, absorb the surroundings and really appreciate all that I’ve just seen because this place is nothing short of magnificent. The site of Les Beaux-Arts de Paris is rich in history, the address had been the monastery of the Petits Augustins, then the Musée Des Monuments Français before being turned in to a school which by that point due to expansion was a sprawling site on the left bank. It was 1648 that the Académie des Beaux-Arts was founded by Cardinal Mazarin and in 1863 that it gained independence from the government to become L’Ecole des Beaux-Arts. Many celebrated artists went on to study here, walked the same floors I just placed my feet- Degas, Delacroix, Moreau, Renoir to name a few. Rodin was famously declined on there occasions and Monet refused to attend due to their rigid teachings. This is where people still hone their skills and give their life to their craft. I have welled up and gulped down the lump in my throat more times than I dare to admit in the last hour or so. Though I’ll be truthful this is not unusual, we often cry over exquisite food and architecture in our family, safe to say there’s a real appreciation of beauty in all its forms among us. I can’t and don’t want to try and describe the interior, there’s visuals for that instead… 

Now I’ve parked myself in a true French bar in the 6eme, full of colourful characters with thick, Gitanes heavy accents. Their words are a husky mumble and I can barely understand their musings but I love it all the same. This bar is giving me such joy, and it may become my go to weekend spot. It’s taken all my courage to walk in to this place, I meandered along the street before the desire for people watching and a (filled to the brim) glass of red took over my anxieties and I am so thankful it did. I want to live in Paris, France for that matter, as a French person. Don’t get me wrong, I love a decent cup of hipster worthy status coffee as much as the next person but nothing comes close to the community like feel of an old tabac or a cramped wine bar filled to the brim with memorabilia, photographs and old posters. Oh and one that serves good, really good wine, even cheapest on the wine menu good wine - the wine is good. This is the France I am here for. I am also here for the wonderful conversation I have had with a greatly spirited, elderly gentleman. For me this is how to learn, to experience these things, to talk to people no matter their age, profession- en fait, no matter who they are! 

Premierement… I have no idea what I was going to write next as it seems I have made a new friend in the French bloke, he’s been making his way around the bar doing ‘faire la bise’ and before I knew it he was again stood beside me asking me about English writers and the likes. I’m not sure I want to leave this little haven and I feel like the only thing I am to do next is order a second glass. When I woke this morning feeling bleary eyed and not much else I had no idea that it was to turn in to such a great day, and this moment in time is just the cherry on the cake. A second glass of wine in; nods and smiles from who I presume are the regulars; stumbling through conversations about books; and being surrounded by lives well lived and still enjoyed. 

It’s really not even been a spectacular day, I’ve been on my own but it’s been wholesomely enjoyable and I really need little else. It’s precisely what I had in the Charente and that’s by far what I enjoyed most of all, it’s precisely what I want out of life. It is too easy to be trapped by the need and want of Paris, of life, but there’s no need, no necessity. Paris is here, there are people trying to make a means to an end while still enjoying life (interlude, I’ve been handed my fourth bowl of bar snack and I’m grateful as two glasses is plenty - sorry Jane, my lessons have slipped…) without all of the top restaurants, designer clothes and obscenely priced housing. Get down to the core and there’s people who love people, nothing more than a café or verre de vin and conversation that excites them and isn’t that joyful?!

On that not, a bientôt mes amis, dinner calls. 

RAMBLING ME

One day is blurring into the next and they are disappearing before my eyes, I can’t quite believe I have been in Paris almost a month. This past week the city has felt stifling and overwhelming, it’s not what I’m accustomed to- open spaces and fields as far as the eye can see are usually where I find myself. But, in the countryside, can you hear a French guy playing an accordion while ad-libbing stories about kissing nuns? It’s highly unlikely (and yes, I did experience that, it was belly laugh inducing).

This past week has passed me by as I’ve floated from place to place. I wandered to the Petit Palais and was in awe of the architecture and sculptures that are housed there. Again I found myself at Shakespeare & Company, drinking coffee with a lovely new friend and scouring the place for decent second hand books though woe is me, left empty handed. 

Best of all, I visited 59 Rivoli (the art squat of Paris), an institution, celebration of creativity and art gallery come studio space set over six floors reached by a phsycadelic staircase. As soon as I started to ascend the stairs my heart was going like the clappers, the place is so inspriring and invigorating, I can’t quite believe I’ve not visited before. It made me reach for paper and pencils and really take the time out to sit and draw for the first time in a long time. Looking for new and inspiring places is fast becoming my Paris mission. 

It’s not all exploring, drawing and seeing though, I’m studying every day, working at my French like a trojan. It’s not easy, it really isn’t but for the first time I’m trying to relax in to it, trust myself and go with my gut (something my French teacher insisted I do at, I don’t know, the age of 16- sorry, I should have listened…)

I haven’t all that much to say this week, I’m quite tired and really I want this writing to be honest and I would rather not record this experience through rose tinted glasses. That would be the easy thing to do, whimsical writing about the good stuff and skimming over the hardship of moving to a city after a tough couple of years. Because I’ll be honest this is hard (sorry, did not expect to go in this direction), trying to be comfortable when everything feels so uncomfortable. But it is what it is, I have given myself this challenge and I shall accept it. Thankfully an evening on the Seine watching the sunset, the golden light bouncing off the water and alighting the streets, is one of the sweetest sights for the soul and I can do that every single evening if I wish, need or want. 

MONTMARTRE, MY LOVE

With the teeny tiny four year old resting on me while I read her book after book after book last night, I realised I hadn’t shared my recent musings, more of my story. So here goes, some writing from Sunday (about Friday)…

I am sat in the garden of Eugene Delacroix, it’s the second time this week that I have found a superbly quiet spot to simply sit surrounded by nature. In my eye line I see the grand window of his studio opening on to this petit jardin, giving enough space amid the looming surrounding structures to allow the light to flood in. This feels like a good spot to write about a sweet day in Montmartre on Friday… 

Upon the realisation of a three day weekend my gut instinct was to visit Montmartre, so of course that’s what I did. Meandering from the 1ere to the 9eme, Musee de la Vie Romantique was my destination, a house where the dutch painter Ary Scheffer settled, welcoming the likes of Delacroix, Dickens and George Sand to this beautiful home built in “l’époque de la Restauration.” Anyway, enough of the history lesson… Set back off rue Chaptal, I turned back on myself suddenly realising I had missed the discreet gateway, quite distracted by every single building. 

This is somewhere to go to escape Paris, in Paris. Walking up the driveway shadowed with greenery, even having seen photos, I wasn’t quite expecting it to be quite so beautiful, but then again I’m a sucker for pistachio green windows and shutters. I gazed at Delacroix drawings, vibrant botanical watercolours, and appreciated the intricate design details down to the tiny discreet light switches. I am certain this is somewhere I will visit time and time again, as a place to feel inspired.

From the museum, my head lead me up the hill (my legs aching, but going) towards Le Moulin Rouge, finding a bite to eat and a quiet square on route. Then onwards, round, up and down I went, meandering through the intricate streets and passages. Passing musicians, artists, street performs and of course the hoards of tourists for as long as my feet could take it, wandering past the Bateau-Lavoir, Clos Montmartre and taking a moment or two in a twee cafe before meeting a friend. Spontaneous coffee and dinner at hers was exactly what I needed and as cliché as it sounds, we popped Edith Piaf on the record player, chattered away and delighted in saying ‘chin chin’ with cheap and thankfully not sweet rosé. Chit chat carried on until late until we all felt weary and it was time to take the metro, a giddy skip in my step.

The spontaneity I am permitted in Paris is wonderful, it’s not always welcome when you feel like you have to do something because you know, you’re in Paris, particularly so when wary feet are screaming don’t take another step! It is such a gift to meander through the streets as Hemingway did (sorry, another cliché!), take in the sights and allow yourself to be absorbed by your surroundings. I am not entirely sure where the past two whole weeks have gone but gone they sure have and it's a welcome reminder how quickly a year may pass and how much there is to do, see and feel in this place. With no idea if I will stay or move on I plan on making the most of days to come as I did last Friday. Cities are not easy places though, a couple of days have passed napping, reading and sketching and those too were days well spent but not particularly days to document, unless you want to know the inner workings of my mind (which, I am certain you don't).

Anyway... À bientôt my loves.