My Parisian Year in Photos

Like all good things, my great adventure came to its close, and I have just returned home to the UK! For the grande finale, before I really sink back into the life I left behind, I would like to share what I think are my best photos of the people and places who made this such a life-changing, enhancing experience.

Thank you to those of you who have been reading my posts from the beginning, and to all the lovely souls who joined us on the way. I am so grateful for your support and readership, and can promise to be off on a new adventure very soon!

So You’re Going to be an Au Pair…?

I have some thoughts on the subject. Having just completed a year and three months long stint of childcare work in France, boy do I know what you’re letting yourself in for.

This post is dedicated to anyone going into the childcare profession, specifically those entering language instructor/nanny positions. These are some things I wish I had known when I was starting out.

1. Children behave differently when their parents aren’t around.

If your experience is anything like mine, you’ll go through a childcare agency, who will take a look at your CV and match you with a family. You will then visit the family, see what’s what, and decide whether you want to take the contract.

A great idea, except that those angelic cherubs, showing you all their toys and twirling around in their princess dresses under maman and papa’s admiring gaze, are not an accurate portrayal of what you’re going to be dealing with.

2. The parents may be unaware how bad their children can be.

Your predecessor is long gone, so there’s no one to give you the low-down. You’ll just have to gamble, hope for the best.

Now, day one. Cut to you sprinting down the street after a laughing eight-year-old who is trying to lose you on the way home. Cut to you wrestling them for the house keys outside the apartment. Cut to you trying to make the lunch, and them throwing toys out the sixth floor window…

This is likely to be the general flavour of your first few weeks. Only now will you understand what you’ve taken on.

3. Discipline is difficult.

Their rooms look like the aftermath of a natural disaster. They’ve turned the sink into a potions table, and are pouring glue down the drain. Tomato sauce has been trampled into the carpet, they’ve broken the bathroom door, and the youngest one is screaming loud enough to summon the police.

What can you do to avert the next stream of crises?

Not a lot, because you are one in a long line of ‘nounous’ who have been in this position, and like all before you, you’re being tested. The children have the upper hand – they can communicate with each other in a language you don’t completely understand, and this is their territory.

The one line that will save you? ‘Stop that now or I’m going to call maman.’

4. The parents will help you, but you have to ask.

Nothing stings a child worse than anticipating maman and papa all evening, and then experiencing them arriving home angry because they’ve been informed of bad behaviour. The parents have powers that you do not, and effective wielding of their assistance will ensure you soon gain the upper hand.

That being said, I don’t think you should tell the parents about every infraction. My method was three strikes and ‘that’s it’, but you have to stand your ground. Decide where your lines are based on the children’s general behaviour, and if you can deal with it yourself, do.

In time, the children will accept your authority, but you need to fight!

5. It’s a physically exhausting job.

A well-behaved child is an entertained child, and you are the entertainment. That means endless rounds of hide-and-seek, a new game at least once a week, and an all-singing-all-dancing show, every minute of every day. You’ll become a master at voicing teddies, and will hear ‘The Wheels on the Bus’ echoing in your head until you fall asleep.

6. It is an emotionally exhausting job. 

Leave your heart at the front door, because it’s going to get bruised. Perhaps they wish to vent a subconscious rage at the fact you are a usurper in their parent’s role (I theorise), perhaps it is simply because children will be children. Whatever the reason, there is no denying some will say and do mean things. The youngest, because they don’t know any better, the oldest, because they know it hurts.

This is not true of all children. A few will see you as the friend you are trying to be, but a lot will lash out. During my time in the job I was kicked by a little boy until I had bruises on the backs of my legs, and told by a little girl that I was ugly every day of every week.

7. Communication is difficult. 

Especially if you are working with children who speak a different language, keep the dialogue simple.

If they want you to go away, don’t always ask why. Just give them some space. Children do not have an adult’s ability to articulate their emotions, and find it especially frustrating when they are tired. Sometimes it’s best just to go, and let them come to you a while later.

Complex emotional issues are for the parents to help them with. You should just try to diffuse the situation and restore a state of calm. Don’t take it personally when you don’t understand. It’s not always your place to.

8. You may not agree with the parents’ parenting techniques.

This can be one of the hardest things, in my experience. Seeing these children day-in day-out forges a bond between you, and whilst you might not love them, you will come to care.

It may be difficult to watch as the drawing you and the children worked on all afternoon just to show maman is airily dismissed. You may find it hard not to say something when you are again told that the children can eat ‘whatever they like’ for snack, although you’ve mentioned they’re constipated.

Because you’re working in so intimate a setting you’re going see things that you don’t agree with, but you have to hold your tongue. They are not your kids, and no one asked for your opinion.

9. Maintain a professional distance.

Yes, be the children’s friend. Yes, laugh and play together. But remember, things can end abruptly. The family are not always obligated to give you a notice period, if it seems you’re not what they were looking for.

And while it can be nice to chat with the parents when they come in from work, always remember that they are your employer. In most cases they will not welcome you as one of the family, but as house staff. A necessary support in their lifestyle, who can soon be replaced.

10. It gets easier.

I have worked for six different families during my time in Paris, some temporarily, and some for longer contracts. The children have ranged from 1-12 in age.

The first family I ever worked for was by far the most difficult. Two children, one of whom was a Veruca Salt character prone to nuclear tantrums and public masturbation. I more than once arrived home in tears.

But then it got better. I don’t deny it took a long time, but eventually, I found families with whom it was possible to build warm, respectful bonds. I became authoritative, and settled into a rhythm which worked for me. Looking back, I think this job made me tougher than I thought I had it in myself to be. Now, I can handle anything.

So if you’re starting out, this is going to be one of the hardest things you have ever done, but you can do it. I believe in you ❤

Paris in Colour

It’s been so long since I last wrote a personal blog post that it seems a bit insincere to return to this journal format, but this is an important anniversary, or it was, two months and ten days ago, which is when I reached the one year mark since arriving in Paris, and started to consider the awful truth that soon I will be leaving.

In just a few short weeks I will be busy with whatever comes next, so if there’s an appropriate time for reflections, I guess it must be now.

My expectations of this experience were monstrous in scope, and orbited a single, dangerous idea: that I needed to come away from this someone new, quite distinct from my former self. It was, I admit, not only a depressing aim, but an odd one, since Paris is not, in my opinion, a city of any change.

After centuries of relentless artistic analysis, Paris is as Paris was, and as Paris will be. To step onto the metro is to breathe stale air that has washed over a thousand other people, and to be any kind of artist here is not to founder in uncharted waters, but to drink the rich history of the many who went before.

I have not changed. At least not in the ultimate, irrevocable fashion my immature self hoped. Instead of a sudden metamorphosis, I think I instead underwent something closer to a personal evolution. All there is of me is all there was of me, but I wield myself with a better knowledge of my own nature, gained from my experiences.

It is tempting, of course, to bleat out every story I have lived, to pen down every struggle and success so that I can show how much it was all worth, but I understand better now that all stories have a time when it is best for them to be told, and that not all stories survive being written.

Life has chapters, and my time in Paris has been a chapter in mine. In a month and a half I shall turn to a new blank page, only it will not be quite blank, because it will be thin enough to show the shadows of old letters on the page behind. There are no fresh starts, but I no longer think I need one. As I discovered when I came to Paris, whatever you leave behind does not leave you, but follows on the wind.

So when I go, as I must, this will not be so much the past, as a part of the present in which I am.

I promise I am winding up to a point, which is that I have come to the conclusion that rebirth is a lie. Going somewhere new will not make you new. It will, however, give you the space to lay down some roots that reach further than before.

Words are a petty medium, says the woman who left her country to write, but I don’t think I need to write every detail. I need only to say that for so many, many reasons, this has been the best year of my life.

Back to Blogging

As ever, a lot has happened since I last wrote.

I went on holiday, to Normandy (my first trip away with my boyfriend, henceforth to be known as N), and we crossed the five month mark, which makes him seem strangely new, when in truth I can no longer imagine a future with anyone else.

And there was snow! After making a bid to become the next Atlantis, Paris was then covered in a real blanket. To my surprise, the trains kept running. A few lines have been closed because of the flooding, but for the most part, the systems that hold Paris together are less delicate than they seem.

At work, with my most challenging four-child all-boy family I was engaged in a to-the-death snowball fight (which did not go well for me), and then another, the next day, with the half-Russians – who, given their upbringing in a land of snow and ice, I am inclined to believe had an unfair advantage.

The snow has melted away now, throwing us back into grey skies and the threat of rain, but I am happy. In a few weeks I am sure it will start to feel like spring, and then I’ll be able to shed my (leaking) boots for pumps, and walk about the city without gloves.

It’s not all good news, since if I am honest I am struggling with university. Getting a distinction at masters is looking increasingly difficult. I didn’t do badly in my first semester, but I didn’t do as well as I’d hoped I would. This threw me into a dismal state of self-loathing, which has been a drain on my inspiration for my new pieces this semester. But I’ll get there, and hopefully with time I’ll learn to be less cruel to myself.

Certainly I’ve had no shortage of experiences to draw upon these past few weeks. Our trip to Normandy was breathtaking (and a topic for another post!), never mind the weather, and Paris is, as Paris ever was, one of the best places a writer can be.

January Blues

The world can be a dismal place at this time of year, and even the romance of Paris can’t distract from driving rain and howling wind. The grey bricked paths that line the Seine, which I walked along in sandals during the summer, have vanished beneath rising water, and the trees are stark silhouettes against a white sky.

But the year is now well underway, and with Christmas a distant memory, it’s time to look ahead, past this grey season, into the spring to come.

In a little over two months it will be the first anniversary of my moving here, and after that it will not be many more months before I return to the place I came from, hopefully a little more savvy, sage, and chic than I was when I left.

The reality of living in Paris is not as glamorous as the movies might have you believe. This is a city of great contrasts. I have worked in more than one bourgeoisie apartment, and peered into the glowing window of many a boulangerie. I have taken the air on long city strolls, and sunned myself on the banks of the Seine, but I have also seen homeless children sheltering under cardboard. I’ve seen ugly demonstrations walled in by lines of police, and I’ve learnt to watch the pavement for the dog filth and drunken piss.

Paris is not always the wonderful picture photographed for the postcards, I admit, but it has been home to me, and given me a taste of the independence I longed for. I have been changed by this city, undoubtedly for the better, and that I am grateful for.

Whatever happens hereafter, I do know there will always be a part of me that is at home here. I will never be French, but like the house cat, Sasha, I feel comfortable. For now, and the for time left in this particular chapter of my life, this is exactly where I want to be.

Winter Comes to Paris

It’s the last day of the month, and tomorrow Advent begins, but it seems the weather is ahead of itself here, because after a faint and disappointing flurry this afternoon, it is now full-on snowing in Paris.

And the stars have aligned for me, because tomorrow I don’t have work until four, and am free to spend the day reveling in it!

I think I’ve been a better blogger this month than I have been in some previous months. Hopefully I can keep it up over December, but since things are going to be busy (special highlights include a coach trip towards and through London the day before Christmas Eve – madness!) I can only promise to do my best.

For the record, bringing a wool coat to Paris is among the best decisions of my life. I’ll need it tomorrow, when I intend to go for a long long walk and hunt for inspiration in the snow.

Life in Paris, etc.

Summer is a distant memory, and the wind in Paris is the kind that tightens the skin on your face. It’s almost winter, and my favourite time of year.

I’ve been busy! This week one of my best friends paid me a visit, and we tried to do everything there is to do in Paris. We went to and around the Musée du Louvre and the Musée d’Orsay, up and under the Arc de Triomphe, along the river as far as we could walk, and down beneath the streets to see the millions of skeletons buried in the Catacombs. And of course it wouldn’t be a true Parisian trip without a croissant, a French crêpe, and an evening view of the Eiffel Tower.

She even met my boyfriend, the first of my friends to do so in person. I was feeling really quite shy before Dekka arrived, wondering if they would like each other, but spoiler alert: of course they did. All in all, a most satisfying episode of my life.

Work and university have got me so stressed I’m like a thread held at maximum tension, but I’m holding it together, and getting stuff done. I’ve managed to get myself into a good rhythm, and I think this is it. This is what it means to be doing just fine.

Poems have been happening, and plans, and writing, and everything seems to be coming together in one great glorious smorgasbord of experiences. I know I’m going to look back on this period of my life with great fondness, and there isn’t a day that goes by without me feeling immense gratitude towards the University of East Anglia. Sometimes things really do work out better for taking a different path than the one you first chose, so thank God they rejected my application.

I could write more, but the truth is this is only a distraction from the work I should be doing. Next time I update, I think it will be almost time for Christmas! 😀 Until then…

Autumn News

So, it looks like I’ve been off the grid for a bit… again. Like most of my creative outputs, blogging seems to come in fits and starts. One month I have too many ideas, and the next, not enough.

A lot has happened since I last updated that I didn’t write about at the time, but I think sometimes that’s the way of things. The most important moments strip away any ability to articulate them. I have to break them into pieces, and write about those pieces rather than the incident as a whole. Quite often I also have to wait a while, if I’m to stand any chance of being more objective than sentimental.

But wait over.

I started university five weeks ago, and I’m already waist deep in a gritty essay, a short story about carnivorous mermaids (less weird than it sounds), and the looming shadow of my dissertation. Here I breathe a sigh of relief, because going back to education has proved a good decision, and I’m enjoying it, maybe even more than I did before.

And let’s talk about now.

We can’t without saying that the Parisian summer is just about over. It’s officially the time of year when spiders creep inside the house, ghostly encounters are most likely to happen, and the gutters fill up with leaves.

And I have some personal news… which is that unexpectedly, accidentally, and without my having a great deal of say in the matter, I have fallen in love. And maybe it’s a strange thing to say, but I don’t want to write about it. It’s like a secret I’ve been trusted with. One which I’m not only happy to keep, but one which I feel privileged to have been trusted with in the first place.

How insufferable.

I’m going before I give into the temptation to be annoyingly self-indulgent, but I just want to welcome you, my new followers, and thank you, the less new, for your continued interest. My output has been poor for the last month or so, but I am truly flattered that you find my site worth visiting.

Here’s hoping it will be a productive autumn, for me and for you!

I’ll write again soon, but until then…
Deanna, out ❤

I’m Back!

It’s official. I’ve moved house.

I’m now living on the other side of Paris, in a house, which is every bit the antiquated (somewhat dilapidated) writer’s retreat I was hoping to find. Complete with a creaky stairs, dark wood furnishings and a spider or two, it vaguely reminds me of Howl’s Moving Castle.

Howl’s Moving Castle (2004)

And that’s to say nothing of the rambling garden that sprawls out the back. There are grapes and plums, plenty of trees, and a handful of cats who sit by the little pond.

At night I can hear the rumbling sound of the trains heading into the city, and the view from my second floor window is wonderful – white buildings poking up through the greenery on the hill.

I’ve lost a housemate, but gained three more. My landlady is French, green-fingered, and a genuine hippie, and I share the upstairs with an Indian PhD student. There is also an Italian who lives in the basement, and they are all lovely.

In other news, I’m going back to work in a few days, which is just as well, since my financial state is a sorry one. I am not (yet) truly poor, but I have been reduced to frugality, and the bad exchange rate is not helping me when it comes to the monstrous sum of my tuition fees.

But that being said, there are far worse places to be without means than the city in which to be a penniless artist is something of a lifestyle.

I have also visited my university for the first time, and it is tiny, but also rather pretty. The thought of going back and studying gives me mixed feelings. I’m half dreading it, especially from a social angle (I was never much good at choosing the right friends last time round), but also I’m hoping it will reinvigorate me into some kind of disciplined writing schedule.

At the moment I’m being a bit of a flake with my own novel, forever promising that I’ll finish this scene and edit another, and really not achieving much. It will be good to go back to having the structure of a curriculum, but it will be a shame to give up the freedom of life without deadlines.

Last night I went out in the city, and walked home from the station in the early morning light. There was a thunderstorm just as I arrived back at the house, so I sat on my windowsill and watched the white cracks split across the sky. Wearing a disheveled pair of smart trousers and nursing my aching feet, I felt lucky to be awake at just the right time.

Unicorns in August

I’m in Glasgow, holidaying. I’ve done all sorts of exciting things, like climbing The Lighthouse for an aerial view of the city, visiting Kelvingrove Park (I wrote a poem there, like a brooding misery no one should ever aspire to be), and walking Sauchiehall Street from end to end.

It’s been fun, but soon it will be time to go to Paris, and I’m in really quite a terrible state, having spent the past few days holed up in my friend’s flat whilst she works.

I’ve been house-hunting, and my goodness it is an awful, exasperating task.

Having trawled the sites, and sent an obscene number of requests for viewings, the only thing to do this afternoon is see who comes back to me. I feel burnt out, and really not at all ready to start university in less than a month, but if there’s one thing truer than all the rest, it’s that time waits for no one.

Tonight it will be cocktails, a third round of planning the wedding my best friend’s boyfriend has yet to propose, and goodbyes, again.

I think I must be getting quite good at them, by now.

Tomorrow, in the company of my little blue and green suitcase (more stylish than it sounds, I assure you), I’ll be off, back across the Channel, and into my first autumn abroad.

Like, aaah! How is it here already? How is my French still so bad? But there’s no time for theatrics. It’s time for me to grow up, and buckle up, for whatever lies ahead.

I really, really want a distinction for my MA thesis. And I think it’s feasible, but it means I’ve got to get organised. So tomorrow afternoon there’ll be no relaxing after the flight. I’ll be landing in Paris like a storm, and going to get things in order.

Wish me luck! Perhaps I’ll update soon, if this blogging streak continues…?