It's Sunday and I'm again in the Falstaff Bar...thinking how sad it is that I only have about 9 days left in Paris, but then again, it also means that I get to see gatito and el Don soon. Besides, I'm already coming up with a plan to return avec famille for 6 months! (unbeknownst to them).
Intensive language courses work. I am understanding more, and making mistakes-- such as telling people where I live when they really asked how long I'll be in Paris--much less often.
The best part of this time, though, is friends. I've got to be the luckiest lady on earth. Dinners with Judy and family, shopping with Judy at the haute couture Bon Marche where I did NOT buy the gorgeous skirt for 300 euros (on sale, half price, or was the 600 euros the half price?! We weren't sure), dinners with Stephanie and friends in which we speak Spanish (but could just as well speak English because they all speak that too). In fact, last night we were out and I understood that one man was from Great Britain but really he was from Brittany...and since we were all speaking Spanish and then I heard him speak to the German woman in German and then he spoke also some English (he lives in Canada), when he finally was speaking to Stephanie, I said, "Shit, this guy is really good. He sounds so native." So I ask him where/when he learned French and of course everyone burst out laughing.
This week the agenda is: the picasso museum, the D'Orsay, more avoiding of Marc (the frenchman who keeps calling me) and Caberet on Thursday, more french blunders.
The writing, you ask? Hemingway inspiration? Don't. It just isn't happening. I wish I could just give up this urge to write altogether, but of course when gatito overheard me tell the Don that, he said, "Why mommy? I can't WAIT to read your new book!"
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5 comments:
Sounds to me like the salons of the 20's. Don't worry, store up first, write later. All this language play must be exhausting. I'm sure you'll have a beautiful book ready gatito to read soon enough.
Happy international life to you!
When I was in Paris in 1994 I ate at a restaurant that was below an apartment where Hemingway live when he was in Paris. I haven't a clue where it is, but I don't think it was far from Pont Neuf on the other side of the Seine from the Louve. I am sure someone can tell you where it is if you want to have a drink and soak up the inspiration. Not that you should write like Hemingway, anyway.
El Don
We all want to read your next book! So just soak up the inspiration and write it later.
I agree with nik--mental notes are key, but do the writing later. Later, I say!
Also, while you're soaking up the French-ness, make sure you eat a pile of those frites. They are the best.
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