Six Months Ago....

Six months ago I would never have barged my way onto a busy, foreign bus with two children shouting ‘Excuse-et-moi, ma poussette ici s’il vous plait’, forcing people to move before I ran over their toes with my pram.

Six months ago I would never have attempted to drive around the grid locked, aggressive driver-filled, motorbike weaving ruled, pedestrian aimlessly wandered roads that consumes Paris.

Six months ago I would never have chatted in French to the local ‘boucher’ about how to make an authentic beef bourguignon, and then actually cook it with his invaluable advice.

Six months ago I would never have sat alone in a café sipping café crèmes whilst tapping away on my laptop only to have one of the potential future French Presidents come and shake my hand with a semi-flirtatious ‘Bonjour Madame’ (even old politicians are sexy in France).

Six months ago I did jump on the metro with no idea where I was going just to escape the suffocation of the flat and the children, ending up at a brasserie on Rue du Bac smoking a cigarette (I don’t smoke) with two glasses of Sancerre to save my sanity.

Six months ago my husband did leave me in the gardens at the Rodin Museum because I was frozen to the bench at an inexplicable, overwhelming breaking point that he didn’t want our children to witness.

Paris is a stunningly beautiful city. I almost envy all the tourists who I see daily looking around in wonderment, wishing I was them experiencing it fresh again for the first time. Then I realize how lucky I am to live here, when they only have two or three days to cram it all in, I can see all these wonderful places at my leisure, yet I am already panicking that I’m not getting enough in, running out of time. I feel any time is wasted that isn’t spent absorbing the city.

I wish I could have felt just a glimmer of this when I first arrived. Knee deep in unfamiliarity, it was like a blanket had been thrown over all the beautiful buildings, the Eiffel Tower had become invisible, the unique ambience of French life muffled by my children’s whinges and fears.

Confidence is empowering, liberating stuff. If only we could bottle it up and sell it in the shops instead of uprooting a whole family to attain it.

Today I feel extremely lucky to live in Paris. This week I have been vintage clothes shopping with my eccentric French teacher Muriel, picnicking in the Champ De Mars with friends, visiting the Armenian exhibit at the Musee de Montmartre, and shaking hands with famous politicians. When you start to like Paris it starts to like you, I feel there’s a lot of potential to this relationship….

Saving Grace - Naked Man and Sancerre