Tags
City life, Erasmus, Hallowe'en, London, Metro, Murder Mystery, Paris, Underground, Year Abroad
[*A Tale of Two Cities in French. Testing my theory that clichés can be less cheesy if translated into a different language.]
I stared down at the gold and silver coins in my hand, feeling their unfamiliar weight and size. For a moment I couldn’t tell which was which. God, fifty-pence coins are so weird, I thought.
When getting on the Underground, I was baffled by the bizarre dimensions of the train, and I kept referring to it as “the Metro”. I couldn’t remember how much drinks cost in the Union bar when I went out on Friday evening, nor which ID I needed to get in, and when the security guard let me through I said “Merci”.
Could this be it? Was my transformation complete? Was I now a Frenchwoman in London?
*
I was so grateful for the chance to return to London for a few days during the Toussaint (All Saints’) break. I had no choice but to take to coach there and back, but it was surprisingly bearable. I arrived in London just after midnight and felt oddly out of place.
But then my confusion melted away fairly easily. My wonderful friends welcomed me back with remarkable enthusiasm given that they are all currently beleaguered by excessive uni work. I went to my favourite café twice in one day, effectively confusing/horrifying the staff immensely, and then went again on the day I left. When my friends were too busy, I went shopping, I sent emails, I read month-old magazines in their flats.
Undoubtedly, one of the highlights of my stay was going to my friend Alice’s flat for what struck me as a very British murder mystery Hallowe’en dinner. I played, after all, the most British of characters: a governess who, despite my protestations of virtue and religious devotion, was actually (spoiler alert) the cold-blooded murderer. I played the part with great relish and very poor acting skills. [Photo by Christabel.]
Everyone asked: “So how is Paris?” But I was more interested in hearing about their lives in London. During my absence, the city had taken on a mystical gleam in my mind’s eye. Somehow, Paris was the reality and London was the escape.
I’ll be honest and say I didn’t really want to go back to Paris. I felt the pull of London life so keenly that I imagined sending a doppelgänger to Paris in my place, and spending the rest of the year bunking in illegally with my old flatmates.
Then came a minor revelation. In the same way that I could be French and British simultaneously, I could compare Paris to London to my heart’s content – but I didn’t have to choose between them. I have been lucky enough at my relatively young age to have lived and still be living in two of the world’s greatest cities. And I can love them both: finding my favourite cafés and cocktail bars, discovering the best spots for quiet reading, talking affectionately of friends there, grumbling about the transport. It’s time to get to know Paris as well as I know London. Which is why I wrote the first draft of this blog post on the coach back with a smile on my face.