The Big Goodbye
My very last day in Paris was spent in the Tuileries with the first Parisienne I had ever met. We commented how each of us had improved in each language, how our hair looked slightly different to before and how in due course, we would both be leaving our city.
As I went to pick up the children for the first time, I seemed to be in a dreamlike state. Wandering around the back streets, I seemed not to realise it would probably be the last time I had the chance to do so. I forgot to take in the sights and notice the little things; I was ignoring the reality of it all I guess.
I had been told that when the Mums and my replacement arrived, we would be having a quiet dinner at the house, just the 8 of us, nice and simple. When the Dad came home from work and announced carriages at eight, I was for once ignorant to the evening’s plans. I was told to put on a dress, have a glass of wine and just enjoy the evening ahead… one of the easier requests during the last year.
I was bundled into a taxi with my boss, and Rachel the girl I have entrusted with the children over the summer. As we made conversation and I tried to give her as many helpful tips as possible, my mind was constantly trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Where were we going? Was I forgetting to tell her anything vital?
We pulled up to the Pompidou Centre and my boss looked at me, “Any idea yet?” she asked with that mischievous glint in her eye. As I looked around me, I was still completely clueless…it was not until we were in the lift on our way to the sixth floor to Chez Georges, the prestigious Parisian rooftop restaurant on the top of one of my favourite museums that I finally twigged. I was shocked, touched and excited.
As we dined on lobster, sushi and seafood risotto the conversation flowed, as did the emotions. I found myself looking at the people around me, the two opposing worlds, and being so happy to see the fusion. It was lovely to see everyone making such an effort. My hosts were chattering away in English while the Mums made an effort in French and I played piggy-in –the-middle interpreting for them both.
As Rachel and I entertained the kids at our end of the table, I tried my hardest to pass on all the vital bits of information I could think of. Whether it was how Alfred likes his shoelaces tied or how Rose loves to play the Alphabet game, I felt like I was reciting all the little quirks I love about them. More than anything, I want the three of them to have fun this summer. I want it to run smoothly, I want it to be easy for them all.
I was trying my hardest to put a seal on the emotions I was feeling, I felt it would be better to just let it all out in the safety of the car on the journey home. Nevertheless, when my boss read me the speech she had prepared, the family all welled up and the children jumping on top of me for the last hugs and kisses; it was all a lot easier said than done.
I went to bed than night in quite a muddle; emotionally exhausted.
As I loaded all my bags into the car, I was proud of my outward positive attitude. Underneath it all, I had the strange sensation of leaving one family and one home for another. As I took the kids in my arms, it was hard to fight it. I let the tears leak out and before I knew it, I turned round to see four other teary-eyed faces looking back at me.
When you work as an au pair, you are under the impression that the feelings you have towards the family you have made your nest among are not reciprocated. You feel it is just because you have spent time with them in a city where they made you a home. However, to see that it was not just me, to see that we were all a bit perturbed actually made me feel a little better. It was reassuring. It was nice to know I really would be missed.
I do not know if they will ever read this blog or ever know how much they really meant to me this last year. They welcomed me into their family more than I had ever really realised. I look back now, and I see. I see how they laid the foundations for the life I have been living.
It is a good job they invited me back in September, isn’t it?
The Last Saturday
Just thought I would let you all know that on my last Saturday night in Paris I, the 19 year old blonde with a pretty decent social life and living in one of the most romantic cities in the world, shared my bed with a seven year old, a nine year old and about 7 cuddly toys.
The end of my year here has been pretty fitting so far. I was babysitting all weekend – let me just clarify, all day every day – and I was running around the city trying to see as much as possible with two little smurfs in toe.
Friday night saw me watching Mamma Mia with the seven-year-old boy whilst munching on Oreos followed by me getting so into my book that I finally stumbled into bed at about 2am. When he jumped on me at 6am, I was surprisingly chirpy.
We then trekked to suburbia with the nine year old for her ballet class, after sanitising hands and promising they would survive, I managed to bundle them into the metro and make my way through the streets in 32-degree heat. In true au pair style I was armed with tissues and bottles of water, they came in very handy when the seven year old needed an emergency number 2 stop. And people say au pairing can be dull?!
We then spent the afternoon in a park in the seventeenth running in and out of fountains, munching on sugary ice creams and attacking pigeons. By the time we headed home, they were exhausted, having been made to walk “miles and miles” but yet within the hour, we had transformed ourselves into gourmet pizza chefs. With our packet of 1, 55€ instant pizza base mix, we giggled our way round the kitchen covered in flour and tomato paste. Half an hour later, the world’s most mighty pizzas appeared and another night with a good film ensued.
Much to my surprise, they suggested it was bedtime, trundled down my stairs and clambered into my bed. I could not help but smile when I saw their little faces peeking out from under the covers, and I nearly melted when ten minutes later they were both fast asleep. Snoring even.
Sunday we got up, got dressed, and got ready to picnic. We made more sandwiches than you can imagine and filled our hamper with delicious snacks and treats. After a bit more sanitising, we hopped on the bus and headed back to the “park of fun.” Between Uno competitions and water fights, we managed to catch a few rays and even have a little siesta.
As I sit here and type, not only does my bed feel empty but I worry that when I leave in two days, my life may feel a little empty too. Yes I am leaving friends and a city that I love, but I am also leaving two little people who I am very close to and whose lives I have come into in a big way this last year. I will miss the cheeky laughter, the moments of pure childish genius and even the harder moments when I have to make important decisions about the day-to-day lessons I have to try to impart on them.
I will miss Alfred and I will miss Rose.
Late night texts…
« On passé un très bon moment avec plein d’anglais car le mari est anglais ! Les anglais sont top en discours. Vivement ton mariage ! »
“Il me faut juste un beau Parisien pour que je puisse toujours vivre ici !”
« Yyyyyeeeeeessssss !!! »
I love my boss !
Tears
They come from out of nowhere, often when you are least expecting it. Friday was one of those days where the worlds of those around you seem to just crumble in front of your eyes. The plates stop spinning.
Whether it was the seven year old who banged his head against a marble surface, a mum who had a long day, or a friend who was unprepared for a rather big change; it can be hard to know what to do. In those situations, actions speak louder than words. Three hugs become much more, they comfort, support and protect. No matter when, who or what language; they are the universal sign to show that you are there.
(via fashionfever)
The Final Visitor
I have been lucky enough that during my time here I have had my fair share of visitors. Each visit has been for a different length of time, with a different number of people wanting to do a variety of different things but all equally as unique and exciting.
I have loved the fact that each visit seems to highlight the multifaceted place that is the city I live in, and the ways in which I seem to live my life here. My two main roles seem to be the instinct driven Parisienne who flies around from little cafe to little cafe, and the informed guide who drags people round the main sights reciting odd bits of drivel that she has picked up over the past year.
This weekend I dragged a friend round for the third time. More than dragging her around, we in fact strolled arm in arm up the cobbled streets of Montmatre, paused thoughtfully in the right places at popular exhibitions and laughed our way across the city in the early hours as the sun came up. We had lunch without worrying about the slip of paper whose arrival at the end was certain, we sipped Ti Punch and Sancerre because we wanted to, we watched silly kiddy films because we could and played Uno with the kids for longer than you would think possible. We danced our way across the city through various genres, various bars and with various people. (Once such session took place in a rather dubious bar where the music selection ranged from Grease to “Graig” David!) It was easy; it was fun. I haven’t been able to laugh like that in a long time.
This whirlwind visit produced two very different reactions. It made me realise what I miss so much at home. I miss the friends who I have grown up with, whose stories range from three days ago to thirteen years. The friends who know me inside out; who know when I am going to laugh and when I am going to cry. They know when I need them the most. They understand without me having to explain.
But at the same time, it made me realise how much I love my life here. I love my relationship with this city; I know her as well as she knows me. As the days roll by, people start to leave and the scene is beginning to change. The little perfect world is slowly fading away, the next season is coming.
As I look back at all the ink scribbled on the page, I smile and feel lucky to have been able to experience it all with all these amazing people. But inevitably, the page has to turn and what is waiting is a big blank page. Another blank page for me to fill.
Friday night saw me picnic-ing on the Pont des Arts with most of the people I have gotten to know and love out here. It was a pretty memorable night for many reasons, one of them being the fact that the sky looked like the world was about the end. It was the kind of sky you only really ever see on a screen. The clouds were an angry orange and the air was heavy. As the night went on, they changed to purple, and finally a deep black just before the heavens opened. It was quite dramatic, beautiful even.
Photo by Ashleigh Wood
The not so Bon for me Marche
Today when the sky was ranging from shades of grey to a very bright white, I was somewhat reticent to leave the house. I pondered the idea of going to a museum or a wander through a park, neither of which seemed particularly appealing.
Instead I hopped on the 92 to SFX and wandered down Rue Babylone on my own little secret indulgence trip.
There is something about the Bon Marche that makes it seem like you are living in a dream world. The designers, whose names I have read as I flick through the heavy magazines that I have been spending my pennies on since a young age, are suddenly there right in front of your eyes. You can touch the clothes, even flirt with the idea that one day you may even be able to buy them.
Anyway, today I spent far too long browsing the bag department. I don’t know what is wrong with me at the moment but I seem to be a little obsessed with the forearm’s best friend; the tote. I spend my days evil eyeing my boss and other women like her who have a rather large collection of these beauties ranging from YSL, Mulberry, Chloe and Marc Jacobs.
As I was standing almost drooling at the world of leather around me, a sales assitant approached me. She must have mistaken my H&M for Hermes or my Zara for Zadig because she seemed to be under the illusion that I was a potential customer. She gave me a tour of some of the new collection before finally suggesting what she thought would best “compliment me on an everyday basis.”
The answer was this bag…http://www.net-a-porter.com/product/95180#
Only a mere 845€. I don’t even know why I want it. But I do. Damn Net-a-porter.
“oh but I won’t be here then…”
The above phrase was something I found myself repeating a lot over the weekend. As friends and I discussed new exhibitions, bands who were coming and things that are going on in the city during the next few months, I realised just how quickly my time is running out. 16 days to be precise.
One of the cultural events that I was really looking forward to was the “Cinema en plein air” festival in July and August at Parc de Villette. It was something I just missed last year and I thought I would be able to catch this year.
It sounds to me like the perfect summer’s evening with friends. Rock up with a picnic, blankets and sit in one of the most beautiful parks in Paris watching films on an outdoor screen… I can just picture it now.
It seems like something from the movies doesn’t it?
http://www.villette.com/ressources/documents/1/1078,livretcinema09.pdf
Sprog
Having lived with someone all your life you sometimes forget the best bits about them. You remember the fact they always play their music just a little too loud, they always use the hot water and they have that annoying habit of being able to throw on your clothes and look even better in them than you would do after three hours preparation.
It is only when you are away from home and your only method of communication is through a little piece of technology and the words you exchange are typed rather than said, that you realise just how much they mean to you.
You want to be able to protect them from all the bad things out there, all the things that you have experienced, all the pain. You want to shelter to them and to be able to make everything OK in and instant. To make it all simple again. To make it sunny every day.
I miss the days of running around in bin bags in the garden and watching “My Best Friend’s Wedding” in our parents’ bed. I miss the way we would revise together testing each other on subjects so foreign to the other that there was no way of knowing what the right answer should be. I miss always having someone to listen.
But what it is important to remember is that we will always be connected. We will always have that bond. No matter what, I am and always be so proud to call her my little sister; or Sprog to be more precise.
Rainy day
