MORNING IN PARIS

I woke up this morning, the view of the sky and those famous Parisian rooftops barely visible past the thick condensation settled upon the window. A heavy sleep scattered with odd dreams of crashing waves and strangers meant for a restless waking at the sound of the alarm. In need of caffeine and comfort I swung my legs out of bed, stretched, made porridge and coffee and climbed back in to bed to idly watch the news. After an hour I felt I should move so set out my mat to do some yoga, meditate, I ate a mid morning snack and read. Nothing too ground breaking, but comforting.

Once the clouds finally gave way to a hint of blue, I dressed and headed down the road for more coffee and in true French fashion, a bit of people watching. I am now sat upstairs in a cafe, above the street, windows giving site to the typical looming Haussman buildings with views of tourists, workers, going about their business. Again, the clouds have hidden that dear blue I love as I look out the windows. People seem to scurry below, their legs never able to move them quick enough and their eyes down, unaware of the possibility of a warm smile. There’s the homeless, grandmothers, fathers, sisters, orphans, sons, daughters all walking up and down the same street. It’s easy to start imagining a life story for them. Why are they here? Where have they come from? How did they feel when they got out of bed this morning? Humans are so funny when you take a moment to observe. There are people smiling, talking on the phone, there are people crying down the phone. Hand holding, stolen kisses, running commentary of lives, a sombre looking man who looks like he doesn’t quite know where he’s going. There’s a high possibility that each and every one of these observations are wrong but it is interesting nonetheless and I should count myself lucky that I have time to observe, see and learn. 

Learning about people, getting to know people is fascinating, figuring out likes and dislikes, what makes them tick and what pains them. Being in new places and seeing new things, observing every detail it’s too easy to hold back from the discussions, the new faces and to just sit and look and listen. Paris is so intense and alive and it’s too easy to feel a little lost but the moment I use my eyes I see so many others who also look a little lost, trying to find a space of their own to walk within along these streets, a space to live in and feel in. It’s not just the twenty somethings who look this way, there are people from all walks of lives still figuring out what they’re doing as they carry their emotions and baggage from place to place. 

LET'S SEE

I have decided that I will carve out thirty minutes each day for writing, I say carve out, thirty minutes is no hardship really but at least I am making myself accountable. It may end up here, on this blog, stay in my scrawly journal or it could even be part of a sacrificial burning of pages of negative thoughts, washed down with a bottle of red (that one’s for you Mum). This means that I won’t just be writing about what I’m doing and where I’m going in Paris but more about life here, day to day feelings. The laughter, the tears, the surprises, all of it -  like moments I gasp "holy shit" at a decorative art nouveau building, not expecting the elderly gentleman beside me to understand, but his face says otherwise. This is my diary, it all comes from me, it's a self-indulgent project and that feels rather nice.

From my latest posts you may have clocked on to the fact that I have not been so chirpy. I struggle with winter, I jest about going in to hibernation mode but it really is a dark time for me. This year I am trying to prepare myself better, find the comforts that will help me through, make me smile more and make the difficult days feel a little lighter. With such a small space of my own with a measly little window, I am already dreading it, but now being better equipped with my SAD light and setting little tasks for myself such as this, I’m hoping it’s not going to be as bad as my anxiety is telling me, making me fear.

Yesterday, I took thirty minutes to write about fear, my fears. It’s not a piece of writing I want to share here but I did send it to a couple of my closest confidantes. I was left open mouthed, emotional, at a response. I had quite the realisation about some of my behaviours, especially so around past experiences that I need to start letting go of, things that play in to my daily anxiety. I then realised that right now, I am in the perfect position to start working on these things, to take myself out of this greyscale box I’ve put myself in to, and be a bit louder about the way I dress, the thoughts in my head, the way I want to live my life and who I want to live it with. 

I have never put myself on a set path, I have worked hard and bounced, crashed in to and stumbled from pillar to post, not entirely sure what direction I was going in, but always having the strength and confidence to know that on the path so far I continue to grow with each post I hit. Now I am here in Paris, another place I’ve arrived at looking for growth, some independence, love, self worth. It’s a lot to look for, to ask, but I barely recognise the person I was a mere two years ago so I know it’s possible, it’s just called self development.

Let's see where this path takes me... 

GENTLY DOES IT

I have been dropped back in to the giant pond and it seems I have forgotten how to swim. In layman's terms, I am back in Paris and my heartbeat can be felt in my throat. With that, yesterday morning I slept in, watched a film and made a huge pot of vegetarian chilli before heading out the door. I may be missing the belly laughs of home but I will put one foot in front of the other, camera in hand and explore.

I have told everyone how much I love Paris, how I am loving my time here and I am, but it's hard. Mainly so because once again it's something I'm doing solo (like so many others!), and that gets rather lonely. Yet, I get up and push myself out the door, even on heavier days. Yesterday I took myself for a walk to Montparnasse, taking streets I don't know, to find new haunts, I took streets I have walked down time and again, to notice details on buildings I may not have given a second glance before. I needed to appreciate things even though it was the last thing I wanted to do.

The days are seemingly shorter, my hibernation mode is on the horizon and with it comes a desire to do little, be little and say little but I am going to fight that because Paris is still alive. There's a set of Christmas lights being erected on every corner, cafes remain lively and buzzing and the patisserie windows seem as tempting as ever. The elderly are wrapped up, their best winter coats taken from the back of their wardrobes, sit beautifully on their shoulders and silk scares draped round necks, a nod to the not yet so cold weather. Along with the leaves on the trees, the colours on the street and damp pavements from a morning of rain, all does seem a little subdued, though I am certain this won't last long, soon the streets will be aglow with lights much like that late summer sunshine.

BACK AT IT

It has been a bit of an accidental hiatus in terms of updating the blog. I’ve been fighting off colds and trying to look after myself a little better, as well as having some fun too… such is life. I still feel very much in this hiatus mode, life is enjoyable and I want to be present in it, especially as I am now relishing in some time at home with the parents, and dear friends who warm my heart with their smiles. The onset of winter weather, grey looming days and a bitter wind has made me fall in to hibernation mode. I too easily become a bit of a recluse, paving out time in poems and sketches, short stories I only wish I could turn in to a novel. Being home has brought me back out my shell as we while away evenings in the bar, eating dinner with friends who now feel more like family. 

Before I came home, Mum visited for a long weekend and I had been saving the Musee de Montmartre for us visit together - only hoping Mum would be equally as excited as I was once we stepped inside. The museum itself was founded in the 60s, however the house and surrounding buildings date back to the 17th century. It’s seeping with history, stories of artists in all forms pore out the stonework. The studio perched at the back, is a giveaway to the buildings past, where artists such as Auguste Renoir, Suzanne Valadon and Émile Bernard worked all hours. I tiptoed up each set of stairs, not quite ready for what I was about to see, soon I would gasp and Mum would usher me in each room saying, “just go on Lydia”. One thing I could not be prepared for was the studio, it smacked me straight in the heart... I daydream about these places maybe far too regularly, along with beautiful kitchens, cafes and restaurants. Moments like this are all too precious, places that excite you yet also comfort you, places you step in to and think I could set up home here. The light poured in to each and every room beautifully, particularly on a bright autumn day with the sun sitting low and heavy in the sky. Mum and I meandered from room to room, taking in the imagery, art, tales and history... it was the perfect way to while away a few hours.

Now, I am feeling content and relaxed, glad of the time away from the big city. I have rebooted and want to dive back in to unearthing more hidden gems in Paris - but by no means does that imply I am wishing my time away at home, because I'm most certainly not. There are three days left of this break and I plan on just simply enjoying this time. I shall be lunching with friends, topping up my red wine levels at the bar, hopefully brunching and spending Sunday afternoon listening to a swing jazz band. For now, I'll leave this blog until next week when cafe hopping and winter coat hunting will be my main priorities... 

LIGHT

It’s as easy to fall out of love with Paris as it is to fall in love with Paris. With that, I knew I needed to put one foot in front of the other and explore, open my eyes and look for small beautiful details — less of the big picture and the overwhelming enormity of this place. Yesterday felt so grey and today, within an hour or so of waking it was so much lighter, I felt so much lighter. 

Autumn is here in Paris, there is more grey than blue and winter feels like it is already looming over the city as I find my hand flicking on the light as soon as I wake, the lack of sun is evident, overtaken by cloud and smog. The thought of getting cosy during the cold months can be a blissful thought when there’s an open fire to light in the evening and shelves laden with books. Reality is in fact, a single glazed studio, and I am beginning to wander how many blankets I can afford and store, and how powerful this heater is - or at least how hot I can get it before setting fire to the place. What can I say, I have become increasingly nest in the past two years and my ‘blanket scarf’ is classed as one of my nearest and dearest.

That being said, yes, today was lighter and it’s exactly what I need, what I needed; light, bright, golden days where you can feel the sun on your face and see your breath in the air. Wandering up the hill to Pigalle, coffee my goal, I saw living, breathing Paris. The grocers stocking their shelves, now laden with squashes and gourds. Style is now boots and tights, socks and brogues, down jackets and long wool coats, not a tea dress or t-shirt in sight without the latter. 

Cafes are full of espresso drinkers and brunch eaters; there are two men looking as though they are truly putting the world to rights, their cigarettes rarely parting ways with their mouthes and they don’t look away from their world, not allowing attentions to waver. It’s the simplest of moments, but they look content and at ease. I reach the cafe and for a few moments, watch a woman who I assume is local coo over a newborn and chat to every other person passes her buy. The waitress brings out her drink, the woman is animated and intriguing, looking like she beats to her own drum. Pigalle is seemingly awash with interesting characters, the place to people watch in Paris - for me, at least.

Tucked away in Pigalle, a calm cafe with people working and studying, chatting with friends. The coffee was good though the decor may be better. After stretching one coffee to an hour or so it was time to meander back down the hill, camera still firmly in hand, sun on my face, not quite a skip in my step (it's Paris after all, must try to remain cool)… Popping in and out of shops, keeping my eyes open and observing all. 

HOME

I wrote this on Monday, it’s now Wednesday and I’m not particularly happy with it. I can’t put in to words how much these people, and this place mean to me, nor how exhilarating it is to sit on my favourite bench with my face to the sun, taking in the surroundings, the peace, the greenery for miles around, the beautiful old stone of the houses, the sounds of nature. Nor can I begin to describe the gratitude I feel for being able to go back there, to have lived there.

___

My alarm went off at 5.45am, a weekend at home would be the only thing that would blearily have me bounding out of bed at this time and rickashaying off of a piece of furniture; my hand finding the coffee machine before the light switch. With only a couple of people knowing of my imminent arrival in the Charente, I had knots in my stomach from restless sleep and the sheer excitement of surprising my nearest and dearest. 

Before I knew it, my train pulled in at 9.48am and there stood my Dad beaming on the platform, arms wide open to envelope me in a hug. I felt sheer joy being back in this sleepy place, at ease, calm, breathing in fresh air. The weekend passed us by in a haze of food, drink and perfect company. 

As we walked down to the river Saturday morning, I had forgotten how soothingly (some would say deadly, I’m sure) quiet this place is. The peace is eye opening, very freeing, you can hear your own mind and make sense of things — having physical space means, for me, that there’s mental space. We dined out for lunch, post dog walk, gorged on delicious cuisine and chatted about this and that, rarely a break in the conversation. After a somewhat long detour via a beautiful abbey and photographing a bewitching looking building, we were home. We sat, drank tea and did humble simple things.

A mere hour or so later we were heading out, there was a coupe (or four) of something sparkling with my name firmly on it, and hugs aplenty to hand out. The evening passed by in a blur of laughter, empty glasses and a sing song. Friends, a community, smiling familiar faces all making me feel incredibly content, nothing more, nothing less. 

I never thought I would feel so at peace in the sleepy place my parents decided to live and where I ended up spending one year, it’s the first place where I felt I could just be me, wearing what I like and taking my time with every little thing in life without a person passing judgement. How sweet. There’s never anything to really keep up with, people are going about their lives, making a living if they need to, enjoying the peace that comes with the French countryside. I had not realised quite how much I had been missing the country life until the Sunday morning vide grenier trip. A favourite past time - wandering through idyllic French towns, popping in and out of gardens and fields rummaging through unwanted things…Though that may also have something to do with my nosiness. Thanks to a cool crisp morning though this vide grenier was on the quiet side so we were soon back home cradling cups of coffee. 

It was the perfect Sunday; coffee and cake with the dearest of friends at my favourite cafe, where I discovered quince and almond is possibly my new favourite cake flavour, maybe alongside the squash cake my Mum had; and a Sunday roast with my family, and I was delighted by the fact that my plate was 80% vegetables. 

Monday morning arrived far too quickly for my liking but I woke knowing I’d be back so soon for much of the same and I have realised, there’s really not much wrong with the same.