Alors.


A lot has happened in the last few days and I suppose I could write about drowning in the crashing waves of homesickness that happened on Sunday night after my parents' visit ended, but there doesn't seem much to say other than that. Today I opened my French bank account and there doesn't seem to be much to say about that either, other than I managed to wangle the system into going my way and not the way of French bureaucracy, so success there. Not so much success when my tongue thought it was tying knots in a cherry stem instead of speaking French and the lady at the bank said "Vous parlez anglais?" but I kept going and she continued in French, pausing only to point out that something meant "overdraft" in English.

I could write about the saga that played out as I tried to buy a proper bed, first from IKEA (but three week wait? Eh, no thanks) and then from Muji. The man at Muji told me there was no point in paying a 49€ charge to have it delivered when I live three streets away, so I came back (with a poor friend in tow) and they taped my bed down to a trolley, let us carry one box and commanded a shop assistant to wheel my bed across the Place St Sulpice to the flat. This, I thought, would entail much embarrassment on the part of myself as the bobos at the Café de la Mairie looked on, but in fact, no one turned an eyelid.

This is another reason why I love France.

Yesterday was my "Rentrée" or should I say, "Entrée" for me (as it is my first year here, but technically, I'm going back to uni?!). For most people at home, it is Christmas and (especially) New Year when their friends (somewhat drunkenly) hug and kiss them the most. For me, that day has turned into the Rentrée. Around forty other students at two kisses each? However much I may pretend to make fun of it, it is the physical warmth amongst friends in France that I adore. When I was a high school student in Scotland, even my closest girlfriends would pretend to give a hug; a loose arm around a shoulder. Which is something I think they've picked up by bad teen American movies (when I say 'bad' I do not of course mean anything directed by John Hughes, I'm referring to the type 'acted' in by Lindsey Lohan, whoever she may be).

Yesterday, I was, quite literally, bowled over by the affections of my camarades.

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I still feel a little dépaysée - not having anything to do on Monday has wound me up thinking this is Tuesday to the point when walking home along the Boulevard St Germain today, I thought "Why the hell are all these kids out of school?". Duh. It's Wednesday afternoon.

Wednesdays is when Madame in my local Boulangerie closes, a ritual I first found out about last week, when craving my awful breakfast of baguette avec Nutella I was greeted with the shutters pulled firmly down. I found another Boulanger a couple of streets away, but it didn't exude the same local friendliness as my usual place. Retracing my steps today, I walked past a window and did a double take. Not far away from the apartment is another Boulangerie-Patisserie and the queue was out the door. Sadly, pour cette végétarienne there wasn't much on the way of sandwiches that I could eat but the pastries looked stunning. The assistants waited patiently while I chose my sin to take home with me and the lady at the caisse greeted me with a slightly over-the-top but rather wonderful anyway, "Bonjooooour mAdEmmOIsELLE!"

The top of the baguette was eaten on the way home and the réligieuse was eaten for lunch.

I promise I'll eat plenty of fruit tonight to make up for it.