Bienvenue à Paris

Breakfast in Paris

After six months of selling everything I owned in Australia (and billeting out the rest) and studying my derriere off to get my French to an intermediate (and Paris University-acceptable) level, I today passed through Customs at Charles de Gaulle with nothing more interrogative than a 'Bonjour' from the Guard and, voila, I was home.

The hours from 8am to 3pm were spent eating and drinking the finest of everything with my Peruvian-Parisian friend, Carlos, until we went to collect the keys to my apartment on rue Henri Poincaré in the 20th arrondissement...

The balcony view.

Enter Faina from stage left-of-centre: a German-Russian lesbian who was lovely (no boys, not that lovely), but proceeded to tell me EVERYTHING I needed to know to live in her apartment for the next seven weeks. And I mean everything. Go on, ask me which way to insert the key in the front door lock. For I have been informed of such things. (And for those of you playing at home, it might not surprise you to learn that keys in France open doors just like they do in Australia).

The street view

Oui, Faina was a character alright. I especially liked it when she, the staunch vegetarian, announced that she had removed all but one of her pots from the kitchen in fear that one might be used to (insert suspenseful horror music here) cook meat. Oh my lord, imagine using a pan to cook meat. I didn't have the heart or courage (she's German AND Russian remember) to explain to her that, whilst we Australians don't have a lot of water, we do use some of it to wash dishes on the odd occasion.

Alors, after the comprehensive briefing, I was given the keys and a Certificate IV in Housekeeping. After staying protectively fierce by my side throughout the hour-long induction, I think Carlos was secretly hoping to be given the Lesbian Erotica book that sat on Faina's suitcase, but alas, it was not to be. Let's just say, I'm glad I'm sleeping on the fold-out sofa and not in the master bedroom, a room off to the side of the lounge that is locked, no doubt  because it contains even more interesting 'bedtime' reads enjoyed by my landladies.

In an attempt to stave off jet lag, I went for a run to Buttes Chaumont at 8pm. A beautiful park, largely unknown to tourists, with stunning views of Paris, Buttes Chaumont is about 1km from my apartment.

As I weaved through the smokers standing alongside the table-lined streets of the quarter, I realised I was a world away from the quiet neighbourhoods of Adelaide. I had been running for about two streets when I crossed the street and looked left for oncoming traffic. And that was when I saw it... Down a street flanked by cafés, boulangeries and fromageries loomed the Eiffel Tower. Now, I've seen this structure probably 100 times before, but I am never prepared for the sight of its magnificence. My heart skips a beat every time, and a smile of 'I could die happy right now' dances on my lips. Nothing is more amazing in this world to me than the sight of that tower. It is beautiful. It is majestic. It is Paris.

It was at this exact moment that I realised how far I had come. All the planning, all the selling, all the studying, and all the goodbyes had led me here--the most beautiful city in the world (sorry Melbourne). Now, I don't know how long I'll feel this way or how long I'll be allowed the privilege of living in Paris, but try wiping the smile off my face right now. C'est impossible!

A dedication... 
I am writing this blog for me, because I want to remember every day of my new foreign life. But, I also write to share this experience with the people who made me the person I am today. Those who loved me, put their confidence in me, dried my tears, eased my fears, put a roof over my head, and supported my every step towards Paris. You know who you are and I couldn't have done it without you, so this dream belongs to you. My amazing friends back home in Australia, you are my family and this is for you, with so much love, Fraussie Bek. xx