Par-Is This Really Happening?

Today I saw a woman walking her cat down Saint Antoine. No sorry, 'walking' doesn't do this justice. She was carrying a vacant lead in one hand and the said cat was perched on her shoulder. Perched up on her right shoulder watching the world go by as they strolled along. Nobody batted an eyelid.

But this is not the only surreal experience of my week. After an evening of American drinking games at the American dorms on Saturday, to which I add that when playing Kings (Ring of Fire to you and me) the 9 = rhyme round does not work out so well with the accent clash, we decided to get the Metro to Oberkampf. And boy, did we chose the right time. We jumped into a lively Metro carriage filled with free styling, beat-boxing, improvising and raving all coming from a small group of French guys. Well I assumed them to be French, as despite how annoyingly sleazy and philosophical these guys are, they freakin' ooze cool. It was a completely surreal surprise and filled with vino we naturally joined in.

Re-calling this the next day, I got to thinking about Metro etiquette in Paris and how the spontaneity of the previous night appeared to have gone against every rule I had learnt. So here we go, the unwritten rules of the metro I have established so far. Take note or prepare to become the object of French glares and mutters if you ever visit Paris:

1. Wait for those getting off to actually make contact with the platform before pushing to get on. Common sense you would think, but there's always one.
2. If you're sitting on the fold up/down seats in the standing area, stand up to allow more room when the carriage gets busy. Glare at those who don't.
3. Don't sit opposite me if you too have unusually long femurs, it won't be a comfortable journey.
4. Give a sympathetic look to the unfortunate soul the crazy, drunk, tramp decides to sit next to.
5. Turn up your iPod and intently stare out the window, even if in a dark, underground tunnel, which 90% of the time will be the case, when a beggar comes round. Don't give into the small child clinging onto them or the tiny puppy they're carrying.
6. Talk to nobody.
7. Be aware of the doors that do not open automatically.
8. Perfect the metro free stand. Perfect it whilst reading a novel and nobody will ever know you're not French...unless you're not wearing a scarf.
9. Know the whereabouts of the exit you will be taking when you get off before you get on the Metro. The closer you get off to it, the more points you get.
10. If the exit has a Poussez door instead of an automatic one, hold it for the person behind you. Always.  
11. When leaving the station, the right side of the escalator is for standers and the left side is for climbers. The stairs are for keenos, take them and feel the frowns of those you overtake from the escalator.
12. If you're going to sneak through the turnstile with someone, ASK. Don't just go in there invading their personal space.
13. Know your lines. Know the 1 takes no mercy when breaking so if you're brave enough to stand up before the Metro has stopped, hold on. Know the 14 is automatic and has no driver therefore sitting in the front carriage is COOL. And finally, know that if you're feeling the beat on line 5 on a Saturday night, don't be afraid to let it out..

It now being the 16th February, I guess Valentine's Day deserves a brief mention in this entry, me being in Paris and all, even though I was surprisingly disappointed by the day. There were no roses, chocolates and teddy bears, I did not see anybody eating a heart-shaped macaroon and not one person spontaneously fell down onto one knee and produced a sparkling diamond in the middle of the street. Pahh.

So, I thought I'd leave you, I did say 'brief', with some food for thought and include a photo of my own very romantic and exclusive Valentine's meal...

... €3 in a University restaurant and followed by chocolate; wine and swooning over Heath in 10 Things I Hate About You. Naturally.

Fr-amazing?

So France earned some cool points this week.

Apparantly the only thing harder than buying a History of Photography textbook in Paris is cheating and looking for one in written in English. After dedicating a whole afternoon to the cause and failing miserably, I decided to retreat to my old friend Amazon and grin and bear the postage prices. As I type the a into the URL bar to which my laptop immediately, and in a somewhat accussatory manner, responds with -mazon.co.uk, I am struck with a thought. A few clicks of the keyboard later and .co.uk is replaced with .fr, I hit enter and ta-dahh...Fr-Amazon! See ya, hefty postage and packaging prices, this company has a base in France as well! French Amazon not only has a Livres en Anglais et Etrangers section but an abundace of books on the History of Photography. With the cheapest edition added to my cart I also threw in a 1 centime copy of Mrs Dalloway and bon condition copy of Never Let Me Go. Being Fr-Amazon, the whole site was obviously in French and my patience with Google translate was worn in my first week here, so whether they arrive or not, I'll let you know.

After my successful (touch wood) purchases I thought I'd cross my fingers and give another favourite website of mine a try and boom, Fr-Ebay!

The only thing holding me back now is Zac Efron, Russell Brand and Johnny Depp...I can only choose one Rolling Stones cover poster for my new shroom.

In other life changing news, I hit the Soldes in Go Sport and got me some new running gear. Choosing to pack plimsols over trainers in light of my limited luggage weight did nothing for my calves. Plus the only thing worse than being seen as a female running in Paris is being seen running like Pheobe through Paris. So new cheapo trainers it was. Mens trainers naturally. What would a French woman want with such things.

Keeping out of arm's reach of any Russians..

Three hours at a Jazz concert in Paris and my fingers are itching and with my beautiful piano locked up in a storage container across the channel, I can only tap away on my black and white laptop keys and hope for the same satisfaction from finally posting my first blog entry..

Before I begin, the Carrie's amongst you will have noticed my rip off of the penultimate Sex and the City episode 'An American Girl in Paris, Part Une'. I choose Part Une as, although anything can happen over the next 5 months I spend here, I will do the utmost in my power to not get slapped by a Russian; I don't own a Carrie necklace to be losing in Christian Dior and I am absolutely certain the love of my life won't be showing up to rescue me and take me home at any point..

(Harry Styles, if you're reading this, I'm totally kidding, I ready to be whisked off whenever you are..)

I'm living and studying in Paris until the end of the year, so for the next few months this will be my outlet for the excitement; admiration; annoyance, and of course cringe, I experience in the city. Someone asked me last night at a Super Bowl party what my three favourite things are about Paris so far and I was struck by silence. The early days of this experience have been such a whirlwind and it pains me not to yet be able to pick out specific favourites. So I'm going to save that for a later post and begin by fulfilling the British stereotype I have established myself over the last few weeks with my incessant tea drinking and inability to jump on the Metro after the dreaded doors closing siren... So until the arty and creative Parisian air inevitably gets under my skin, here are my top complaints/annoyances about the city/the French:

1) There are no Salt&Vinegar crisps. Anywhere. Ever. Wahh.

2) PDA. Yes I am aware it is the most Romantic city in the world blah blahh but seriously, what is so romantic about the metro. It's disgusting, it's underground, drunk tramps leave the stench on urine all over it and yet people still feel the need to suck on each others faces whilst travelling. Call me a bitter serial loner but I do not need that in my life.

3) Every English Literature course I take is on American books/poems/plays and people assume I know them all inside out because I'm an Anglophone. Just no, Walt Whitman has nothing on Shakespeare and Wilfred Owen!

4) The French advertise learning to speak English as speaking 'Wall Street English' and use a Great Britain flag on the poster. You may laugh at my poor, attempt at your accent but we're a long way from New York!

5) The metro stop Denfert Rochereau. Too many vowels, I can't say it.

6) Every single person owns a Mac. Ok I'm just jealous.

7) CARBS...bread, pastries, crepes, waffles...get me some protein!

8) Women are meant to balance out these carbs with coffee and smoking. NOT exercise.

9) It's bloody cold.

10) I think I'm probably going to die of second hand smoke inhilation.

To add a cheery note (since this post has been open and unpublished in a lonely tab for about a week), I would now like to add a thanks you to the lovely, little lady who gave me a ring she found on Pont Neuf last week and wished me 'Bonne Chance'. I have since found somewhere to live in Paris, to which I add that being homeless in Paris is not as romantic, bohemian and Ewan McGregor-esque as it sounds. Really.

Also to get rid of the slight sadist tone I developed there, I'm going to figure out how to get some photos up to show I have actually been having an amaazinggg time!

À Bientôt.