We watch the sun come up, it’s calling, I want another day with you...

Printemps à Paris and there is a definite je ne sais quoi in the air. Namely because it escapes me why the Parisiens are still walking around in thick coats and wooly scarves in this 18° heat, but also because there is something about the city at this time of year that makes it more irrestible than ever.

The first sign of sun in France and the French don't immediately dig out their shortest skirts and flip flops and head to the nearest beer garden. No, the Parisiens maintain that ever stylish status and take advantage of the outdoor seating at every café, knowing by heart which ones the sunlight spills onto, and continue to sip on their café crèmes and casually drag their cigarettes. They also take advantage of generous amount of incredible public parks situated in breath-taking spots around the city. Still smoking their cigarettes but also sharing a bottle of wine over a gossip with friends, relaxing with a loved one, or taking time out to read a novel, either way they are soaking up the rays without a pint of cider in their hand and their shirts folded up round their waists for ultimate tan exposure. And English as I am, I quite like it. 

Spending my afternoons chilling with my favourites in the Louvre gardens, whether revising for mid-terms, listening to Chase & Status or having general banter, and spending the light evenings swapping the Metro for lazy strolls along the Seine must have prompted my inner French girl to come out and play as this week I have found myself partaking in significantly more French culture, to name a few examples:

• I've found myself purchasing a 90c stick from a regular bakery on a regular basis and boy am I going to miss them when I leave.
• I have been reading my book at every available opportunity, even perfecting the 'I'm-so-used-to-the-Metro-I-can-read-my-book-instead-of-holding-on' stand. I honestly can't put The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo down.
• I have worn a scarf everyday the temperature has been in double figures. In fact I don't think I could ever leave my room without one in fear of the reaction I would get..
• Spent afternoons sitting outside cafés for way longer than required and way after finishing our beverages. Which also nearly always results in taking advantage of the city's free WiFi, getting out a Mac and impulsivly booking travel tickets...'iya Amsterdam!
• Going to a Parisien house party with non-English speaking Frenchies and learning French drinking games...French culture to an extent, no?
• Finding French artists and falling for their musical style and of course, that accent.

Despite however I spend these gorgeous Spring days in Paris, each day that passes leaves me a day closer to leaving this city and from the way my heart sinks every time I remember this I can finally say it's official..

Paris, Je T'Aime

I'm sorry I'm a little late, you know the stripes on a tiger are hard to change..

A visit from the parents en route for their big move to the South of France meant playing tour guide for the weekend and boy, am I glad I played along. Taking them to my favourite nooks and crannies of the city allowed me fall in love with Paris all over again and learn that instead of lingering on what I miss about Britain to thank my lucky stars for what I have right on my doorstep...

We started with Père-Lachaise, a third time visit for me yet still as incredible and spine-tingling as my very first glimpse. The cemetery is host to hundreds of thousands of graves with the most extravagant and intricate tombstones belonging to the Parisian elite alongside some great names of the modern world. The cemetery also features a crematorium and thousands of small plaques, each individually designed, guard the ashes and keep the memories of those behind them. The strangest part about this concept being the plaques engraved with a date of death absent, for those who are still alive! Also a great gentleman called Leopold Fucker has gave me giggles and probably ensured my sending to hell each time.

The most spectacular of all the graves belongs very appropriately to Oscar Wilde, it is tradition to take along a lipstick and kiss his tombstone when you visit. And the small plaque at the foot of the grave amongst all the many layers of lip prints and lipstick scrawled messages of love? It instructs NOT to deface the grave in order to respect the memory of Oscar Wilde, genius.

Next, my potential two favourite spots in the city, the top of the Arc de Triomphe and Pont des Arts. Climbing the 284 steps up a very narrow and steep spiral staircase becomes absolutely worth it the minute you step out on to the top floor of the Arc de Triomphe as the wind hits your hair and the whole of Paris surrounds you. The views are absolutely breath-taking, I can only imagine they are so much better in the summer. This is officially the best people-watching spot in the world! I could also stand flinching and squirming for the fate of cyclists all day looking down at the 10 lane roundabout that surrounds the Arc, being France there is no sense of any system and cars chaotically weave in and out of each other as well as those daring enough to cross on foot all day long.

From the Arc de Triomphe, a stroll down the spectacular Champs-Élysées and through the beautiful Louvre gardens will get one to another breath-taking sight. Pont des Arts at first glimpse may first appear like any other of the 37 bridges that cross the Seine. However, the closer you get, the clearer the blurs amongst the wire grid on the side of the bridge become, and on setting foot on the bridge you are faced with hundreds of padlocks quietly hanging along each side. Padlocks of all shapes and size, some engraved some scrawled on with permanent marker, messages of love and hope, and a sure fire way to leave ones mark on the city. Tradition states that couples attach a padlock on the side of Pont des Arts, promise eternal love for one another then throw the key into the Seine below ensuring their 'padlock of love' can never leave Paris. Each padlock is different, telling a unique and individual story for those who placed it and the whole bridge just simultaneously blows my mind and melts my heart. And yes, lover or no lover, I will be joining this tradition before I leave Paris.

The rest of weekend included walks along the Seine and through my favourite area of Le Marais, where no matter what you wear, everybody will dress better than you and the falafel lives up to its world famous reputation. A trip to the Sacré-Cœur and Notre-Dame and a rub of Saint Peter's foot also ensured luck went with my parents on their travels and I would like to think made up for my giggling at Leopold's tombstone. The weekend was then finished off wishing my parents a Bon Voyage, heading to a vintage fair and sitting out in the Jardin des Tuileries with my girlfriends and the Parisian sun.

My eyes have been completely re-opened to this city of art, beauty, and the occasional French wit that I am so lucky to live in and made any cabin fever I thought I'd felt seem ridiculous.

All that said, I'm now only a small bit sad about missing The Only Way is Essex tonight and am instead going to curl up with Paris Je T'aime and a bowl of Tesco's own muesli.

Paris, you may not be perfect but I am definitely falling for you..

"Shame you had to get Minnie Mouse ears, did they not have any regular sized ones left?"

Whoa, busy last couple of weeks. And despite developing a sense of Cabin Fever in Paris, I have found myself zilch time to write. Instead I have been frolicking at the seaside and getting chased round dark, dingy caves by a surprisingly scary Captain Jack Sparrow...at Disneyland obviously, this is not a regular occurrence around Paris, despite what my last entry might suggest.

So in condensed and, perhaps a little lazy, bullet point style, here's what I have to share/criticize/laugh at the french for this week:

• Disneyland Paris is the best place I have ever been in my entire life. No doubt about it.
  And I got to go with my favourite (don't tell her) big sister when she came to visit me and the Frenchies. The park was also filled with the largest amount of English folk I have encountered in one place since I arrived and I was loving it. Well, initially. The small children who were being thrust through my legs by incredibly pushy parents in the queues for meeting Disney characters, we queued for every one don't you know, became a massive annoyance. On the bright side they did provide an excellent opportunity for my sister to practise her 'ERR NON!', a phrase one comes to depend on in Paris, and for me to rant about how bloody lucky they should feel with me having my first Disneyland experience at the age of 20. Other exciting sister activities included finding 50 euros on the floor in a Metro station; opening a bottle of red wine with no corkscrew and causing a purple explosion onto many white t-shirts, white bed sheets and white walls; and finally, walking 2km in the scary dark 20 metres underground alongside infinite skeletons of French men past.

 

The brief amount of time for which we were not desperately clung onto each other.. 

•  Grown and very suave French men will stroll around Paris walking the teeniest, tiniest, girliest little doggys without shame or a care in the world.
• The French sell and play playing cards in packs of 32. Just weird.
• The French tourist industry is incredibly lazy! Despite the gorgeous weather during my seaside weekend with a very sea and surf hungry Australian, not a single place along the beach was open. Why? Because it is still winter. The beach was busy, the sun was shining but not even the little, old lady who takes your 30c in the public toilets could be bothered to come out, open up and play.
• Spooning in French is en cuillère, literally 'to spoon into'.
• After driving through a village/town in England one is waved off by a pleasant sign informing us we are now leaving the said place, one is wished a safe drive to wherever it may be they are travelling and one is urged to return again soon. In France? In France, you are given a small sign with the name of the village/town written across it, the same as the small sign you drive by when entering, but this one, the exit sign, has a somewhat aggressive, thick, red cross scoring through the name. One is not wished a safe journey or longed for to return. One is simply out of the village/town and no longer its responsibility and left uneasily driving through no mans land until the next sign.
• I can speak more French than Quentin Tarantino. Watching him receive a Caesar in honour of his career and painstakingly make his acceptance speech in English made me feel a small bit happy inside.
• Every other, if not every, French man has a man bag and a pony tail. I quite like it.
• People are definitely beginning to get weirded out by the intensity with which I stare at their mouths when speaking in French. Particularly my teachers.

On a final note, I would like to address a subject I struggle with daily, a constant battle between myself and the French society and an issue that is getting me down...being funny. I'm going to say that 60% of what I say in everyday life is an attempt to be funny, whether it be to wriggle out of an awkward situation or a random but completely appropriate film quote. Making these jokes in French? Impossible. Leaving me with a very lame 40% of my daily thoughts to share, with such riveting subjects as the weather, the time and my plans for the week. It pains me.

But sarcasm, I hear you ask, sarcasm doesn't require a punch line, doesn't rely on timing and can often be formed from everyday speech. Surely sarcasm is a great way to let ones infamous British wit shine, sarcasm that was born in England, sarcasm that surely the French are in tune with being a mere 34km away along the Strait of Dover..

Just No.