My first proper weekend in Paris

Completely forgot it was Bastille day ce weekend. The biggest holiday in the French calendrier and fwit, right over my head. That would explain the signs advertising "BASTILLE DAY" offers outside shops and restaurants. The main reason I didn't realise is because apparently the French don't get a day off when a public holiday falls on a weekend. Not so lazy after all.

Saturday

In other news my flatmate's phone was almost stolen at a metro station today!

Apparently he ran after the guy and after a few minutes the thrilling chase culminated with a rather anticlimactic "I found your phone on the floor mate". In French of course, not the aggressive Cockney brogue I translated it into in my head. No-one better pull that stuff with me or they'll face the full force of my poorly conjugated insults and tame French swear words.

Then that night, me and my flatmates got takeaway. It's Domino's so I was a bit cautious having been told it's nothing compared to its British contrepartie. One of them innocently suggests the 'Indienne' one for me - what a stereotype, unbelievably offensant. 


(...It does sound awesome though, so I go for it). 

Someone at Domino's is a stickler for French grammar

After we've polished off the pizza, the poker set comes out. It starts off fairly casual, but as the others are knocked out one by one, it ends up being an intense heads-up between me and a guy who's been playing in casinos for years. A few hands later, I'm surprised I'm up on him. Apparently I have an uncanny ability to unsettle opponents that throws 'em off their game. Something about unpredictability and playing hands fast and loose. Don't know if that's exactly something to be proud of but at the very least, I have a bright career in professional poker if the whole graduation thing doesn't work out!

Stop me, I'm a madman

Sunday

While making a sandwich for dinner (nothing wrong with that), I discovered bread lasts a lot longer here in Paris. A loaf I bought all the way back on my first day is still in date. Probably some unholy French process that's illegal elsewhere.

Went roaming for a bit to make up for missing Bastille Day but this city is a ghost town (/city) on Sundays. So I came back to watch TV (Suits is awesome). I've started assigning the characters to people in my office. This should make things interesting, especially as I have  Donna, the receptionist with an attitude, down (with the lady who answered the phone "Oui boii").


The year abroad dream will have to wait till next week but all in all, not a bad weekend.

Peace from Paris.

My first pizza in Paris

OK so the title isn't as catchy as the others but I had to complete the Holy Trinity of "My First..." posts, this is probably the last you'll hear of them (ha).

Day 3 of my working life

My third jour of life as an intern (pronounced: errand boy) and things are going pretty well. Apart from the fact I had to wait 20 minutes for someone to let me into the office, goddamn lazy French. But something me and Otto translated from English -> French yesterday was published by a bunch of media outlets today so that's pretty cool!

Being a working man, It's good not having to worry whether there's any work in the next day (and doing it the morning it's due if you're me), but you do have to sell your soul to the rat race. Ah well, life's a trade-off.

Life (n.): The art of substituting one set of problems for another.

Déjeuner

For lunch we went to a nice pizza place, which are apparently rare in Paris, just around the corner. I order a calzone and it looks delish but after some preliminary excavations, under the disapproving gaze of the old guy next to me, I found the meat to cheese ratio was disappointingly low. I'd put a photo of it here but it was devoured (by me, in case you're wondering) before I got the chance. So here's a picture of what I had yesterday.

Handily comes to  €8.30, my daily allowance exactly

After the massive lunch things began to go downhill as I started dozing off (as lions do after a meal). The emails began to pour in and by the end of the day I was burnt out good and proper.

But as soon as I put on some Coldplay on the way to the metro station, a nice calm settled over me, blocking out the bustle of the city.

...Promptly and resoundingly shattered by the Paris metro.

Let me give you a visual of what riding the Paris metro is like: think suit-wearing sardines in a rectanguloid can, accompanied occasionally by the odd sardine tramp. Doesn't help that the aforementioned sardines are starting to slowly melt in the heat.

I've also found out that the only French word you really need in Paris is "pardon". 

Bumped into someone? "Pardon"

Want to get through a crowd? "Pardon"

Need to have an in-depth discussion on the Higgs Boson? "Pardon" (+ hasty exit)

Navigating the way through your fellow travellers to the train door is almost as compliqué as the metro system itself

Now for dinner, a turkey sandwich. Yes I still can't cook.

Peace from Paris.