There is an actual thing called ‘Paris Syndrome’, which is when people go to Paris for the first time with sparkly romantic images in their heads, and are severely disappointed with what they find there on arrival. The literal (if Wikipedia is literal) definition is ‘a transient mental disorder exhibited by some individuals when vacationing in Paris, as a result of extreme shock derived from their discovery that Paris is not what they had expected it to be’. This did not happen to me.
Many moons ago, a little (aka same height, less aged) Lauren visited and fell in love with Paris for the first time and promised herself while on a cruise down the Seine, that she would one day live there. Well, now it’s September 2017 and on Thursday I packed up too many clothes, a couple of motivational postcards and my french dictionary and here I am quite literally living the dream.
I’ve actually managed to one up that by living on the outskirts of the busy french capital, still surrounded by the Parisian lifestyle and only a short train trip from snapchatting the Eiffel Tower, but remaining a comfortable distance from the crowds and gag-inducing prices.
It’s been approximately 57 hours and 43 minutes since my plane landed in Charles de Gaulle, and I am already obsessed. Picture a typical cute french town from a movie that would make you say ‘aw I want to live there!’ Got it? Well, I live there. Little cobbled streets, google maps covered in green splodges marking big open parks, fancy old houses with fences low enough that you can tell the owner wants you to drool over them and a river whose surrounding roads are closed to cars at the weekends, simply so that people can walk or even, as I intend to, skip down them.
My room isn’t the largest, but then neither am I? I actually find that the bed and oven being about a meter apart gives the room character. You know what is large though, the freakin’ desk. Anyone who knows me well, or even slightly actually, will be able to imagine how much joy this brings me. I don’t have to pile up my weekly planning spread, to-do lists, diary, notebooks and assorted sticky-notes, oh no, they’re spread evenly across like butter on toast. Hang a string of fairy-lights on the shelves, get some photos up on the pinboard and a nice smelling candle on the go and that’s me sorted.
True, my job here could be horrific, which I suppose I shouldn’t forget is the actual reason why I am here. I’ll know come Monday. However, I personally think there isn’t too much in this world that could happen to me in a working day that hopping on a train into central Paris couldn’t fix. I guess we will see how long that mindset survives.
Best wishes from Paris x