What better way to celebrate 3 months of living abroad than heading to Paris? I love Paris. It's my fourth visit there!
Those
of you who don’t like it when I stereotype –look away now. First, I would like
to split France in to 2: 1) French Parisians 2) All other France. The latter (and
this is very general) are gorgeous, polite, humorous, and somewhat
understanding to your broken French in an endearing way. The French Parisians
are a bizarre species, mostly set in their ways, not helpful with your language
barriers and not funny at all, although they could be, except they tell jokes
then apologise after, rendering it not funny. Or just when you think they are
breaking in to a ‘normal person’, they correct themselves and become all proper
and boring again. I say this because I have travelled through various parts of
France, experienced the warmth of the French, the great wine and amazing food.
The duck, cooked to perfection, the service with a smile and the willingness to
help. In Paris, it’s nothing like that. So if you can block them out, you are
doing yourself a huge service.
It’s
so amazing to have the ability to leave work at 4:30pm on a Friday and be in
Paris for dinner. If you picture V-line, the train ride is nothing like that.
It’s quick, direct and there are no bullshit junkies on the train. When you
board its English, followed by French and as soon as youre in the tunnel, the
voiceover flips and speaks French first. I checked in to my hostel and was
greeted by my Brazilian roommate Christina, who knew at least 4 languages. She
was my favourite instantly cos I could practice my German and Italian. Then I
meandered to the far side of the room and peered out the window- the sparkling
Eifel tower was looking right at me. I said ‘come on, let’s go’ so that’s
exactly what we did. I must say although it was my fourth trip to the Eifel
tower, it was the first at night, we got to the Eifel tower and it was still as
mesmerising as the first time I saw it. I initially thought it wasn’t that
special I must say. But I think I just made that up to try and be cool, ‘cos I
was 15 and that’s what you do! You know that feeling you get when you really
care about someone, and they feel the same way or you are just in that happy
place and then literally fireworks start going off and it’s like they are meant
for you? - that’s how you feel looking at the Eifel tower at night. I decided
to take the advice of my good friend Bianca (or Byunca so as not to confuse her with sister Bianca)- “treat
yourself”. So I did. Gluten filled crepes; with Nutella and cream. The cream
was stacked so high it was ironic that when I leant over to pick up my napkin
as it began to fly away as I simultaneously had the thought ‘I will definitely
spill this on me, I will need that napkin’ that the cream sunk fair on my
crouch just as I grasped the napkin. Fair to say I looked as though I’d just
climaxed at the Eifel tower- on the outside of my pants. Thankfully Christina
also doubles as a legend and had a supply of napkins with her. I put the soda
water I’d just purchased to good use and together with the warm weather, only
10 minutes later it was as though nothing had happened. We decided to walk and
we walked up to the Arc de Triumphe and Champs Elycee before calling it a night
at that point and heading back to the hostel exhausted.
I
spent the following day taking in the sights, and tried out a restaurant a
friend recommended. They only have one thing on the menu- Steak, chips and
waldof salad, but its pretty amazing and just when you think you’re done, you
get another serving! Incidentally it was also the only place in Paris I experienced
great service for the weekend. I did a spot of shopping and picked up the
bargain of the century- a £30 suit from Mango and walked the whole day seeing
some sights I hadn’t been to before including the Luxembourg gardens. After a
quick nap at the hostel I was surprised with a message from my oldest dearest
friend Sarah telling me she had left London and caught the Eurostar to Paris to
hang out with me. Bang!!! It was perfect timing for me as my mate from Croatia,
Marija who is honest like me, but 10 times prettier, was also in Paris as her
boyfriend is French so she had literally just moved to Paris that day. We were
all together at Opera by 8pm, together with two frenchies; Sarah’s husband and
his best friend Jean ‘something French’… i’m going with Jean ‘Francois’. We
ordered some champers and nibbles, (which I scoffed most of!) and had a
ridiculously fun night. Marija didn’t know anyone else but fit in like a
trooper and we all hit it off over a bottle of Champers... followed by another
bottle… and another. Until the tipping point, when we got told off at
dinner for being too loud by some boring old Parisian. The man’s poor wife was
mortified. At the end of drinks and dinner Sarah’s husband got up and
apologised to them in French by saying ‘I’m sorry they are from England’ as a
joke. So I got up and said ‘I’m sorry he is French and boring’. The mortified
lady, was now more mortified than before and her husband had a look on his face
like he’d been poked by the stick he had shoved fair up his arse.
I
don’t know what it is about the French, but they do themselves no favours on
the humility world scale as they even correct your French when you try or can speak
French or answer you back in English! It is so intimidating and rude. For
instance, Sarah’s French is quite good- good enough to put on her CV, however
she said that even her mother in law will tell her off or correct her in front of
everyone, which she finds intimidating and makes her not want to speak it. It’s
also bizarre because I feel like they have their own joke running on how to
mock you. Which under usual circumstances wouldn’t bother me, but they do it in
such an arrogant, non-humorous way and they when you give them back a piece of
their own cake, they don’t know how to respond, so just stop talking to you. Some
random guy called me a Yank in front of all his mates, I arked up and said no I’m
not American. And he continued… ‘Where are you from then?’ so I said ‘Nigeria’,
Central Nigeria. He couldn’t tell if I was telling the truth or not, so turned
his back, started speaking French again and started mocking me. I was just glad
to have shut him up!
 |
| Central Nigeria |
Parisians
think they are right and stubborn in their ways, but are often wrong and do
things the wrong way, i.e. why wouldn’t you have Sunday trading? Particularly
when you have the world’s biggest cycling race in town!! Sarah’s husband was
trying to tell me that French people are the way they are because of the
revolution when they killed their monarchy or something. I think that is an
excuse, because as I rightly pointed out- Marija had been through war and she wasn’t
going around being rude to people. Basically the Parisian French aren’t good at
much, they rely from the reputation of food and wine from the other regions,
and the only beauty I can see is within their buildings and architecture… there
is one exception to this; the Police. They probably have the sexiest police
force in the world. They have this cute little beret and carry phallus batons. I
will go as far as saying that I think there should maybe be another revolution,
with the sexy Southerners (e.g. my mate Leo Terrando), that understands our
humour (including laughing and not being mortified when I practice the only two
phrases I know in French which translate to: “will you go to bed with me” and “tie
me up”), in the French police uniform Vs the rude know it all Parisians!! I must tell you that the next day when
watching Le Tour on The Champs Elycess I spent 50% of my time looking at the
batons instead of the bikes then making eye contact with the sexy police with the
old ‘how you doing? (Joey off friends thing) in the back of my mind dreaming
about our future together (Lee Renton: ‘Too far?’), shake my head, back to
reality. Speaking of Le Tour, it was great to be back there for the finale and
watch Nibale cruise to his maiden win. The excitement was lifting, the cyclists
were excruciatingly fast and the ambience electrifying. (Nearly as orgasmic as
the Eifel Tower experience.)
The
final morning was my favourite. I got up at 6;30am for my 7:15am train, and
unbeknown to me I’d totally forgotten I’d booked business class. Best result
ever. They even give you breakfast, which I was so happy to not have
(croissants= gluten= not on a work day). It wasn’t long before all I could hear
was English, followed by French. The way it should be. Maybe that’s why I hate
the Olympics?
Well
played Paris. And if you could export your Policeman as well as your wine, I’d
be quite content.
No comments:
Post a Comment