After trying* to work a little earlier today, Leon and I went out just before dark for a walk in the snow. I spent some time taking photos as we wandered around the neighbourhood, and had to be very careful as I only have totally inappropriate footwear here with me: cowboy boots. Walking in the snow in a heel; not good. Well, perhaps not surprisingly, I didn't expect to see this much snow (if any) this trip - if it does actually snow in Paris it doesn't usually stick around for very long. But this morning we awoke to a thick covering of snow. And it looks like this...
* I attempted to work today and it was an unmitigated disaster, so I'm going to start over again this evening. Wish me luck...
I've had a lovely Christmas and New Year here in Paris with Leon - it's been quiet, calm and simple, which was what we both needed after the past few months of work and general craziness (particularly Leon; his work schedule has been insane). So we relaxed - just the two of us - and bought plenty of delicious food and drink, decorated the apartment with a couple of strings of fairy lights and several candles, and downloaded lots of films from iTunes. It was my first Christmas outside of the UK, my first Christmas away from my family, and the first Christmas Leon and I have been able to spend together!
On Christmas Day we decided to get out of the house for a couple of hours in the afternoon, and so we went to the Champs Elysees, and walked through the huge Christmas market (I was really surprised that this was actually open on Christmas Day!) and the super-fancypants area that surrounds it. It was pretty chilly, with a bitterly cold wind, but I managed to snap a few pictures with my Canon camera while we were there. I thought you might like to see them too...
These pictures of the Eiffel Tower were taken from Avenue Montaigne, a really beautiful street with very expensive hotels and lots of designer stores. That's pretty nice, but what was I most interested in? You guessed it - just look at those trees! They may inspire some paintings in the not-too-distant future.
I love this little cream-coloured scooter - tres Parisien!
This little dress was displayed in a shop window - I love it. I could imagine if I ever have a little girl (which may or may not happen; you never know ;) I would definitely dress her in something like this.
And do you recognise the hotel below? You may do if (like me) you're a fan of Sex and the City. I was so excited when I first saw it - it looked, to me, a lot like the hotel Carrie stays in when she visits Paris with Aleksandr Petrovsky in Series 6. You know the part when she steps out onto the balcony after arriving and sees the Eiffel Tower in the distance? Those little balconies with the greenery are very distinctive. Anyway, I took this photo, did a bit of research when I got home, and found out that this is the Sex and the City hotel! It's called the Plaza Athénée and it's beautiful. I'd love to have a look inside...or maybe stay there when I'm rich and famous. Which, as we all know, will be soon. ;)
Some lovely waffles from the Christmas market...
One thing the French seem to do very well is street food. Waffles with a variety of toppings, crepes, and all sorts of delicious nuts seem to be available at this time of year. We bought a bag of caramelised almonds (something I've never seen in England) and they were unbelievably good.
In other news, I've been busy buying art materials and making new art, which I'll share with you soon. Thanks for reading the blog during 2012, and if you're one of the few people who leaves a comment too, thank you for that also. I love reading them, and I try to reply to a few here and there whenever I have the time. I am aiming to make the blog even more varied and (hopefully!) interesting in 2013, with more regular updates. In 2012 I deleted my Instagram account and also my personal Facebook page (I now have a Facebook page for my art only, which is updated occasionally) in an attempt to streamline my social media / internet presence, and to concentrate on the things I feel are more important - and my blog is one of these things.
I'll leave you with this - my last portrait of 2012, taken on 31st December at around 8:30pm Paris time. I felt the need to document the moment for some reason, so I snapped a quick self portrait in the bathroom mirror. Another year has passed - let's make this new year a great one!
Do you remember when I wrote Part One of this series? You know when I said I'd be back with Part Two soon? Well yeah, that was nearly a month ago. I was thinking a week maximum. Why the huge delay? I'm not really sure, but usually two things have to be in place before I write a blog:
1. I have to have time to sit here tapping away on my keyboard (keypad? Is it a board or a pad?) and not feel too guilty that I'm not painting, packaging/sending orders, getting back to the many people I owe an email (or two) to, cleaning the house, feeding the cats, and about a million other jobs I should probably be doing other than writing a blog.
and...
2. I have to be in the mood for blog-writing. Much like visiting the in-laws or waxing your legs, blog-writing is something you have to be in the right frame of mind for. And sometimes I'm just not. But fortunately, today I am. So let's get to it; Things I've Noticed About Paris: Part Two...
6: You have to kiss people you don't know. All the time. First on one cheek and then the other: so basically you have to kiss them twice. Not only do you have to kiss them when you greet them, you also have to kiss them again when they (or you) leave, even if you've only seen them for a few minutes. Twice more. So, adding this up, that's four kisses per person every visit. To me, that seems like a lot of kissing for people you barely know. Hell, that's a lot of kissing for people you do know. I'm sure they'd even try to squeeze in another couple of kisses if they could; they LOVE it. I love to kiss too, but I am selective about who I kiss. I generally don't kiss people I don't know. All of this kissing means I'm well out of my reserved English comfort zone. I like a good, firm shake of the hand and a 'hello'. That'll do for me, honestly. It's served me well for 30+ years. But in Paris that doesn't cut the mustard. You must KISS. And you must kiss A LOT.
This is a real scenario I witnessed during my last trip:
A young woman comes in to a bar to join our group. There were at least ten of us. The English scenario would be to say a cheerful 'hi' to the group of people, and maybe (if you're me) do a little wave. People have been acknowledged; everyone is happy. Over in a few seconds. Lovely.
The French girl comes in to the bar and greets every. single. person. at the table, one by one, by bending down and kissing each person twice, while saying "Bonsoir" (good evening) to everyone individually. It took her a good few minutes to go round the entire table, and if you know what French bars are like - generally crowded, with tiny tables and too many chairs so there's no room to move, and with your back directly against the person sitting at the table behind you - you can imagine that this whole situation became an extended exercise in body contortion. Just to say 'hello'. C'est fou!
7: Parisian women are often so tiny, I genuinely wonder where they keep their internal organs. I'm not just talking slim. I'm not even really talking thin. I'm talking tiny. Teeny-tiny; like, no boobs, no hips, bum-like-a-12-year-old-boy tiny. They're not all like this, of course. But there's a huge proportion who are. If you're a slim, normal-sized woman (for example, a UK 10-12 / US 6-8) with a bit of boobage, trust me, in Paris you can sometimes feel like an elephant. And it's not just the women either. David Lebovitz wrote about the super-thin young Parisian men in one of his blogs. It truly has to be seen to be believed.
8: They cannot park a car to save their life, God love 'em. I don't mean to be harsh, but I've honestly never seen anything like it. The cars in the photo above (taken in the 17th Arrondissement in November) look fairly well-parked, right? Right. But if you were able to walk down that street (or any street) and look closely, you would see that almost every car in the city of Paris is bumped, knocked, and scratched to within an inch of its little metallic life. On several occasions, while at a street cafe, or even just walking down the road, I have watched with eyes wide open, and mouth open even wider, while a Parisian attempts to manoeuvre his/her car into a parking space that even Stevie Wonder could see is too small. (I'm sure that last sentence was politically incorrect; let's gloss over it shall we?).
Hmmm...what to do if your car won't go into the space easily? Er, find another space? No! What are you talking about, crazy person? You merely rock your car back and forth, bumping first into the car in front, and then into the car behind. Repeatedly. Still not gettin' into that space? No? DO IT HARDER! I watch with amazement, knowing that I never witness this in England. If we bump into someone's car, we (unless we happen to be one of those rare assholes who drives off) leave a nice little note on their windscreen apologising profusely for damaging their car and leaving our phone number and details, so that the owner can get in touch, and our insurance company can pay for the damage we have so wrongly caused with our assholery.
If you're Parisian? Just bump into the other cars a few times, denting or scratching them, before deciding that no, this parking space isn't big enough for your car, so you'll just drive off and find another one, thankyouverymuch. Or merci beaucoup. I've seen this several times now, and not once did the driver show any element of surprise at the terrible sound of metal scraping against metal, and none of them stopped to apologise to the owner of the car they had hit. Mon dieu!
9: On a more positive note, they really know how to wear a scarf. I'm a BIG scarf wearer. I love a scarf, or several. I probably have at least 30. I'm not kidding. I wear a scarf almost every day of the year, no matter how hot or cold the weather is. There's a scarf for every occasion! If I could wear one in bed without fear of strangulation, I probably would. Look at the men above (I took this photo secretly while in a cafe in the Marais district the other week); look at the one on the right in his bright red, jaunty scarf. The Parisians love a scarf almost as much as I do. The photo above isn't the best example, but I'm afraid it's all I've got to illustrate the scarf-loving Parisian male. I've noticed that most men in Paris wear scarves with more style and aplomb than your average Englishman. And they don't mind a bright scarf. They will wear a bright pink, patterned scarf and think nothing of it, so secure are they in their thrusting French manliness. In fact, most men in Paris seem to wear scarves, and the ladies are quite fond of them too. In this respect, I fit in nicely.
[Aside: I love the fact that these two friends in the photo are dressed so similarly; the hat, the glasses, same beards and haircuts. I think there might be a bit of a bromance going on.]
10: They are always late. It doesn't matter what the event is, or when it is, or who they are meeting; the Parisian is always late. Being British, we're in a total flap if we're five or ten minutes late for something. We panic, we apologise profusely, we often feel like a total asshole for keeping someone waiting. If we were an hour late, we would probably gladly beat ourselves with birch twigs as punishment for our misdemeanour. Parisians? They don't give a rat's arse about such things. If you want a Parisian to turn up on time, lie to them about the time something starts. If it starts at 8pm, tell them it starts at 7pm, and they'll turn up at 8:00. Because (and I have no idea why this is) they actually find it nigh on impossible to turn up on time. Keeping you waiting for up to an hour is totally normal. Should you be on a tight schedule and express surprise/annoyance that they've kept you waiting for a business meeting (yes, really) for 45+ minutes, YOU will be the one at fault for mentioning it.
I won't tell you who, but a young Parisian male once said (when keeping his much older and more experienced collaborator waiting for a significant amount of time, who had set aside a Sunday afternoon to work on his project) that he couldn't be expected to turn up on time because things happen in life, and he was having a very interesting chat with a girl in a cafe, and he had to be able to "live his life". Yes, dear readers, this actually happened.
But when he turned up, we all kissed a lot, so everything was ok. ;)
I think I'll leave it there for today. There's a huge probability that Part Three will be along soon(ish) because I cannot leave the matter of the Great Conspiracy Against British Cheese unsaid (or rather, unwritten), and some other little nuggets of joy I've noticed.
Inspired by David Lebovitz's hilarious (and oh-so-true) blog about life in Paris, I've decided to finally write the blog I've been meaning to write for years. As you may or may not know, I've been spending a lot of time in Paris since July 2010, as I visit several times a year to stay with my boyfriend (who happens to be an American in Paris; Los Angeles born and bred), with the visits lasting anywhere between approximately a week to five-and-a-half weeks so far. I've clocked up a lot of time in Paris.
This weekend, I've been laughing long and hard at David Lebovitz's blog (he's also an American in Paris) because, although he loves this city, it also sometimes drives him crazy or leaves him dumbfounded - just like it's been doing to me for the past two and a half years. So much of what I read on his blog struck a chord and reminded me of several weird/funny/infuriating situations I've encountered during my time here; for a country that is separated from England by a mere 20-odd miles of water, the differences in culture and attitudes are immense. So, with a generous helping of great affection coated with a hint of 'WTF?', here are just a few things I've noticed about Paris and Parisians...
1: The Parisian male isn't backward at coming forward. Let's get this straight: I'm generally around British men. British men are usually not known for their forthrightness (is that a word?) when it comes to telling you you're looking good, how they really feel about you etc. etc. You can be friends with a British man for ten years, and he could be madly in love with you the whole time. And guess what: you'll never know. Why will you never know? Because he won't tell you. Not only will he not tell you, he will actively behave as if he's not interested in you at all. So you're left believing that he doesn't think of you as anything other than a friend, and there's no chance of anything romantic happening because of this, and there's a high chance you could both die old, wrinkly and lonely (and quite possibly frustrated, let's face it) without ever knowing the truth.
Imagine the exact opposite to this. This is the Parisian male. This lithe creature tries to catch your eye at every opportunity. When he does, he will stare at you and not break his gaze (it's slightly disconcerting; British people would quite literally rather die than stare at someone persistently - see comment number 3). I've been approached by men I don't know in the street and told I have "nice hair", I've been walking in the neighbourhood with my boyfriend, when young French men (in obvious earshot of Leon) have looked me up and down and made suggestive comments to one another, making the aforementioned boyfriend (a very laid back LA boy) kind of angry. Don't tell him, but I quite liked that. By 'that', I mean his reaction, not the suggestive comments. I have no idea what they were saying anyway - my French is terrible. I live in blissful ignorance.
One time, on a rare occasion I was waiting alone for Leon in the metro station, a young man tried actively and persistently to get me to go somewhere with him (I have no idea where - it was all in French, unsurprisingly), and even though I kept shaking my head, he was undeterred. He went through the ticket barrier and then stood on the other side, calling to me and trying to encourage me to go through with him. I didn't, and he eventually gave up with a wave and a smile. But you have to admire his persistence.
We were shopping in the little fruit and vegetable market the other week, just standing there at the counter, innocently handing over our courgettes and melons to be weighed and priced. The man behind the counter leans over slightly and says something to Leon. Leon didn't catch what he was saying and so asked him to repeat it. It turns out he was basically telling Leon how beautiful I was. I mean, this is all very nice and I'm certainly not one to turn down a compliment, but WTF?! Can you imagine this happening in Britain? Ok, it has happened to me occasionally in Britain. But we're talking a handful of times in 30-odd years. In Paris, this type of thing happens all the time. I don't know what they're putting in the water over here, but the male hormones runneth high.
2: Drivers actively try to run you over. You can be walking on the pavement - which, being British I am lead to believe is for pedestrians - and a scooter or moped will suddenly appear left, right, or bloody centre to run you over. If you're ever visiting Paris, know this one fact: they do not care that you are in their way. They do not give one tiny little shit. They come at you at high speed, and YOU are the one who must move out of the way if you wish to keep the use of your limbs. What was that? Why don't they drive around you? Or maybe even use the road? Are you friggin' crazy?! The pavement is for mopeds, not pedestrians. Same if you have the audacity to try and cross the road. If a Parisian driver spots you mid-cross, he will speed up. Apparently, this is to "teach you a lesson". What the lesson is, I still haven't worked out.
So - what have we learned so far? I guess we have learned that, generally speaking, the Parisian male is either trying to shag you or kill you. Much like James Bond.
3: People like to stare. If you've ever been on the London Underground, you'll know that its rare for anybody to actually look at you, even less so look you in the eye. Here, they don't care about all that. Women will look you up and down with a swift glance, assessing what you're wearing, on a regular basis. Men will catch your eye when you're on the train, and you can look back at them two minutes later and they'll still be staring. At first, I didn't quite know what to make of this; not being used to it, it made me incredibly self-conscious. Now I'm used to it. In fact, if they didn't stare, I'd think there was something wrong.
4: Tell someone you're a vegetarian and they'll look at you as if you're an alien who has just landed from the planet Vego. Just about the only place I can reliably eat out in Paris is in Italian restaurants. Yes, you heard me. I come over here and I eat Italian. Or Indian. There is the most fantastic authentic little Indian place just up the street from our apartment. And in the other direction is one of the best Italian restaurants I've ever been to (angry owner with an attitude problem aside). Both have a TON of vegetarian options on their menus. But go to any French bistro or restaurant, cafe or bar, and unless you like animal with a side order of more animal, you're buggered. Oh, the fun I've had in these places. And by fun I mean hell. I was once told to ask for an omelette (I'm a straightforward vegetarian, not a vegan or anything more complex) if there was nothing on the menu suitable for a vegetarian. I was told that most French restaurants would be happy to whip up a simple omelette for you. Not the one I went to. Despite the fact that I was there with three meat-eating people, and we would likely be spending quite a lot of money on this meal, the angry waiter refused point blank to ask the chef to make me an omelette. He informed me that I could have a plate of vegetables. He couldn't tell me what they would be, and I wasn't asked what I would like or if I had any preference, because it was "up to the chef" to decide upon what he wanted to give me. Welcome To France, as David Lebovitz would say. I'm not the only person to notice that eating out as a vegetarian in Paris in 2012 is harder than eating out as a vegetarian in England in the late 1980s (when I first became veggie). The French aren't known for their ability to adapt quickly; even the French recognise and would admit to this. Which brings me to...
5: You can't find a decent vegetarian sausage in this whole damn town. You also can't find Quorn. Anywhere. Believe me, I've tried. Many a fruitless (or sausage-less) hour has been spent crossing the city in search of the aforementioned products. Despite great - and tasty - vegetarian food being readily available in even the smallest and most basic supermarket in England; in one of the most cosmopolitan and visited cities in the world, it cannot be found. Oh, vegetarian sausages exist here. I tried some once. NEVER AGAIN. But the French make up for their vegetarian misdemeanors with an array of truly amazing baked goods (see evidence below).
I rest my case.
And so ends Part One of this series. Part Two is already well underway. I'll be back soon - assuming I don't get run over by a killer moped, or drop down dead from the shock of finding a decent sausage here. And no, that's not a euphemism.
There's so much I want to write about at the moment that I don't know where to start (mainly about art but also life as well - just general ideas and themes that have been running through my head recently, and lessons learned, but that's for another time, I think).
But for now, I'll just post a few pictures taken while I was out walking in the neighbourhood today, so you can also have a little bit of "Paris in the Autumn" in your life, no matter where you are in the world. We were walking home from the Metro station after a second visit to La Grande Epicerie (it was actually open this time! Unlike last Sunday when we made the trip across town only to find that it was closed, which you may have read about here) when I glanced up along the tree-lined street and realised how beautiful the trees look at the moment. The leaves are really changing colour now, and it all looked so good I had to photograph it. I think this may be my favourite time of the year in Paris. I've spent time here during every season now, but Autumn really is a feast for the senses. I'm finding it very inspiring (and I'm making lots of new artwork, which I will show you soon). On certain days there's a watery golden sunlight that is just gorgeous - it was like that yesterday but unfortunately I didn't have my camera with me!
Anyway, I'm aiming to take more photos during this trip, so stay tuned for further photo blogs! I hope you enjoy these ones...
Oh yes, I've also started a new set on Flickr for the recent Paris photographs and I'll be adding to it throughout this trip and upcoming visits too. You can find it here if you want to see even more of Paris! Paris Flickr Set
Hello and welcome! I'm Natasha Newton: artist, illustrator and image maker. I divide my time between Suffolk, UK and Paris, France.
I've recently started a new project for 2013 called A Bird A Day. Please click on the links at the top of the page to find my website, shops, and the A Bird A Day blog.
For questions and enquiries, or to be added to my mailing list, please send an email to natasha@natasha-newton.co.uk and I'll get back to you as soon as I can.
