Dimanche

Sundays in Paris are different. As the weekend draws to its sombre close, Parisians amble down narrow streets, flock to the lush smells of the local farmer’s market, plucking rotisserie chickens from ovens and stowing them away to serve later, and leisurely sip ristretto behind cosy café glass. Of course, Sundays in Paris can be just as frustrating as they appear idyllic. For a start, everything’s closed. Thinking of popping to your local supermarché for a last-minute baguette? Think again! Really, how could you be so stupid?! Parisians know not to leave such a thing to chance, not to leave final needs unmet when God’s day rolls around.

I found myself in a particular panic this morning, as I woke to find my index finger had swollen to the size of a jumbo mozzarella stick. Being allergic to insect bites, and having experienced nasty side-effects in the past, I frantically searched for a nearby 24/7 pharmacy, and scuttled over in the blustery rain before paying a small fortune to avoid imminent leprosy. Determined not to allow certain dermatological setbacks ruin my weekend, I bought an overpriced Carrefour lunch, and headed over to the Marais for the purpose of ticking another museum off my list.

Having successfully visited a large majority of Paris’ finest museums during my year abroad, something I still feel nicely smug about, I had yet to go to La Maison de Victor Hugo. As a superfan of Les Misérables, I felt this was a necessary sight to see, and was even happier when I found out that entry was totally gratuit! With stunning views over the La Place des Vosges, Hugo’s Parisian apartment was the very place the author wrote the novel that, let’s face it, launched Susan Boyle’s career. While walking around, gazing at some incredibly gaudy wallpaper, I thought about how much nicer the dusty, dark apartment was in comparison to my current digs, and then began to feel a little bit jealous.

Not one to revel in jealousy of author’s long deceased, I decided to make my way over to Shakespeare & Co. in order to find some new reading material. I was really longing for something a little Christmassy, but ended up settling for a 4-euro edition of Sense & Sensibility, before enjoying an extremely overpriced hot chocolate in the adjoining café. See, both book and hot chocolate were ultimately necessary in regards to the establishment and perpetuation of suitable doses of Christmas spirit. Being away from family, from warm blankets that smell like Yankee Candles, and from nostalgic reruns of Midsomer Murders, does wonders for the gradual depletion of all joy in one’s life. All dramatics aside, it can be hard to feel safe and happy when you live alone, are barely scraping by on your intern’s wage, and don’t have the means to spend money on frivolous Christmas ornaments.

Although I decided to make the most of my Sunday in Paris, even ending up in La Défense to enjoy the Christmas market and sample the obligatory Nutella crepe with friends, December is not always an easy time of year. There’s such pressure to consistently feel all a-glow in the lead-up to Christmas, when it’s really the simple things that we forget to appreciate. While I undoubtedly had a lovely day, even though it was a tad stressful and rainy, I shall be looking forward to stepping onto British soil to enjoy the festive season, hopefully with a few more life arrangements intact.

xoxo