COFFEE and CIGARETTES,
CHOCOLATE and BREAD
Part 1
On the recent rare occasion of a weekend off, I had the pleasure of floating around Istanbul with my head in the clouds. I had just spent a fortnight with Melbourne mates John & Van; had purchased tickets to France, and was on route to have tea with a very handsome man of whom I consider a ‘friend’, but who’s acquaintance I have restricted to substance-void flirtation encounters.
Somewhere between battering mascara-ladden lashes & fondling his shiny black shoes beneath the table, I could no longer mask my excitement and mentioned my approaching voyage. “I’M GOING TO PARIS!” I declared with delight. With no imminent response, I stared across our table covered in lolly wrappers, half-consumed glasses of Turkish tea and an empty plate of pretzels and playfully repeated “I-m g-o-i-n-g t-o P-a-a-a-r-i-s…”
His response was swift and definite: “I don’t like Paris.”
Excuse me? What? Pardon?
Perhaps something was lost in translation. Seduction being his first language, followed by Turkish, then English, I figured that he had been so excited by the mere mentioning of Paris that he had cause to jumble his words. Had it not been for the supportive look of disgust, the comment could have gone unnoticed, or perhaps been forgiven. But, alas no. He was serious, and my heart took the modest step backwards it had avoided for so long.
How could it be that I had wasted months visually undressing this person without ever realising he was such a monster?
Surely I was able to focus on other qualities that superseded this newly-found imperfection? Its not like I want to marry this guy - I just want to flirt a little to keep my time here more interesting. Was a difference in opinion really such a big deal? I swiftly decided not – and without hesitation looked straight ahead and stared into his pretty, pretty eyes. There was still hope, I figured, until the hottie interrupted
“..and actually” he persisted, “I don’t like French people either.”
The mistress within was crushed.
In my 15 years of non-committal dating I have been prone to pose 3 staple questions to would-be suitors: “Are you married? Do you enjoy sleeping with other men? Do you live with your mother?”. I had naively omitted an equally valuable query – “what are your thoughts on Paris?”
With crude sincerity I can admit to not having the strongest of convictions when it comes to relationships: I have overlooked a man’s ‘other lover’; have dated someone who had ‘experimented’ in his younger years; and repeatedly engaged in debauch aurous behaviour in the single bed of a high school dorm room (FYI – the guy was not actually attending the high school and was older than the students).
Time has since however lapsed, and I had considered myself somewhat of a better judge of character.
I had overlooked this guys’ arrogance and never begrudged him his faux-pax wardrobe moments, but I’ll be damned if I was going to put up with such non-sense. With utmost clarity & a deep-rooted respect for cultural sensitivity, I leaned in toward the well-sculptured Adonis and screamed… “are you fuckin’ serious?!!”
COFFEE and CIGARETTES,
CHOCOLATE and BREAD
Part 2
The way I see it, the French have had a bad wrap for some time now. The age-old image of a Frenchman wearing a beret and grazing nonchalantly on a crisp white baguette is stale and unimaginative; references to environmental violations are boring; and the most recent representation of an arrogant, dog-toting trendsetter is…well, is actually a slightly more realistic picture, but one that deserves a little enlightenment. The French, as I see it, are uber-cool and their fabulousness needs to be recognised & celebrated. They’re too smart to bend down and pick up dogshit; they ignore universal health information - preferring to chain-smoke instead, and almond-clad chocolate desserts are easier to come by than fruit. What’s not to love?
One of the joys of my work-me-like-a-slave-whilst-treating-me-like-a-pleb-and-paying-me-less-than-i-deserve job is that I get to meet some pretty amazing people. Funny people, smart people, and people who invite me to stay in their homes…bless them.
My first stop in France was in NW Nandes – a very funky town hosting the beautiful Alain & Christelle – who spoilt me rotten with a bed, great food, laughter and love. I had met A&C in a mutual friend’s jewellery store and only spoken for the length of a coffee and some cigarettes. they politely said "if you ever need a place to stay in France..." and so I shamelessley took them up on it months later. 4 days, 4 bottles of champagne and a whole lot of espresso’s later, I headed south to exquisite Paris to stay with mon petite ami Amy, whom I travelled with in Turkey, and later for a few days in Bulgaria.
Renting a teeny flat overlooking the Siene for a few months, Amy & friend Nicola were kind enough to share their space (and their bathroom!) for a while whilst I continued my espresso-streak and walk around without agenda, except to be fabulous. Flea markets, home-cooking (mine) and guilt-free exposure of my shoulders & legs is what dreams are made of. Even the inevitable cross-generational annoyances were laughable after a while - drunken late night existential conversations, and comments like “who’s Stevie Wonder?” ! Ah, to be 22 again!
Highlights:
- Sitting in the sun munching on a baguette whilst a passing stranger smiles and offers me a “bon apetite”.
- Morning wanders with the playful Miss Amy: shopping & laughing our way through the Quarters;
- Pulling out “the good clothes” and leaving behind the faded, pre-adorned staples of life on the road;
- Chocolatiers – ignoring all financial commonsense and buying a teeny-weeny box of handmade chocolates that taste the life way should feel: rich, guilt-free and oh, so sweet;
- Enjoying an Asian feast at my French friends’ home, whom I met in Turkey… a small world indeed;
- savouring the beauty of a barista’s magic…the way a Melbourne-bred girl deserves;
- waking without an alarm clock;
- people watching in the parks; and
- taking in the plethora of handsome men around me ☺
Note:
This trip took place in September..and I have been terribly distracted since – apologies for the delays in writing; also, my friend (the “very handsome man of whom I consider a ‘friend’, but who’s acquaintance I [had] restricted to substance-void flirtation encounters”) was, in the end, excused for his naïve misgivings and has since been updated to the ‘very handsome man of whom I had the pleasure of getting to know…better.’ ☺ - A victory of eloquence, per se ☺
