Tag: Paris

There’s no place like home: Embracing expat otherness

I have lived in Paris for almost exactly 8 years, and whilst it’s fair to say I’ve long since been pretty damn parisienne, I’m clearly not – nor will I ever be – French. I’m very comfortable in this country; more at home than I’ve ever felt anywhere else; thoroughly assimilated in a culture that made more sense to me than the one I grew up in long before I even moved here. But I don’t have the references of a native française, having neither been raised in France, nor by French parents.

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Thirty life lessons learned by 30

The first year of my thirties is rapidly nearing its conclusion (hello, 31) and I have to say, the experience of moving into this new decade has, in and of itself, been pretty anticlimactic. Turns out, aging, accruing life experience, all that jazz, it’s more of a gradual process than an overnight kinda thing. Who... Continue Reading →

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Thirty, flirty, and… surviving

Two outta three ain’t bad? 30. It’s a tricky age, isn’t it? For one thing, there’s now no denying you’re a fully-fledged grown-up. When you start your twenties, you’re essentially still a teenager; many of us were students, living Our Best (student) Lives. Nobody’s seriously accusing you of adulthood when you’re breakfasting, hungover, on McVitie's... Continue Reading →

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‘Fall’ in love with Paris in the autumn

It’s the most wonderful time of the yeeeeaaar… No, not Christmas, although that’s getting alarmingly close. I'm talking about autumn. The air is crisp and tinged with that delicious dried-leaves smoky scent. The trees are resplendent in blazing reds and soft golds. It’s cool enough to get cosy with jumpers and scarves and thick socks,... Continue Reading →

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Paris has changed. So have I.

Last weekend marked my 7-year Paris-versary (pronounced Pareeversary, in case you were wondering). Seven whole years as a parisienne; seven whole years since I made my teenage pipe dream of living in France a reality. Seven years of grappling with the trials and tribulations of expat life and language barriers and bloody french bureaucracy. Seven... Continue Reading →

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Valentine’s Day, your way

You’d think a day dedicated to all things love and romance would be a universal hit — but I’m pretty sure the 14th February is at least as disdained and/or dreaded as it is eagerly awaited. The rampant commercialism, the romantic pressure, the impossibility of finding a table in a half-decent restaurant. The having-your-singleness-rubbed-in-your-face. The... Continue Reading →

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