I was also impressed by the venue. The show took place at the Magic Mirror in La Défense. A very intimate venue which reminded of being at an old school circus, complete with a red velvet domed top ceiling. I always think of the circus as being something that’s typically French, which makes me reminisce about my childhood in Montreal. Maybe because of the Cirque du Soleil?

I’m continually blown away by the amount of festivals, shows and concerts happening in this city. The concert was about 10E, which was well worth it. However, for those of you on a tight budget, there are free shows happening at noon. I also meant to go see Peter Von Poehl because I’m loving the song “Forgotten Garden” at the moment (thank you Radio Nova!), but am ashamed to admit that I didn’t want to get out of bed because it looked like it was going to rain.

I’m also happy to say that I hope that I’ll be able to check out more this festival next year, since I didn’t hear about it until a week+ into it. I would have loved to have seen Abd Al Malik, Tahiti 80, Laurent Garnier, Dub Inc., and Yaël Naïm who all also performed. Particularly Abd Al Malik. I’m dying to see him live!

Anyone else know of any other festivals or shows happening in Paris (or even nearby) in the next couple of months that they want to recommend? I’m all ears .

I know that I promised to post pictures of my apartment, but I lied. I just absolutely had to get this off my chest.

I’ve been in Paris for exactly a month, and as much as I love living here, there’s one thing that’s been bothering me for the past month. I find myself speaking English way too often. If anything my experience in Paris so far, has been the exact opposite of Lyon –language wise.

Most people that know me know that I’ve lived in France before as a language assistant. When I was initially applied as a language assistant, on the application you were given the choice of three regions. I remember choosing the Academy of Lyon only because I knew that Lyon was the second largest city in France — no matter how much I travel, I can’t seem to adapt to small towns. I figured that as a smaller city it would probably be less international than Paris. After my language experience in Tokyo, where I lived for 2 and a half years without picking up much of the language — other than the basics — I figured that I would have the chance to speak French more often in Lyon than if I were living in Paris.

In the end I got placed in St. Etienne, a podunk town without any redeeming qualities, located an hour train ride outside of Lyon. And although I resented being placed there during those initial first 9 months in France, in retrospect I am extremely thankful that I had the full immersion in French culture that I would have never had in Paris and am still not getting.

And as much as I know that people mean well, it drives mean absolutely crazy when I meet a French person and as soon as they find out that English is my first language, well then we absolutely should speaking it. It doesn’t matter than we’re in France. Obviously I want to spend every moment of my time in France speaking English! Gahh! See I feel better now.

With that in mind, my language skills have plateau-ed. Although I speak French fluently and without any difficulty on a day to day basis, I still don’t feel like I’m quite where I want to be. Particularly after the feedback that I received from an interview that I recently had (which is another story altogether — best saved for another post). So with the recommendation of a new friend that I’ve made here in Paris, I’m going to take language classes at the Sorbonne — schedule and finances permitting, with the hopes of passing the DALF C1 exam.

I’ve reached as far as I possibly can on my own — and because I never took a single language class the entire time I was previously living in France. I seriously need my ass kicked by the grammar police. Especially when it comes to writing.

p.s. I do hope that you like the cosmetic changes that I made to the blog. The other look was just too boring for words. And that picture of the streetcar — lame!

I had another job interview today. I’m so sick of job interviews and trying to sell myself to be what the company wants. I feel like Ethan Hawk’s character in the movie Before Sunset, when he’s telling Celine about his book tour and says, “I feel like such a huckster.” Well I feel like a huckster and I’m tired of selling myself. In the past 3 weeks since I’ve been here, I’ve been on  5 interviews. Yikes! Plus at the interview today they made me do a translation from English to French…so hard because my writing in French is not as good as it could be. And this interview was long! I was there for an hour…I don’t know if that’s a good thing or bad thing. That’s the worst part. I never know. Some places I’ve had the best feeling from the interview and never hear from them again, so I have no idea.

After the interview I spent the afternoon walking around even though it was pouring rain…such a bad idea. I wanted to walk to the American Church from where I interviewed (near Place d’Opéra) because the church has job postings. But I’m still somewhat unfamiliar with everything here and even with my map, I kept walking in circles! In heels! Finally I got to the church hours later, which I didn’t think would take that long, only to find there was nothing good listed and I was cold, wet and tired . When I planned it in my head the night before it seemed like a good idea because I knew I’d be walking through some of the prettiest landmarks in Paris and I wanted to take pictures. The only thing was the weather was so bad I didn’t take a single picture! Sadly that means no pictures for this post. oh well. For those of you still needing a photo fix, please feel free to orient yourself to my previous post where I posted pictures of a recent nighttime stroll on rue Georges V.

And lest you think my life has been filled with job hunting boredom, my social life is starting to come together nicely and I went to a house party this weekend. I loved the house, it was so typically French, complete with an empty bottle of Ricards liqueur used as a vase and a room filled with books from floor to ceiling. I had so much fun and there were lots of very attractive French boys there, but sadly I didn’t meet anyone. Most of the people were architects, since the person throwing the party works as an architect, so a very interesting crowd. However I drank way too much and spent all of the next day in bed with the worst hangover I’ve had in a really long time. But it was worth it!

And for those of you that are interested or just curious, for my next post I will give you a more in-depth view of my life here including…drumroll…pictures of my apartment!

p.s. shoutouts to Milli Vanilli!

Overall my flight was alright. In my mad dash to make my ride, I’d packed my earphones in my suitcase, so no movie for me! (Which ended up being no big deal, since Nights in Rodante looked like the cheesiest movie ever made!). Though I actually had a remotely friendly neighbour, who actually acknowledged my presence with a few small-talk questions as we settled in for the 6-hour flight to London. I fly quite a bit and with most people, I barely even get a hello, much less a smile. (Um hello?! We’re going to be sitting next to each other for the next 8 hours, would it kill you to even make eye-contact?! I don’t need a new BFF, but come on people?!)

However, after the sheer hell that was my check-in, and especially after the demise of Zoom, I think this signals the end of my love affair with charter airlines. Luckily I had gotten to the airport 4 hours early, because I spent nearly the entire time packing and repacking my bags trying to get the contents of my life to fit in with the stingy and very strict 20 kg weight allotment that the check-in Nazi’s were not being even the slightest bit flexible about. They even weighed my carry-on bag and made me take out items because I was 3 kilos over! WTF?! I ended up leaving half of what I intended to bring in luggage storage at the airport…but I can’t be too mad, now I have an excuse to re-stock my wardrobe…in Paris!!

So lesson learned for me with trying to cut corners and save some desperately needed money (with the strength of the Euro, the Canadian dollars has almost as much value as Monopoly money), but sorry Air Transat, this is the last time I’ll take one of your flights. That experience was so draining and stressful, that as I soon as I got on the flight, I fell fast asleep only to be woken up for dinner.

The next leg of my journey was actually way more exciting than I initially thought it would be. The word of this trip was economize (or no budget!!)…so as I landed into London already fatigued with jet-lag, I wasn’t looking forward to the bus ride to Paris. In the end it didn’t turn out to be so bad.

The bus (or coach as the Brits say) was way more comfortable and relaxing than the flight and I chilled out to the mellow sounds of Architecture in Helsinki and The Postal Service on the ride into Central London from Gatwick. And finally I noticed the supposedly British-influenced architecture of Royal York rd. in Toronto, in the English homes on the outskirts of the city.

The coach finally made it’s way into the city after a modicum of lateness due to an accident on the A 23. And while waiting in line for the bus check-in (yes you have to check-in for cross-country travel on the bus too!) I made a new French friend and happily discovered that the bus coach would be taking the ferry and not the chunnel…score! I highly recommend taking the coach to Paris if you want to get the feeling of adventure back into your travels and are sick of no-budget airlines, yet want to save money.

For a measly £12 coach ticket, I got to relax on a ferry and sat down to a nice dinner in the ferry restaurant as I watched the view of English channel on the horizon…highly recommended!

Other than that I’ve been surprisingly too busy and too tired to do much sightseeing. Though last Friday I went to a cozy little dinner party at a friend’s place where I met a very interesting and friendly group of expats and frenchies. After feeling stuck in a rut for so long in Toronto it’s nice to be feeling social again…and after all, I’m finally in Paris (I still can’t say it without smiling) after months of delays!!

And that’s pretty much what’s been going on with me, I have a few things cooking and in progress, but will be sure to update the blog once I have definite answers. In the meantime please do keep reading…I promise to update as soon as I have some exciting news or thoughts to share!

I have the feeling that 2009 will be filled with lots of happiness, love and success. I’m just feeling optimistic in general about this upcoming year and can’t wait to see what the new year brings. And on that note, my goals for the year are to:

* Learn Spanish

* Write and publish more often

* Travel more

* Work towards getting my Masters

* Blog more often

I’ve never really been a new year’s resolution type person. I don’t like to diet and like exercising even less, so those have never been goals that I’ve set for myself. However I’m all for self improvement and a change in outlook never hurt anyone. Particularly since I’ve been feeling very stuck in a rut the entire time that I’ve been living in Toronto, and soon that will change! Onwards and upwards to bigger and better things…I can’t wait!

I’m feeling hopeful for the future. Even though I’m not American it feels good to see my face reflected in their world leader. In a world where being Black often feels like a burden or a stigma. And after hearing “No you can’t.” for too long to my ambitions and aspirations, as well as being looked down on with pity from those with seemingly good intentions, yet painfully obvious and transparent with how they really feel. It feels good to finally hear, “Yes you can!” That’s what the election felt like to me.

America has surpassed Canada. Daring to meet at the table of race relations, when Canada hasn’t even opened the door to the room, preferring to pretend out of ignorance, discomfort or just plain guilt that race is an issue that no longer exists.

“Yes we can.”

Yes it is an an issue. After listening to a speech that was so hopeful and optimistic for the future, it brought tears to my eyes to see people so excited and full of optimism for what is yet to come. It was also a day for the first time in my lifetime that I got to see a democratic election the way it was meant to be.

People were actually excited about electing a leader, rather than just going through the motions the way us Canadians have with our election. After re-electing Stephen Harper, even after his lacklustre and unimaginative campaigning, it seems like we’re the ones who aren’t ready for change. After 8 years of feeling smug, it looks like the shoe is on the other foot.

Even though Toronto is the city that I call home, I’ve never lived here for a consecutive enough amount of time for it to feel like home. I’ve spent so much of my life moving around, and in the past 8 years I haven’t lived in any one city longer than 2 and a half years.

This time around I’m returning to France on a WHV . The planning and paperwork is winding down, so I’ve already starting thinking of this move as France Version 2.0. I have less excitement, but a lot more anticipation, since I feel like I already know what to expect. Especially since I’ve already made the leap over the hurdle that is the nightmare of trying to find an apartment in Paris (even if my studio is absolutely tiny, even by Parisian standards).

Friends have often asked me why I came back to Canada. I usually grudgingly say, “because I had to. Things just didn’t work out,” without going too much into detail. And I’ve even had a few people tell me that if I would have really wanted to stay in France then I would have found a way to make it work. But I can’t regret the past year in Toronto. Even if my old job didn’t end the way I wanted it to, it was a great career experience and I got to fulfill a major goal, so I shouldn’t complain, no matter how egotistical and psychotic my bosses were.

At the end of the day, not having one of those coveted red passports leaves you with few options. And as spontaneous a person as I am, I would never risk jeopardizing my future travel options, since there are many other countries that I’d love to travel to and potentially live in. And doing anything illegal (i.e.work under the table) remains firmly out of the question.

Yet like a choose your own adventure novel where the story always seems to have the same ending, I keep thinking back to the first time I lived in France, constantly trying to figure out how I could have avoided the kafkaesque administrative disasters that came out of that experience, eager to potentially avoid going through the same bureaucratic debacles again.

Since I feel much wiser from those life lessons, this time around I’m going over with the hopes of living there permanently and even if that dream doesn’t come to fruition, then I’ve got my backup plans B, C and possibly D ready for next year.

It just goes to show that you can’t judge a book by its cover. Plus it made me smile.

And strangely enough, when I’m in Paris it doesn’t really seem like I’m in another country. I feel like I’m still at home, just in a different city. It was nice to be back in France again, even though I was just there in February. It’s kind of decadent knowing that I went to France twice in one year, but it just felt so necessary. And my recent trip back was more of an exploratory type trip…actually they both were.

My latest trip had me thinking a lot about a comment that a French guy I once dated told me the first night that we met. “T’as l’air une fille du coin,” is what he said when I told him that I was Canadian. And while exploring my (hopefully) soon to be hood in Belleville, that comment felt exactly right.

Belleville is a far stretch from other arrondissements that I’ve lived in, that are so quiet when you walk around at night, all you can hear is the sound of your own footsteps. The 16th– I’m thinking of you. But Belleville is different. It’s a mixture of artsy with immigrant, which gives the neighbourhood a nice lively vibe, despite the multitude of people who seem to have made the entrance to the Belleville metro both a drinking terrace and vendor’s stall. Belleville reminds me of Parkdale in Toronto, even though I’m not the biggest fan of that area.

There’s a lot to be discovered in Belleville and I know that I’ve barely scratched the surface since I didn’t get the chance to do as much exploring as I would have liked. From the trendy and crowded Café Cheri(e) to the pricey Hotel du Nord resto, I feel so eager to get to know it all.

The first day in my new quartier, I tried to ignore my jet lag as I walked around in an exploratory daze, telling my body that it hadn’t been more than 48 hours since I got a decent night’s sleep. As I made my way down rue Faubourg du Temple, I imagined that everyone milling about on the street could see the sleep deprived haze that I was in. Yet despite my brain fog, the combination of the colourful shops, clothing and the sea of faces in a multitude of shades told me that this was a place that I could belong as I try to make Paris my home.