Le Tour du monde en 14 métros

Ah, Paris. The breathtaking monuments, the lively streets, the well-dressed women, the hell-hole that is Chatelêt-les-Halles.

Have you even taken the Parisian métro? If so, are you still alive? At my first internship this summer, I met  a guy who had moved from the Nice area to Paris a couple of years ago. He said that taking the métro was a somewhat traumatic experience. Coming from a village where there is only one train every hour, he could not understand why people would push their way through the closing, buzzing doors of a departing métro, when another one would arrive three minutes later. Or why everyone would race to the seats in order not to be standing up for a 10-minute journey. And why they would shout at him, push past him, hurl abuse at him for not getting in - and therefore, for 'blocking' the way to the closing doors. Said collegue now has a scooter.

I'll admit it is mainly a case of Parisian rudeness - the aforementioned collegue also got shouted at for 'walking too slowly'. Everyone thinks they are too important to take their time, they are always rushing to go somewhere. Me included - you just find yourself adapting to the racy pace and end up going with the flow.

When I went to Rome, I marvelled at the fact that the tube there only had two different lines. Here, there are fourteen. And most métro stations are barely 50 meters away from each other. Yes, we are lazy. I remember I used to do three changements so I could arrive bang in front of my prépa. As a result, you can get to just about anywhere in Paris by juggling with numbers : line 10 then 4 then 1 for the Marais. Line 8 for the Bastille. Line 10 then 13 for Saint-Lazare. Bingo!

In a recent survey, I read that breathing in the 'métro air' was as bad for you as smoking ten cigarettes at the same time. Another study showed that on one metro seat, many different kinds of urine and semen were found, as well as rat and human excrements, fleas and cockroaches. Gross. When you think of the London tube, which I find so clean and safe, or even the Korean tube, which my best friend says it is so clean that you could probably eat a meal off the floor, this is just shameful.

Yet take line 6 one evening, and look at the amazing view. That line is a métro aérien, meaning that the tracks run through the city above ground - and above people. That is how I really fell in love with Paris, sighing at the clichéed view of the illuminated Eiffel Tower while crossing the Seine. Admittedly, I was not using a seat. I left the others to rush for them and chuckled to myself when I thought of what they were actually sitting on. 

Here we go again

No English word is able to convey the bustling, rustling atmosphere which surrounds the rentrée des classes. This particular event has become a concept in itself, neigh, a complete way of life, requiring much planning and plotting - as well as a distinct publicity stunt. Fail to make the right impression on D-day, and resolve to hang your head in shame the whole year round. Exaggeration? I am sorry to say that it is not.

Of course, when the regular imperatives are coupled with extensive homework and holiday reads, as it is the case in prépa, be warned not to take it all too seriously. French people like to start things du bon pied, and when we know how important education is in the French system, this also applies to the school year. Resolutions, workplans, alarmingly stern first-day-of-school pep talks (in which one can often detect a slight political reference, cliché, anyone?), the works. If you are the type of student who enjoys sizing up the competition on the first day of term (in opposition to sizing up the guys, the normal thing to do - understand, what my friends and I do - when you are a 'summer is over' teenager who is already bored to death by the endless talk of 'discipline', 'punctuality' and 'efficiency'), then good for you. But you probably need a(nother) holiday.

So what, you're thinking, same thing whatever the country. Not exactly. I just think that we have come to an age where we are perfectly capable of pressuring ourselves, thank you very much, and do not need teachers to drill their doctrines into our already half-full skulls. I'll admit it is nice of them to care, really, and some give rather pertinent advice. But no one should leave the classroom trembling after the teacher has boomed, 'If you feel out of place, then you are not meant to be here. Go home.' Admittedly, no one did. But should personal determination be acquired through intimidation? This sort of treatment creates competitive, I-am-going-to-crush-them-all student-types. Very healthy. 

Yes, the French school system is efficient. The country produces well-read, cultured and media-savvy beings. Some of my closest friends belong to that group. But believe me, it ain't easy in day-to-day life. 'You haven't read Dante?' What, are you going to tell me to go home too?!

Gingerbread men and lobster sushi

Long time no blog.

I'll admit I've been a bit busy actually 'living'. My English work experience was a dream, I published at least an article a day and even got to write a piece about fashion. 'The Differences between French and English Fashion', nonetheless. I went to court, reviewed an art exhibition, interviewed a film director, covered a murder and did a vox pop.

Incidentally, the vox pop was on 'how Bradford women are the worst dressed in the UK'. They actually came last in a survey done by Facebook. How embarrassing. So the newspaper was more than pleased to publish my own article, titled 'I live in Paris but I buy all my clothes in Bradford'.

In between discovering Gregg's gingerbread men on my lunch break, I managed to get a lot of shopping done. I just love English shops, they are so superior to the French thing. I went crazy in New Look and Primark, and also had brilliant time charity shopping. English retailing is sans égale, Paris should take note.

Although I have discovered a brilliant shop in Paris, called Hema. I literally dévalised the store for my lovely lovely flat. I am having such fun living in Paris, it's like a dream come true. I went to my aunt's last week, and we ordered sushi. I just had to have the 'Flower Power' one, made with real flowers and stuffed with fresh lobster! It was delicious and ever so civilized.

I am thinking of starting a personal blog, as I cannot really give this out as a professionnal website if I am warbling about shopping and sushi. But with school looming closer (er, tomorrow) and other activities to plan (various housewarming parties, salsa and yoga classes, learning to cook with Jamie O's books), I might be a bit short for time. Like all of us at the beginning of September..

Oh and I also got verbally attacked by a tramp when I was out celebrating my friend's 20th birthday. But I was very well-dressed so I think I managed to pull it off.. with an ear-piercing scream as he lunged at me followed by serious hair-tossing. To be pissed off in style, that's what you learn to do in France!

Bonne rentrée!

English Augusts and home-made tarts

How hard is it to come back from sunny, steamy, sexy Rome to dreary old France? Very. Because this month we Frogs are having to endure what is commonly called an été anglais, i.e. bad weather during summer. When I stepped of the plane at Charles-de-Gaulle airport in my shorts and spartiates* and was met by icy wind doubled with a cloudy sky, I felt as though it was already September.

Luckily my mother came to the rescue, and whipped me off to her house in the country. I spent a few rejuvenating days reading and baking, sipping a glass of iced rosé in between. Her plum tree was absolutely heaving with fruit, so we made plum tart, plum crumble, plum stew et al. Cue cliché of steaming home-made pie in a warm country house. 

What else? Happily shopping for the new flat. Went to the Chinese quarter in Paris and bought some china bowls and stuff, brought back a Miffy calendar and Hello Kitty egg cup from Rome. I now have a little pile of 'leaving home' stuff, in which none of the essentials figure. And obviously, even though I have been begging for one for years, my dad gets a cat just as I am moving out. And, of course, she is the cutest thing on earth. A replacement daughter, anyone?!

*gladiator sandals

The Franglaise at work - part two

Here it is, the much awaited second work experience. Back behind a desk again, after a brief interlude packed with attending the Fête de la musique, the Gay pride and the Japan expo (lots of teenage-y things!). This is now my last day working at a local business magazine attached to the region's chamber of commerce, and I have published my first signed article today! Turns out I got lucky : the week that I have spent here has been jam-packed with interesting events. I was sent to cover a filming taking place at the office, and had to interview the director. With my little writing pad, I felt like Lois Lane. 

I am slowly starting to realize how important getting work experience is. I have heard countless tales of people spending a week doing the job of their dreams, and absolutely hating it. I was lucky to experience the reverse phenomenon : I loved every minute of it. My boss is pleased with my work, and I feel as though I am really made to be a journalist. It was just so thrilling, you know, the whole "saying my-name-shaking his hand-can I ask you a few questions" thing. And I just love, love, love to write (as if you had not guessed). I take such pleasure in the minute things, like making sure I use resonating words and that my sentences seem eloquent. Basically, just putting into practice everything I have learned in prépa. 

On the whole, this has been such a pleasant experience. I learnt all the journalistic jargon and tips, and published about a dozen short articles on the magazine's website. I really got to understand how a magazine takes form, and felt as if I was completely part of the team. Rendez-vous at the end of August, for the third and final edition of this year's The Franglaise at work : the decisive internship at an English local newspaper.

What the beginning of my week looked like

Trip back down memory lane : I ventured in a Claire's Accessories near where I am doing my internship. Hadn't been there in AGES, and was quite surprised. They do all the stuff the quaint Parisian shops do, only at a fraction of the price. Hence the rabbit necklace, another addition to my ever-growing collection (of rabbits AND necklaces) that I just had to have. Isn't it the cutest?

I finally found the time to frame my gorgeous Yves Saint Laurent posters that I got from the Fondation Pierre Bergé-Yves Saint Laurent in avenue Marceau. I hunted the blue one down after seeing it in Mademoiselle Figaro, and I finally triumphed. Didn't that sound Parisian, eh? That's because I have FOUND A FLAT and will be MOVING TO PARIS IN AUGUST! Another chapter of the Franglaise's life. Will tell more about my appartement and second work experience soon. Bisous!

What my Sunday looked like

Between flat-hunting and holiday-preparing (the girls are going to ROME!), I enjoyed lounging on my sunny terrasse in these cool hues, sipping a mint iced tea. Life is hard.

About the book : my Geography programme next year is about South America, so instead of perusing boring atlases and books about economics, I am studying the beauty of the continent my OWN way..

scarf and flats - H&M