Exploration, Escapism, and the Paris culture-trail.

Now settled into life in Paris 15eme, but with the gradual fading of Monday-morning excitement, and the appeal of a familiar and slow-paced summer at home growing with every hot and crowded metro journey, it could be said that this traveller is experiencing some French-fatigue.  At the same time, in Paris the guidebook-in-hand-clan is ever growing. Queues, cameras, tour-guides with clipboards and the streets resounding with a cacophony of languages anything other than the local. The tourists have arrived. En masse. And if you can’t beat them, why not join them. This has been my line of thought over the past couple of weeks, as instead of counting down the days and moaning about my job, its more enjoyable working out Ellen-suited ways to “make the most” of my time left on French soil.  Profitons-en!

Although not feeling any desire or need to embark on a sightseeing whirlwind, I have had fun with my own itinerary of cultural exploration Paris-style. A surprising discovery of mine has been that art museums actually are enjoyable. Formerly one who would head straight for the café, last weekend I decided to give it another go and visited the Musée de l’Orangerie, small but impressive, and housing the Nymphéas by Claude Monet, 8 paintings made for this space. In no way a connoisseur, I learnt what “impressionism” meant, and that I actually quite liked the landscapes and colours. Interestingly enough, Monet’s intention was to encourage calm reflexion, offering with his painting “the refuge of peaceful meditation”, somewhat fitting for my current all-frenched-out state of mind. Having enjoyed my artistic-debut, this weekend took me to the Musée d’Orsay, and a slightly different exhibition on gothic romanticism. Cue works inspired by Paradise Lost, nightmarish scenes, and an insight into the somewhat disturbed minds of French artists and intellectuals post-revolution.  A contrast to the previous discovery, but the same (free) pleasure from whiling away a couple of hours mingling with the artsy-bourgeois (and tourists) and learning a thing or two along the way. I have not yet made it to the Louvre; we’re building up to that one.

It goes without saying by now that I am one for a brief escape from the stress of the day-to-day with a story or several, and as the theatre-scene is not something to be skimmed over, I thought I’d brave the slightly impossible choice and find a performance to lose myself in. First stop was a slightly off-the-tourist-track event, located in a hidden theatre in the 20^th arrondissement: L’habitude de la liberté – a marathon literary reading in which 72 female writers read/performed extracts from their books/plays over a period of 24 hours. Admittedly not committed enough to camp out the for the entirety of the spectacle, I did however sit in on 6 mini-performances, feeling a little out of place amidst trendy Parisian feminists and arty-types, but enjoying the short stories (that left me wanting to read/watch the next scene!). Inspired to treat myself to more theatrical moments, a student-friendly price brought me last night to Inventaires, a play in which 3 women each recounted the events of their lives using an object as the stimulus for their story. A simple piece, with the focus all on the performance of the actresses, in one of those small spaces where you feel more like you’re in someone’s living room than at the theatre. The intimate setting and powerful delivery of harsh truths and poignant realities left me completely absorbed, immersed in the significance and very sounds of each word and phrase uttered with complete precision and intended effect. Stories told and acted make you even more susceptible to complete immersion, leaving you refreshed if not a little disorientated when the lights come up and you re-join reality and the metro home.

One thing this year has taught me is how refreshing it is to become immersed in something different, provoking reflection, or simply indulging sheer escapism.  Be it anxiety, homesickness, or the “I’ve had enough now” phenomenon, putting aside unsettled thoughts to fix your energy on something stimulating and distanced from the reality is both beneficial, and enjoyable. Be that art, theatre, or the classic good-read, sometimes a little bit of culture takes you a long way. 

Living like a local (or just taking it easy)

Three weeks later and I am pleased to inform that I am adjusting to both the requirements and the routine of the life of a stagiare, having passed the clearly crucial milestones of having company at lunchtime and learning the art of strategic metro shuffling for the journey home.  Professionally there has not been that much development (it seems diversity of tasks for the interns is not high on the list of company priorities) but with a stimulating environment and fading of the fear of making minor mistakes, working life remains enjoyable enough. Besides, as one is frequently reminded, we all have to start somewhere.

The passing of the month of May also brought with it a slightly unsettling alteration of plans, leaving me with an unanticipated change of desk and view (along with the altogether unexpected dose of sunshine) in which to continue the Parisian story. After a windy weekend with the female members of the Grace family (making up for in company what the weather failed to provide), spent strolling and sightseeing in a leisurely manner with many pit-stops for refreshment (apologies for authorial repetition, but some things will never change) the pace picked up slightly following a necessary demenagement and consequently a week spent searching for my next abode and not really achieving anything other than honing my awareness that French landlords are even more willing to exploit desperate students than their English counterparts. Just as I was on the brink of switching from appartager.com to flybe, a last minute rushed response to an add and flying visit left me 24hours (and a traumatic metro journey across Paris) later bedding down yet again in another strange room, slightly disorientated but relieved to not be on the plane back to England.  And being the new lodger of a retired editrice (tiens! qui aurait cru? fancy that!) means I am now, quite literally, surrounded by books. In further reminders of Gods humbling faithfulness and provision, I have found myself not only with a new place to leave my toothbrush, but an environment wonderfully suited to my current needs. 

Furthermore, swapping student-artsy-chic of the 5^th arrondissement for the leafy residential Paris 15eme, it’s not just the house rules and the tea-making facilities that I am assessing. With the stress of the 4^th house move on French soil in the past 8 months leaving me a little on the weary side, there has been nothing to write home about in terms of Parisian adventure since we last spoke. However this has left me well placed for trying out living-like-a-local in light of weather too warm to brave the metro and a district rather enjoyably devoid of tourists.

Highlights thus far have been the market that happens on a Sunday morning, quite literally on my doorstep and encompassing an impressive part of the surrounding streets. I was a little overexcited at my first real French market (in Paris of all places), and bought more fruit and vegetables (from a variety of stall holders) than it was possible to consume in a week. Today was spent catching some rays (i.e. applying sun cream in the shade) in the local park, persevering with a novel so as not to make hasty prejudgments of Camille Laurens halfway through her work (though I’m pretty sure her collection on my bookshelf ends here), as well as the lighter activity of some picnic-people watching. The 15^th is also complete with a (wait for it) marché du livre on Saturdays and Sundays. This isn’t entirely helpful considering my penchant for book buying and the less-than-generous salary of a stagiare, but I’m not complaining. Perhaps I will need to limit my strolling in that direction though, considering I have been here 7 days and already have two new additions to what is going to be a rather heavy suitcase home.

The sunshine has now been rather meanly pushed aside by some threatening clouds on the horizon, and there is rain forecast for tomorrow, bringing what I hope is only a brief interlude in the long awaited onset of summer*. Luckily once more the company will outshine the showers, as on the agenda is a reunion with an old friend from Alsace, une francaise among a few that point to the bright side of sometimes unsettling changes of country, city, and postcode. Welcome encounters and new friends make each move memorable, and lunching with Annie in Paris will be a surreal but thoroughly enjoyable reminder of quite how much adventure has been had this year. Even if that adventure looks more like day-to-day french-life, with all the moving around or perhaps just sitting in the park that goes with it.

*I have noted an all too frequent referral to the weather in my musings, and have come to the conclusion that 8 months in France has provoked a necessary reaffirmation of my English-ness to avoid confusion and ease the eventual reinstitution into the green and pleasant land.