Paris je t'aime??

I used to be sold on Paris; Fan, Super-Fan, Fanatic. Used to. This weekend I had a long awaited reunion with my beloved city. But for some reason it wasn’t as I thought it would be. Walking across a rainy Paris I felt like a stranger, and although the views continually swept me off my feet (as they always do), I was reminded, again and again, of why Paris is not a city where I want to live anymore.

Listing the things that I love….would take a long time; the smell of a bakery, the slow pace of a Saturday…the even slower pace of a Sunday, the space to live, the time to enjoy, the creative liberty, the appreciation of good things; beauty, food, art; love of that which embellishes life, the quality, the thoroughness, the choice (especially in the market and supermarket), the pride, the splendor…all the splendor…and still…I was confounded.

Maybe it was the lack of habit, the loss of edge that only a few months in Paris give you, but I was shaken by the arrogance and the sense of not belonging. I certainly hadn’t missed being walked into 1000 times on a crowded street without as much as a pardon. There I was, in the stronghold of politesse, yet it was nowhere to be seen?

Maybe it was the rain, that swallowed the pace and the brilliance and beauty which otherwise stings my eyes.

Maybe it was the short moment that didn’t allow me to digest and profit.

Maybe, maybe, maybe…I just felt that Paris was a chapter passed…but an eternal love. When we landed back in London it was neither melancholy nor relief, just…acceptance, just normal.

Paris je ne t’aime plus, mais je t’aimerai toujours

Rather sleepless in Seattle than heatless in London?

Autumn has come to London. All of a sudden sticky grey has been replaced by biting blue. I am trying to convince myself that the fact that the sun is actually making an appearance every second day, makes up for the 7 degree loss in temperature. And I would have been successful should my apartment not have been as cold as the outside.

Resentment is the word. Who ever came up with this ridiculous boiler-system? And where in the world did anyone get the idea that single windows have an isolating effect? As you might have guessed, my boiler doesn’t work, and I wake up every morning with excessive amounts of mist on my window (it is called excessive when you can’t see the colour of the sky). I can’t even begin to tell you the pleasure of getting out of bed and stepping into Siberia…or Antarctica, whichever is colder.

After having spent the entire weekend closed in my room with schoolwork, I have completely exhausted all my ideas of how to heat myself up; candles, tea, double layered clothes, woollen throws, hot showers…and still…cold toes.

I keep trying to tell myself that this is yet another one of life’s ways of making me appreciate the simple luxuries that I have come to take for granted…but a little heating isn’t too much to ask, is it?

Everyone is rich

I want to go see Andy Warhol at the Tate.

One tough cookie...?

Marie said I am too kind for my own good...and that I need to become One tough cookie: