An Outsider's Point of View

The other day, my stay here in France almost came to a sudden unexpected end.

I fainted for the 4th time in 12 days, in the middle of the cafe, and my boss called the ambulance. I'm fine - apparently I just need more magnesium. Nevertheless, both my host Liz and my dad have said that, if I faint again, I'm on the next flight back to Bristol.

Although it's a cliche, you really do appreciate something more when you loose it, or almost loose it. And that's caused me to step back a bit and look at my life here at the cafe, and why I love it so much.

Work starts at 8.30, when the cafe opens. One of the nicest jobs of the day is getting fresh baguettes from the local boulangerie around this time; something I have done almost every single day since I arrived here. The people who work there know my order off my heart ('Deux flutes prestiges et un ticket si vous plait') but we still go through the drill.

All the seating for the cafe is outside, so early mornings involve putting all the different colored cushions back on the chairs, taking out the sun umbrellas and hanging up pictures on the walls that were taken in the night before. Then, because the cafe's quite quiet at the moment, I usually do a scatter of coffees, juice and petit dejeuners throughout the morning, although some people will order the occasional brunch (basically - a big English breakfast with sausages, bacon, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes etc. all cooked to order).

It's like a quirky English cafe in a sunny Provencal setting. We do home baked cakes, and are never in short supply of cheese cake and carrot cake, although Liz also does brownies, flapjacks, chocolate cake and victoria sponges on rotation. The interesting part is trying to explain what these cakes are, in French, to the customers. But they're very popular. The customers seem to really love the fact that it's all home cooked and enjoy trying typically English cakes that they can't easily get elsewhere.

In terms of drinks, we do coffees, a range of teas (including fresh mint tea which means we get to go and pick the mint from outside to put in the teapot!), juice, lemonade with freshly squeezed lemons and smoothies. Smoothies are immensely fun to make. They're only made out of fruit, and we do 'Exotic Smoothies' with pineapple, mango and banana, or ''Red Fruit Smoothies' with raspberry, peach, banana and apple juice. We don't sell coke, fanta, pepsi or any of the big brands and we don't have a license to sell alcohol.

I'll admit one thing - I'm not speaking huge amounts of French. I speak it with the customers, but conversation is usually limited to phrases such as 'Vous voudriez quoi?' , 'Bien sur', 'Voila' , 'On a des gateaux aussi' etc. We also get a lot of tourists, and people from Germany, Norway, Sweden and English speaking countries all generally prefer to speak in English.

At first, it got to me - not speaking as much French in France as I'm used to. For me, part of enjoying my stay in another country is speaking the language, but it's not the only factor. In my October stay in France, with 'depressed addicted to cannabis lady', I spoke French all the time... but equally I wasn't happy. Here, I'm surrounded by stunning isolated scenery and lovely people. So I can accept going from speaking French 24/7 to more like a few hours each day.

I'm going to miss being here. In fact, I can't imagine leaving. The only thing about travelling is you can get so comfortable in a place... and then you leave it. But there's also a time to move on, and I know that by 29th I'll be ready to go. One thing I would say is I'm working a lot here. 6 days a week, 7.5 hours a day. I don't have a lot of free time, but Villecroze is so small I'm not sure I'd know what to do with it anyway.

The cafe is my life here. The world of carrot cake and smoothies and regulars and families that come every day for the duration of their stay. You lead a different life when you go travelling, and this cafe life isn't bad, but you also leave you old life behind, and I'm slowly realizing that I'll be returning to my life in England soon.

This is my first blog entry since moving down here to Villecroze, Provence, and things here could not be more different to Paris.

There are pros and cons to this. Paris has an infinite amount of things to do - You could never see or discover it all. It is overflowing with museums and cafes and restaurants and theaters and cinemas and art galleries, etc etc. Villecroze consists of: 1 Bakers, 1 Post Office, 1 Butchers, 1 Cafe (where I work), 1 Bar, and 3 Restaurants. That is it. Oh, unless you count the crazy woman who keeps dozens of pigeons in her house, only to unleash them at will on the general public, as a separate attraction.

It does mean there is no Louvre, no Pompidou, no Rue de Rosiers to get lost in, but it is actually quite nice to having to worry about getting lost all the time, and not constantly knocking passersby side ways while unfolding giant maps of Paris, in an attempt to locate the nearest metro stop. In fact, it's nice not having to get the metro, or the bus, when you want to get anywhere. And it's nice not having to constantly evil eye innocent fellow metro goers, who you randomly suspect of wanting to steal you bag.

In Villecroze, I can leave my camera, laptop and mobile on the table outside, go off for a jog/shower/ snack and when I come back, my stuff is always there, untouched.

It's also great to get to know the whole of a place. No one knows all of Paris. Not even the Parisians. It is too infinite, constantly growing and evolving and decaying. In Villecroze, you get to know everywhere, and also - everyone. In my now almost 2 weeks here, I've learnt who all of our regulars are, met who runs every shop and even made friends with the local police men (who, obviously, get free espressos).

So, I've come to realize I don't actually miss Paris. Paris is fascinating, but it also feels a lot like London. There's still that rush there, the busy hubbub of the urgency of getting to work, and to get there really quickly. And, with such an enormous population, Paris looses it's personal aspect; it becomes like a machine, churning people in and out, day in, day out, and there's an atmosphere of distance and mistrust between strangers, that feels similar to the awkward attempts people make to avoid eye contact on the London underground.

In contrast, Villecroze is like a bubble. You almost feel like time stops here, and that the days of the week don't apply. You say to bonjour to everyone who passes by, and - when we eat out on the cafe's tables in the street - you loose count of the times passerby wish you 'bon appétit.'

So far, we have been to the neighboring Lac Saint Croix twice, which is absolutely stunning. It's a gigantic lake where you can swim or sail or rent a pedalo etc, and it's a brilliant place to visit to cool off from the burning heat of midday. The water is almost the color of turquoise, and it's impossible to see the entirety of the lake in one go. Instead, it just expands in front of you, like a never ending still turquoise sea.

Yesterday, we also climbed to a nearby fresh water pool, hidden in the hills surrounding Villecroze. Given the chance again, I probably wouldn't wear short shorts and flip flops - as getting to it involves staggering through bushes and climbing up and down rocks and praying there aren't any snakes or poisonous spiders nearby. But, when we reached the pool; a clear chasm of deep blue water, fed by two trickling waterfalls and sheltered by a cove of rocks and surround trees, it was all worth it. We jumped in, swam, and eventually just sat on the rock and watched the dragon flies dancing across the water, thinking about how there was no one else around, for miles.

Today is my first of the 2 days I will spend in this house. That is, until late August/ September when I come back to speak English to Marilen and Thierry's kids. Today, Thierry also told me he would like me to help him brush up on his English. For someone who's in the country to improve their language skills, this is not what you want to hear - that you will be speaking to 3 members of your host family in your mother tongue. Luckily, they've organised a work placement for me in September. I'll help out in a class of 10 year olds at the local school all day, 5 days a week if I want. It's not paid. Marilen explained to me that it's very hard to get small paid jobs in France, like waitressing or housekeeping. But at least it will give me the chance to keep improving my French and provide me with a new challenge.

I spent this morning/ afternoon exploring the house, and generally feeling like a rich kid. I had a swim in the pool (it isn't that hot here, but the pool's heated), watched a film, played the piano... it's all been very relaxing. Then, in the evening, we went into Paris to see a play. Paris isn't as far from here as I thought. The train ride's 10 euros to Paris, and I can actually see the Eiffel Tower from my window, but we'll come back to the Eiffel Tower later. We went to see a play called 'Arrete de pleurer Penelope' in a tiny little theatre called 'Les Feux de la Rampe' in the 9th arrondissement of Paris. The play was amazing! It was about 3 women meeting up, and talking about their respective love lives/ problems and clashing and making fun of each other, and it was hilarious! I laughed until I cried 3 times. I also thanked God I already knew a lot of French slang and swear words. Although this may have more to do with learning French 'argot' in preparation for watching the film 'l'Auberge Espagnole' at a language school in Montpellier, and less to do with God.

After, we went for a meal in a Lebanese restaurant called 'Noura'. It's in the 2nd arrondissement, and is apparently the best place to eat Lebanese food in Paris. Although, I'll admit, I wasn't that thrilled when Marilen asked me 'Do you like Lebanese food?' . During my stay, I've eaten American, Italian, Chinese and Japanese food, as well as the occasional French dish. I couldn't believe I was going to add Lebanese to that list. It was like they'd run out of the main stream countries food I could eat, and were now looking for more alternative options. I only just learnt where Lebanon is! But - despite being very Lebanese and very much not French - the food was incredible. For once, the venue was right. It was stylish, full of people, with a great atmosphere and good service. Not the kind of place I can go in without people paying for me. I had shredded chicken wrapped in what looked like very fine naan bread, with a salad of parsley and something like humus. It may not have been French, but finally - some good food in Paris!

We drove through Paris on our way home. Here - I have to take something back that I've said in a previous blog. A few things actually. The last time I saw La Place de la Concorde and Les Champs Elysées is was a huge disappointment, being totally obscured by 14th July preparations. But tonight, when we drove past it... well, it was beautiful. The fountain of La Place de la Concorde, seeing the trees which line Les Champs Elysées lit up all the way to l'Arc de Triomphe... it was totally stunning. To really see Les Champs Elysées, you almost have to be in the car/ a bus, so you can see right down the middle. Either that or cross the road, and spontaneously stop in the middle for a glance, and just hope for the best.

We also saw l'Arc de Triomphe and a small contained fire burning under it, in memory of those who died without being named during the first and second world wars. The Arc de Triomphe was huge, magnificent and deserted. I imagine, mainly because the death trap of a roundabout that surrounds it makes it so hard to get to. If you want to see the Arc de Triomphe, you have to really want to see it. Ie - be prepared to put your life on the line to cross the road to get to it. Either that or, potentially, there are road crossings.

And then... we drove past le Tour Eiffel. All lit up and sparkling and glittering amber against the night. And here is where I take my next thing back, because before I didn't really think le Tour Eiffel was something worth seeing. But if you see it, see it at night. It was stunning. I finally saw the romance of The Eiffel Tower in that moment, and equally in the bridges across La Seine, warmed up by their illuminated street lamps. It would truly be romantic to be proposed to there. Not necessarily up the Eiffel Tower, but at least with it in view.

In that moment, I almost cried (lots of crying this evening, of various sorts), because it really got through to me the reality that I am in Paris! That I've seen it for the first time, explored its quartiers, wandering round its museums, eaten in its restaurants... and I've done it all on my own. Even though I've been with people, I've organised it by myself, all from a flight previously intended for a romantic mini break. I'm not trying to boast. I'm just proud of myself. Because there was a time when I would have never thought this was possible, that I could do this. And the fact that I'm here now, doing it, just proves to me that I am going to continue to challenge myself and keep pushing out of my comfort zone. Because when I do, so far, amazing things happen!

I have moved location! I'm now staying with Marilen and Thierry, as of 18.30 today. To be honest, I was terrified before I came. I really shouldn't have been. I know Marilen and Thierry - I met them in Spain, as friends of my Spanish host family, and they organised my stay in Paris for me. So going to stay at their house for a few days really shouldn't have felt like a big deal. But it did. The only way I can explain it is this - Marilen and Thierry are so 'perfect', it is actually a little scary. When I first met them, I thought that surely people who seemed that great must have some dark sinister secret about them. They're popular, rich, extremely generous, genuinely nice and friendly. Their children (Clara, 14, and Thomas, 12) look like they've just come out of a Lacoste or Jack Wills advertisement. Apparently, neither children watch TV and both go to bed at 8.30/ 9. Now, that is a little scary.

But, despite me being nervous at first, Marilen and Thierry have been really nice to me. My bedroom's probably the biggest I've had this year, with a double bed and my own shower and bath room, but it's also a little cluttered with books, photo frames, old speakers etc. at the sides. Their house is big, they have a swimming pool and a pretty cool 3D TV, but it's not too intimidating (as I feared). It's 2 floors, and doesn't have an excessive amount of rooms. Although my confidence was knocked a little when Thierry made fun of my English accent when I speak French (I would hope it isn't too strong, but speaking with an accent is just inevitable), he soon reassured me that it actually sounded quite pretty. We ate well and chatted, Marilen said they have free calls to other European countries so I can call home whenever, and she joked I could always invite someone back to the house because of my double bed! I'll have to meet a hot Parisien guy first. And not a gay one, this time.

So, moving on, I had a good last day with my Parisienne Host family. We went to the Musée de l'Orangerie (le Musée d'Orsay had a 2 hour queue to get in) and I loved it! My favorite artist displayed there was definitely Monet. His paintings of water lilies are huge! Each takes up a wall of the exhibition room, and there are 2 Monet exhibition rooms in the museum, which house 8 of his large paintings. When I look at them, I get enveloped in a dark water lily wonderland, filled with tiny brusque brush strokes. After looking back at reality, I felt like the whole world should have burst into flakes of blue and dark blue and white and purple. I also loved 'Grande Baigneuse' by Picasso, which reminded me of a huge, calm, sad giant, and some of Chaim Sountine's paintings, which made me think of an imaginary world melting under it's creator's realization that it is only fantasy. There was also quite an extensive collection of Renoir and Paul Cézanne, but neither of their paintings really spoke to me.

After, we went for the world's worst meal ever. In fact, it's worth noting that I really haven't been eating well in Paris. My host mum didn't like meat or wine, so we didn't eat many typically French dishes. In fact, we had Chinese food twice and Japanese food three times! Thank God I could already use chop sticks! During my stay, was also the first time I was served plain pasta. Just... Pasta. With nothing else. Maybe a little butter. And salt. And pepper. Not even cheese!

During A Level French, I lost count of the amount of essays I wrote about about 'la haute cuisine francaise', but the irony is - I have never actually experienced it. I'm sure it exists. Somewhere, over the rainbow. But all I can really vouch for, is it is definitely possible to eat badly in France. Because I have done. In at least 3 separate stays now.

Back to the meal. When we entered, the food looked awful (bad sign), the restaurant was almost deserted (bad sign) and the only other people in it, were tourists (bad sign). If I can pick up these hints, why couldn't my host family? And when the food came! (after 5 minutes. Again, bad sign). If the food was awful, I could have eaten it. I would have done, out of politeness. But it was worse than that - it was inedible, it was drained of all flavor, no amount of cheese nor salt nor pepper could save it. And to top it off, we had the loudest Americans ever next to us, who had assumed the whole restaurant wanted to be in on their business affairs too; one of them sat with his feet up on chair next to me. Nice.

So, the food wasn't great - but my stay with that family (Marc - the Dad, Catherine - the mum, and Lea and Salomi) ended well. Here are a few of my favorites quotes from our time spent together:

Me: Can I help load the dishwasher?
Marc: No
Me: Why?
Marc: It's a man's job.

Lea: I always see T-shirt's with the English flag on, but never the French flag
Me: Hmm, that's because England is cool
Lea: Nah, I think it's because England pretends to be cool

When Marc confused the Stravinsky Fountain with le Fountain des Innocents
Marc: So here it is!
Me: Wow. Err. It though it was going to more...
Marc: Innocent?

When watching a music video, with girls dancing in bikinis in a supermarket.
Pause
Catherine: Well, I don't know about you, but I know that's what I do when I go to the supermarket!

After I'd taken photos of La Seine
Marc: You know, you just took a photo of a naked guy
Me: What?!?
Marc: Yeah. In the boat. Look at the photo!
Me: Noo! I don't believe you! deletes picture anyway
Marc: Don't tell me you didn't know! You had the whole of La Seine, and you just 'happened' to take a picture of the only naked guy?!

And for the record, of course I knew I'd taken a picture of a naked guy.

Today has been a great day! I have finally been able to explore Paris, on my own, for the first time this week!

The first thing I did was visit Montparnasse Cemetery, to see where Jean-Paul Sartre is burried. Lots of other famous writers, artists etc are buried there, but I was only interested in seeing Sartre. After reading some of his books ('La Nausée' and 'Les Chemins de la Liberté' trilogy), and being influenced by his ideas, I just wanted to see where it all ends. All these ideas that influence so many, that help shape the world of philosophy and literature today... just came from one man, whose grave you can now stand in front of. Unfortunately for me, Montparnasse cemetery is a popular tour guide book mark, and while I looked at Sartre's grave, as if to ask him 'What does it all mean?', german tourists glugged fanta and took photos. I waited, but tourists were replaced by more tourists, all taking snap shots of the grave, few with much of an idea of who Sartre even was. It must be one of the few occasions where people think it is okay to take photos of where someone is buried. I looked at the grave, and knew Sartre would have something to say about it all. But I didn't know what. And I left.

Then, I jumped on the metro and went to, finally, visit Le Pompidou. And it was absolutely amazing! You just get lost in it. The floors are generally centralized around one corridor, from which - what seems like an infinite number - of smaller art galleries branch out of. But then, other galleries branch out of those galleries, and there are hidden doors which lead on to rooms showing short films, and you think you return back the way you came but you end up somewhere totally different, and in the end you doubt if there ever was a central corridor that simplified it all.

Surely, everyone can find something they like in Le Pompidou. From just plain blank canvases, to huge art pieces that a maximum of 12 people can climb into, to the works from the likes of Picasso and Dali. For an art nerd, I really shouldn't have been so ignorant of the art pieces that are displayed in the museum, but at least that lead to a great amount of excitement, when I found myself in a room filled with works by Joan Miro and Yves Tanguy. I'm not going to pretend, though, that I knew all the names of the artists whose work I liked today. I just skipped through the museum, taking pictures of anything and everything I found fascinating until my camera's battery ran out. Something else I loved about Le Pompidou, is it's terraces on the top floor. You can sit and over look all of Paris - but not so high up that the buildings just become specks that merge into each other. You can really examine the details of the building tops and make out various different streets and landmarks. With the sun shining, it was perfect.

I came out of the museum, slightly starry eyed, and for the third time went to explore Le Marais. But this time, I knew I could stop to examine anything I wanted. And I did. I went into all sorts of different shops, from modern decoration to second hand vintage clothing to a magazine shop that had American, English, French, Spanish, Italian and Japanese vogue. I stopped to read whole articles, went to try on clothes, bought a delicious chocolate eclair and wandered back through Rue des Rosiers, wondering whether I would have to convert to Judaism for the hot guys wearing the kippah to be interested.

My Dad's side of the family is entirely Jewish, and my Dad learnt to speak Hebrew and had his Bar Mitzvah when he was younger. But he didn't like all the rules, and me and my sister have grown up knowing nothing about the Jewish faith. That's why, to me, it's strange walking through the Jewish quartier and visiting La Mémorial de la Déportation and La Mémorial de la Shoah, because I know that a part of me, and my family,
belong to those beliefs, beliefs they were once persecuted for. But they are equally beliefs that I now know nothing about.

Maybe I will visit my relations in Israel and find out what it means one day. And I'm not just saying that, because I want to get with fit Jewish guys.