parisdécouverte

Day 10 of #the100dayproject. Word count hovering at about 4000 words. I’m a little behind in my one page per day goal. I was on an 8 day streak before life interfered... bookkeeping, parental duties and social commitments in the lead up to the holiday season, all kept me from writing on days 9 and 10.

Despite the setbacks of the last couple of days, I’m happy with my progress. It’s been such a motivating way to get the words out. This framework makes it accessible and achievable to get in daily writing practice. Posting on Instagram daily also keeps me accountable - it’s tangible proof of my efforts (or lack thereof).

I had very little time today to dedicate to the project, so I opted to write this update to reflect on the last 10 days instead of continuing the story.

I think the most important thing I’ve learned is just how important it is to not read back and constantly edit the words on the page. The temptation to do so is incredibly strong, but it’s such a bad move as it really awakens your inner critic (you know, the one that lives inside us all!). What I’ve found so valuable about this process is just how effective it is at silencing that inner critic. One page per day is approximately 500 words, which is long enough to paint a scene and progress the story. It’s also short enough that it’s not a huge loss if it ends up being total rubbish. The (self-imposed) pressure around the quality of what I’m writing lessens dramatically when writing such bite-size chunks.

It’s still early days yet, but so far I’m really enjoying this experience. It really has kick-started my creativity.

Link to Instagram below if you want to check out the extracts I’ve posted so far.

Where did November go? A whirlwind of weekend trips, trade shows and birthday celebrations. Autumn leaves, cold weather and grey skies have finally settled in. See you in six months, sunshine!

And yet again, I’ve neglected this blog. Sorry blog.

I started the month with good intentions. I planned to take part in Nanowrimo this year and blog about my progress. That didn’t happen. I got as far as basic plotting, story structure and some ideas for scenes. I even put together a preptober checklist. Colourful, isn’t it?

Then I hit a wall. A solid one. No excuses, I just didn’t make it happen. Now it’s December.

But I am still determined to write the story. Just not 50,000 words in a marathon month of writing. My new goal, which is a little more achievable, is to do my own 100 day writing project.

100 days to write the first draft of my story. Because I need a deadline to work to, and one month was a little too intense for me.

I’ll track my progress here and on Instagram (0 posts so far but that will change!)

What is the story about? Good question. It will be a coming of age story, because I love reading these stories and what better to write than what you love? And I’ve always been fascinated by sleep and dreams, so I want to weave this through the narrative somehow.

As for the setting, some of the story will of course take place in Paris, or else I wouldn’t be mentioning it on this blog.

I started this blog almost six years ago, towards the end of my first year in Paris. I was in the throes of a frustrating job search, going into my second European winter, and this blog was a way for me to keep myself occupied and give myself a sense of purpose. Back then, I never really considered pursuing blogging or writing as a full-time gig. Sure, I flirted with the romantic notion of being a writer in Paris, but financial constraints and just a general lack of courage held me back from giving it my all. I didn’t want it badly enough. Not enough to really go for it. As soon as I found a steady, full-time job, I let this blog fall to the wayside. 

Flash forward six years and I am finally doing it. I quit my job in April, took a long break over summer to well and truly separate myself from my old life, and now, I am taking the plunge. Getting to this point has been a long, anxiety-filled journey. I spent much too long in a corporate job I hated, paralysed by the inertia that comes with not knowing what to do next, and fear of the unknown. I did make a few half-hearted attempts to find a new job within the same industry, but deep down I knew it would be more of the same. Ultimately, I wanted to do something different. Something that inspired me, something that would stimulate me. 

Late last year, I came across a book called When to Jump: When The Job You Have Isn’t The Life You Want by Mike Lewis. Listening to other people’s journeys (I got the audiobook) gave me the courage I needed to just go for it. It helped me plan and prepare for my own jump - to become a content writer. 

After much reading on the subject (endless blog posts on writing and freelancing; several books on writing and guides to improve your writing skills; online courses on writing and content creation), I have to actually start writing. Put pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard. My priority now is to build up my writing portfolio. I have one published travel piece on an Australian women’s media site, and this blog. My goal before the end of 2018 is to bolster my portfolio by reviving this blog, publishing some guest posts on existing blogs, writing on Medium, developing an online presence on Instagram, as well as setting up my own dedicated site. 

My very first post on this blog was to lament the lack of quality coffee in Paris. I’d spent my first year in this city tolerating the truly terrible coffee served up in pretty much every corner bistro or cafe, until I discovered Ten Belles in the 10e. Finally, a place serving real coffee, complete with latte art. 

Six years later, and the city’s coffee scene has completely transformed. Several ‘specialty’ coffee shops have sprung up around the capital. There is even a website dedicated to listing where to find good coffee in Paris (aptly named goodcoffeeinparis.blogspot.com). 

A lot can change in six years. Now that I live in the 10e, I am truly spoilt for choice. My top picks in the neighbourhood are Ten Belles (the original, the best), Craft (also houses an excellent coworking space), Blackburn, 5 Pailles, Hollybelly (don’t leave without sampling the sweet stack), La Fontaine de Belleville and Radio Days. 

The best part? You can actually order a flat white, no questions asked. You’ll also find English-speaking baristas at almost all of these spots. 

A lot can change in a month, which is how long it’s been since my last post. For one, I am no longer a lady of leisure. I started a new full time job and have entered into an entirely new phase in my Parisian experience. Funnily enough, all my administrative woes seemed to vanish once I had a signed CDI (permanent long-term work contract). I received my carte vitale, carte mutuelle and carte de séjour within a few weeks of returning to work. Getting a job greased the right cogs in the machine that is the French administration.

My days now consist of ‘métro, boulot, dodo’ - metro, work and sleep - which sounds sad but is actually pretty exciting for me. I am still in a honeymoon-like phase where I am just so damn happy to be employed that the early starts and long commutes don’t seem too bad.

I have the wonders of ‘reseautage’ to thank for the job opportunity. My lovely Canadian friend ‘S’ hooked me up through her vast network of expat acquaintances in Paris. The role was never even externally advertised, which is apparently the usual modus operandi in Paris. Most of my new colleagues also landed their respective jobs via networking connections.

Surprisingly, entering this new phase of life in Paris has actually renewed my love for the city. Even though I see a lot less of Paris and a lot more of the transport system and the inside of an office, having a reason to get up in the morning, a purpose to fill, a paycheck to earn, makes me a lot happier than long leisurely days of aimless meandering. I have rediscovered the pleasure of weekends. And I’m reenergised. The cloak of mild depression that comes with unemployment has lifted and I’m reminded of how incredibly fortunate I am to be living in Paris.

Case in point: I never once got my act together to go to the Louvre when I had nothing but free time on my hands. But now that I am time-poor, I finally squeezed in a quick hour long visit after work on a Wednesday night when the museum stays open late. I do feel a more urgent sense that I have to get out there and experience all that Paris has to offer. 

It’s strange but I guess there was a part of me that felt guilty spending money I hadn’t earned while I was unemployed. Every outing to a coffee shop, museum entry fee, concert ticket or train fare involved an expense that I couldn’t pay for myself. Having an income again has freed me from this spending guilt and restored my desire to see and do and consume. For the record, I did splurge a good chunk of my first pay at Sandro as predicted!

An AFP article titled 'The rudeness of Paris' made the rounds in mid-January across a number of news sites I frequently access. An Australian ex-colleague then emailed me the link with the query, "Is this true?"   

The question prompted me to reflect on the common stereotype of the rude Parisian. I wondered how to best respond to the points made in the article, based on my experience so far as a Parisian-in-training.    

In short, I would have to say yes. Most of what is mentioned in the article is true enough. Most visitors get a terrible first impression of Paris. If you arrive by air, Charles de Gaulle offers an incredibly ugly and austere welcome to the city. If you arrive via the Eurostar, it's worse. You leave London and the beautiful, modern St Pancras station and arrive at Gare du Nord, which is by far dodgier than the dodgiest train station I can think of in Sydney. It also reeks of urine.    

The Paris syndrome is on the money, too. The romantic, refined image of Paris is completely out of sync with  the day-to-day reality. Not just in terms of behaviour. Move away from the main tourist hot spots and Paris is DIRTY. I'm talking litter, cigarette butts, cigarette boxes, chewing gum, dog shit, vomit, piss, you name it, I've seen it. In classy neighbourhoods, too. Parisians are litterbugs. Although I've been told the city is a lot cleaner now than it was 20 years ago.    

However, the arguments about the 'rudeness' of Paris I feel is only true to an extent. While I wouldn't describe Parisians in general as very 'nice', I think there is an element of cultural misunderstanding at play. American tourists who are expecting really obvious signs of friendliness (huge smiles, gushing hellos, small talk) are going to be disappointed. Parisians are for the most part polite. You will always get a Bonjour and Bonne journée. But they won't necessarily be overtly friendly, at least not straight away. Even in service, it's not part of their job description to be 'friendly' per se. For example, a Canadian friend of mine went to her local cafe almost every day for over a year before the staff began to acknowledge her as a regular. Now, she is treated like a rock star when she arrives.    

I also think that language barriers can play a part - visitors who don't speak any French at all just don't understand what is going on! I've been served by waiters, in French, where it was a perfectly polite and pleasant exchange, but the waiter didn't smile or give any outward display of friendliness. All was verbally communicated. Foreigners miss out on all that. There are differences in the way things are communicated and in the rules of interaction. What comes across as rude to an Anglosaxon may be perfectly acceptable for the French. I've found the French in general tend to be quite assertive, which can be viewed as aggression. Even when they say excuse me, it's in a very unapologetic way!! Everywhere I go, people say Pardon but the tone is more, 'get out of my way'. 

Of course, I have come across incredibly rude people during my time here. Shockingly rude. But I have come across similar rudeness in many other cities during my travels, too.    

One thing I learned with the recent snowfall was that even the surliest Parisian was all smiles when Paris was briefly transformed into a glorious winter wonderland!    

I had an interesting conversation with a fellow Aussie expat last week. 

Over a cup of thick, creamy chocolat chaud at a delightful hidey-hole in Village St-Paul, we shared our most recent expat war stories i.e. our latest gripes about living in Paris. For us newbie expats, still reeling from the effects of culture shock, we do have a tendency to complain about the many infuriating aspects of Paris living. 

However, my friend recounted a discussion she’d recently had with another Australian woman she knows who has lived in Paris for over 10 years. This woman had actually come to love the Parisian way of doing things and the Parisian mindset when it comes to difficult situations. Waiting in line for hours on end, only to be told you don’t have the right paperwork by a snooty French fonctionnaire and be sent away to repeat the process another day? While this would be enough to send our Anglophone compatriots into a rage or a spiral of despair, a true Parisian simply sees it as a call to battle. It becomes a game, an obstacle to overcome. How can I cut in line? How can I avoid waiting in line altogether? What can I say to make this person change their mind? How can I get around the system? They won't hesitate to use whatever weapon they deem fit for the situation, either. Parisians will use charm or anger or rigorous debate in order to achieve the outcome they want! 

It must come from their revolutionary heritage. Parisians will happily protest, whether it is in the streets or in a government office. On the day of the recent pro-gay marriage protest, one of our French relatives actually started schooling her four year-old nephew on the art of the 'manif' and suggested he stage his own protests in his bedroom with his collection of stuffed toys. He will have a whole lifetime of opportunities to perfect his manifestation skills in this city. 

I commented in a previous post that the French seem to shrug off the frustrations of dealing with administration. But perhaps there is more to it. Perhaps there is also an element of knowing how to play the game. Maybe that is why most Parisians do not seem fazed by the same obstacles that seem insurmountable to me. Not only are they accustomed to it, but they have an understanding of how the system works and know how to circumvent it. 

They are well-versed in the laws of the Parisian jungle. We, on the other hand, are still learning how to navigate what can be treacherous terrain. 

Yesterday was a good day. I've had a lot to gripe about since the start of 2013, but yesterday? Yesterday was magic. 

To start with, I finally visited Musée Gustave Moreau, which has been on my to-do list for a while now. It didn't disappoint. Intimate and cosy, the ateliers on the second and third floor are an impressive showcase of Moreau's work. He was a prolific painter and the museum is filled with floor-to-ceiling tableaus of the biblical and mythological figures the artist favoured. Salomé, Venus, the head of John the Baptist, Oedipus and the Sphinx, Europa and the Bull, Jupiter and Semele, angels, ancient gods, saints and unicorns. The spiral staircase adjoining the two-storey space is a delight and is not just for show - it provides access to the third floor where visitors will find the same dusty pink walls covered in an array of truly magnificent oeuvres. The intricate wooden, gold-gilded frames alone are sublime works of art. 

Following this brief but mystical journey through Musée Moreau, I found myself back at KB Cafeshop, which was only a short distance away on foot. I'd already had a coffee earlier in the day, and so I ordered the next best thing. Chocolat chaud. Now I generally avoid ordering hot chocolates as I've had too many bad experiences to count. But I knew KB couldn't possibly make any hot drink that was less than perfection. And I was right. KB's chocolat noir is divine, made the traditional way with chunks of melted dark chocolate at the bottom of the cup. Not too sweet or watery, but not too creamy either. The perfect blend. 

I thought the day couldn't get any better. I made my way home, head full of art and mythology and belly full of delicious hot chocolate. In other words, satisfied, mind and body. Then I emerged from the metro at Chateau de Vincennes, and I was greeted with food for the soul. Snow! It was the first proper snowfall of the winter, and it was magical. I walked home with my face upturned, delighting in the light flakes landing on my hair, my eyelids, my cheeks, my lips. I walked with my palm upturned to catch the snow on my fingertips.

An amazing time-lapse film of Paris at night by director Benjamin Trancart (Trak). The opening text is difficult to read, according to the description on YouTube it says: 

Even though I now live in Paris, I still read The Sydney Morning Herald every day. It is my lifeline to what is going on back home. 

Today, while browsing SMH online, I read an interesting opinion piece provocatively titled Why you shouldn't work less. The author, Emily Oster, is an associate professor of economics at the University of Chicago. She uses a principle that economists call "diminishing marginal utility" to explain why spending eight hours or more at work and three hours with her family (including her young daughter) is the most satisfying time split for her.

She explains that the more of something you already have, the less you want yet another of that same thing. Generally, this principle is used in the context of consumption, but Oster points out the same logic works with time. The more time you spend on one activity, the less satisfaction or happiness you derive from doing that activity. 

This notion of declining happiness speaks volumes for me in my current situation. When I was working full time, I would dream of leisurely days off, sleeping in, reading, writing, travelling... doing all the things I didn't have time to do because I was working. Now that I am no longer working, now that I have all the time in the world to do all those things I dreamed of... well, it hasn't made me as blissfully content as I thought it would. Too many hours dedicated to leisure reduces the pleasure it gives me. At least that is what I have found this last year. 

I think the key is balance. I appreciated holidays and time off when I was a busy little full time worker bee. I needed the mental and physical break to relax and be idle. Now that I have a lot of time to be idle, I miss the mental and physical exertion of work, of activity. One need balances out the other. 

Being on the other side of the world from most of my family and friends also contributes to the loss of equilibrium in my life. And for someone who strongly values a balanced lifestyle, it has been a challenge to adjust to this new reality (however transient it may be). 

The quote that follows I think deserves its own post. It is a truism that resonates strongly with me. Even in Paris. 

Image sourced from http://hungeree.com/tag/nicolas-sarkozy/