Today is a fairly unimpressive day. I taught a private class
this morning, for which I had somehow accidentally suggested the French
electoral system as the topic. Then I bought a swimming-hat – bonnet de natation, if you’re
interested.
But yesterday. Ah, yesterday. Yesterday was an excellent
Paris day, so to celebrate my two year Paris-aversary, I thought you’d like to
hear about it.
It kicked off with my favourite activity, GOING UP STUFF.
After two years of recommending that all friends and visitors sack off going up
the Eiffel Tower and instead go up Tour Montparnasse, I finally went up the
thing myself. And, boy, was I right. There is no queue, you get to the top in a
magically-smooth elevator which takes just 38 seconds, and then you are at
peace to enjoy spectacular panoramic views (which, dur, include Lady Eiffel
herself) without being elbowed incessantly or wanting to throw yourself off the
top just to escape the 18,000 people around you who can’t form an orderly
queue. And you get to take photos like this one. It was superb.
Then I did a spot of shopping. I spent an hour in San
Francisco Books, looked at about a million books and managed to only buy three.
I visited the shop of Henri Le Roux, the man who invented salted caramels, and
managed to only buy four. And then I nearly bought a CAPE, before getting
enraged at the counter by how long I was having to wait, and flouncing out of
the store. I have never felt more Parisian.
(NB. Well, it was labelled ‘cape’
but was really a cardigan with holes for sleeves. And if I was really
Parisian I would have explained in a loud voice to no-one in particular why it
was completely unacceptable to expect me to wait that long before doing the
flouncing out. But it was as Parisian as I’m likely to get.)
Then I went home and read some more of Harry Potter 6 in French. I’m so close to the end. My deal with
myself is to finish the whole series within two years of starting, so I’ve got
until September 13th. And I might actually do it, as I no longer
have to stop every eight words to look something up (dungeon = cachot,
half-blood = sang-mêlé, golden snitch = vif d’or etc. etc.). It’s all going swimmingly.
I spent the evening with my friends Pam and Steph,
who I didn’t know from Celine Dion two years ago. We drank champagne and
bitched about the 37-degree heatwave that has descended on Paris this week and
discussed our favourite skincare products that you can buy in a pharmacy. It was all so very, well, French.
Then on the way home, I went the wrong direction on the
Métro, which I have never ever done before, and which made me feel like a sheepish Paris moron. Because a little humility never
hurt anybody, and sometimes Paris just needs to remind you that she's the boss.
