The writer's retreat effectively starts tomorrow, but we've already been given our first writer's block - and as I'm a bit overwhelmed with this French Thing, and having to find something to write about for the blog, this is great. I'm just back from dinner with two of the Gunnas who I've only met tonight. They're lovely. The restaurant was this Creole place that we tripped over after the recommendation we were given proved to be very noisy with few options for vegetarians. Maloya, the restaurant, proved everything we needed - great food, fantastic service and small enough that we could hear ourselves talk.
But now I am here, and I've been tasked with writing a letter to myself back in Australia.
It will be interesting to see where this goes.
Dear Pand,
What would you say if I told you that I was considering taking up smoking again? Not that I'm going to - I am not that stupid. but there is the infinite draw of sitting outside a Parisian cafe, with a cafe creme and a durrie, there to assist you in watching the world go by. I promise to stick to having just the cafe creme - the smoking will give you teacher breath anyway, and we can't have that.
You'd be proud of me for lots of reasons.
Firstly, I've embraced my inner stoner in England and had my first hits of the wacky-backy in too many years. Joe in Southend still chuffs on his weed sticks like it's a lolly cigarette. I think those couple of puffs made things far more comfortable on the couch that night.
Secondly, all that time I spent doing those French lessons on Duolingo over the last year - so utterly worth it. People are happily talking to me. In French. All the time. Some allowances for the lateness of the hour or my cut down vocabulary, but on the whole, the Parisiens are being an accommodating and welcoming bunch. Who knew? I might have to keep this up.
Thirdly, for the first time in I don't know how long, I am feeling truly like myself.
Which is sad. And good.
You know, you were born to ride the underground railways of Europe, hopping on here, getting off there, using your Navigo card (or phone in London). I can’t remember being happier than when I've been negotiating the routes through the city. This morning, after a breakfast, of which a pain au chocolate, with lots of fruit and a bit of yogurt, was taken, you made your way for your regular pilgrimage to see Oscar Wilde. You found him. You cannot kiss the tomb anymore - they've put up a perspex screen around it to stop such things happening. Somebody has also ripped off Salome's balls (I believe that's the name of the angel represented in Art Deco fashion. How rude.)
You're also made for walking. Looking at my watch, I've done nearly 22000 steps today. Not bad, eh! That lingering foot pain you've had for the last month. Gone.
You know, I'm holding myself differently. Smiling more. Happy to engage people in conversation, that that it's anything you don't do anyway, but you're stopping, and listening to people here. It feels different.
As always, you know, as well as I do, that I'm much happier in Europe. It is what it is. This trip is solidifying that, but you know you have to get on with things in Australia. It's hard when the head and the heart go in such different directions. Europe just suits you.
I'm glad that Lucifer is finally thawing at Jay's place. His pillow fort behind the couch looks great. Jay said that he's eating and drinking more and coming out when she is around, so you need not have worried.
Lastly, I have a bone to pick with you. You've said for twenty years that you weren't going to go back to Paris until you had a partner. And I know, the last time you were here, with Ashley, it was a terrible trip, and Ashley was an utter pain, but that is how Ashley is (How do you say that in Swedish again? - inside joke.)
You've really done yourself a disservice. You may not be partnered up. Who gives a fuck about that? You’ve denied yourself being in this part of the world - a place, where you strangely fit in. A place where people react kindly to your basic sunny nature. A stunningly beautiful place that resonates with you more than you have realised.
Stop denying yourself things for literally something you have no control over.
You deserve to be happy.
Go do it, you daft cow.
So, you're sitting in the lounge, probably watching Netflix, missing the cat, as this is a letter to you (me) at home.
Let me thump this into you once again.
YOU DESERVE TO BE HAPPY. STOP LIMITING YOURSELF. YOU DESERVE SO MUCH MORE - GO REACH FOR IT.
And on the back if this, I promise to not take up smoking again, no matter how strong or strange the appeal .
Got it. Go reach for the moon.
I've got to be up early to do my washing.
All my love, you daft thing.
Pxx
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