The first step to recovery is admitting that one cannot control one’s addiction or compulsion.

I admit that I have a big, BIG problem with markets.

Today, at the market, I cried over salad.

Yes. Salad.

M and I were at the Italian stand, [...]]]> My name is Kristie. Not only am I a baguette-a-holic, but I am also a market-a-holic.

The first step to recovery is admitting that one cannot control one’s addiction or compulsion.

I admit that I have a big, BIG problem with markets.

Today, at the market, I cried over salad.

Yes. Salad.

M and I were at the Italian stand, trying to work our what type of fresh ravioli we would buy, when a radiant green flashed in the corner of my eye.

A row of different types of salad leaves, in separate wicker baskets.

The first, carrying baby spinach leaves, even more beautiful than their name in French: “Jeunes pousses d’epinards”. How can I explain how perfect they were? Tender, fresh, without a single blemished leaf? How is it possible to have a whole basket of delicate leaves without them looking a little transport-weary? I could have sworn that he had picked each leaf by hand and carried it delicately to rest in the basket.

The next basket was full of fine tendrils of rocket. Not the big, burn-your-mouth-out leaves that I used to buy in Woolworths supermarket in Sydney. These rocket leaves were elegant, fine, gently curling, as if asking to be placed on your fork.

And the other baskets – salad leaves that I have only seen in France, like Mache.

It was a moment of amazement and wonder and I actually welled up. How can you live in a big city, and yet have access to produce that you would normally have to go to the country to find, or grow in your own backyard?

And we’re not even in Paris central. We’re in a little suburb just outside of Paris, and yet the market is open 2 or 3 mornings a week.

This market is undercover, in a big hall on the main street. I walked past it’s grimey doors a million times, thinking it looked too ugly to warrant a visit. The supermarket was just fine by me, and if I wanted a proper market experience, then I would just join my friend, A, at the organic market on Rue de Rennes, in Paris.

But one day, M suggested we make a quick Sunday trip to get a few things before all the shops closed on Monday (yes – in most suburbs, all the shops and restaurants close on Mondays. If you dont have anything in the fridge to eat for Monday night’s dinner – you’re stuffed).

Wow – from a dingy entrance, into a fabulous market atmosphere inside. There are:

• 3 cheese stalls (including my favourite husband and wife stall, where they always seem to be bickering and laughing together)
• one basic butchery, one butchery selling offal, and one butchery selling pate, terrines, pre-prepared meat dishes etc
• 5 fruit and vege stalls, with one particularly raucous Italian fruit and vege stall where the owners always seem to be doing more talking, giving kids strawberries to taste and general frivolity, than selling. I dont know how they do it, but they always have a crowd.
• 2 fish stalls (I avoid these like the plague – the smell for me is just too fishy!!)
• 2 flower/plant stalls (you name it – they got it)
• one wine stall (poor guy is always lonely. Everyone prefers the cute man in the bottleshop across the road)
• one cured meats stall (cured meats from everywhere – Corsica, French mountains, Italy, yum yum…)
• one italian stall, with mozzarella de buffala, fresh pasta, fresh pasta sauce, salami, proscuitto and delicious antipasti
• one stall that just does olives, tapenade and antipasti – thats it.
• one stall that just does potatoes and herbs – and salad…..

Now,  every Sunday, I promise myself that I will only buy the necessities: the things that we have run out of from our 2 weekly supermarket shop, or the things that we cant get anywhere else. I promise myself that I will only buy the items I have written on the list. This is partly because the market is more expensive than the supermarket, but also as a way to control my addiction.

Some weeks, I succeed in only buying the things on the list – hurrah!

Other weeks, I just lose myself in the whirlwind of delicious market goodness; the people, the dogs, the banter between stallholder and local – and I want it too. I want to be given chunks of cheese to taste by the cheeseman, I want the fruit and vege man to greet me with a smile, I want the potato man to say “oh well, its better to have a big tall fiance with a big appetite than a small weedy one!” as he piles an extra couple of spuds in the bag. If I pass a fresh and beautifully pink pork fillet that has never seen a styrofoam tray or chemical preservatives – how can I leave it behind? I imagine that everything I buy from the market is full of vitamins, minerals and health-giving properties, and will without doubt be more delicious than anything I can buy from the “Auchan” supermarket (whether that’s true for everything in the market, I dont know, but the placebo effect works fabulously on me!).

Sometimes, the market isnt even about me, it’s just about watching how other people interact, watching how they choose their produce, listening to the conversations two women are having about their husbands and their work. I listen to the politeness, the protocol of the market, how things must be displayed, the interaction between stallholders who discuss whether it’s time to start packing up or if they can put aside a fillet of salmon for a customer who has just bought some fennel and lemons. This is the true France, the true meeting point of the neighbourhood – and I love it.

If there is such a thing as heaven, I am absolutely positive that there will be a market there.

I took his advance and really DID try to just not be too hard on myself even though I really DID feel like things were all too hard, not clear, being [...]]]> I was looking back at my horoscope for 2009 (thank you Jonathan Cainer), and thought that, yet again, he really hit it on the head.

I took his advance and really DID try to just not be too hard on myself even though I really DID feel like things were all too hard, not clear, being pulled in 2 directions. Just when I felt like things were going my way, they would just as quickly start to “rewind” and completely fall away. I did try to just enjoy the ride, and I think that was the best advice anyone could have given me.

I really did think I would find a job in Paris in 2009. Well, I did. I found 2. But then they didnt have time to wait until my work visa was processed. Hence – back to square 1.

I thought I would be able to rent my own apartment, and set up my own little Parisian life. Well, I did get a cool little vibe going, just in a rented room. OK, I’ll admit, it wasnt really what I’d hoped for, but I was so lucky to find great landlords and be located in the best area in Paris (the Marais .

I did NOT want a permanent boyfriend. Too many things to do, experience, see etc. And yeah. I got a permanent boyfriend. But then, turns out that he’s fabulous and was happy to come exploring with me as well. And without him, I would NEVER have had such an authentic French experience. And my French would be nowhere near the level it is now.

I wrote on my FB profile a sentence also written by Cainer for Aquarians this week:

“To live but one hour in a state of supreme joy is to fulfill the potential of a lifetime.“

And when I think about all the reasons why I felt so strongly that I needed to take the leap and move to Paris, I realise that 2009 was really the year where I lived in a state of supreme joy, despite the difficulties. I fulfilled the potential of a lifetime: for myself, and for my Mum and my grandmother, who didnt have the same opportunities that I have. All those years of crazy dreams about being a “child of the world” and living in a country that challenged my language ability and cultural beliefs – I finally did it. And maybe also (I hope), I gave those who heard about my crazy adventure, reason to keep believing in their crazy adventure, and maybe even take a more confident, excited step towards it.

Looking back over 2009, would I have changed any of it? Nope. Not one thing.

Here’s a copy of my 2009 prediction, for those who are keen on that sort of stuff

*   *   *

Aquarius
Aquarius Year Ahead 2009

Saturn and Uranus began to form an opposition towards the end of 2008. They continue to oppose each other all year and won’t go their separate ways till 2010. Thus the sky informs us that you are in a process which has got a lot further to take you and which won’t fully clear itself up for some while.

Meanwhile, Jupiter is in Aquarius, all year. That’s about as good as it gets. It means you are going to be powerful and strong. This, you may need to be because there will be moments when you feel as if you are being torn in two. Already you are trying to be in two places at the same time or are feeling two mutually exclusive demands upon your resources. How bad is that? It depends on whether you want an easy life.

Easy lives are overrated. Lots of people have them, some of the time, at least. They often find themselves feeling empty as a result. There is no chance of you having an empty existence in 2009. Every moment is going to be rich with meaning. There will be moments when it seems to you like it’s all too much, but all that’s needed is for you to stop trying to make everything perfect. At no level of your life do you face a situation which can be neatly squared off and put away with a ribbon round it.

The secret of success in 2009, is learning to deal with paradox and mystery. We have this idea that mysteries must be solved. Actually, mysteries are not meant to be solved but celebrated. They give life depth. You’ve got mysteries in your life now; things you don’t know about and things you don’t know what on earth to do with. Nor, will you necessarily know as the year goes by. If you are going to let that eat you up, you will get eaten up. But if, instead of struggling with the waves of change and challenge that come into your life, you build yourself a psychic surfboard and say, ‘I don’t care.’ you will cruise away from all the issues that have been unsatisfactory up until now. In 2009, along with the impossible things which you have to put up with, are all the impossible things that can only come into your life when you are thinking impossible thoughts. Many of those are going to be wonderful. Embrace them.

Latest update:

You have, I trust, read the accompanying article about Saturn and Uranus, their rare opposition and how, during 2009, they will bring sudden change and challenge to just about every established, conventional institution or organisation on earth. Of course you have. You’re a diligent detail-spotting Aquarian. You went straight there first. Or if you didn’t, you were intending to any moment.

I apologise for insulting your intelligence by telling you things you already know. Or failing to appreciate how ahead of the game you are. In 2009, though, you may be glad of all the helpful reminders and pointers you can get. Something is already taxing your strength and testing your patience. Your sign is governed by BOTH Saturn… and Uranus. Think of them as your guardian angels. Now envisage them standing, back-to-back across the sky, each facing away from each other, each determined to drag you along with them. Now, think of the tough choices you are already trying to make and the many more that await you. The good news? You can make a tense situation work for you, just by deciding to be less hard on yourself and less expectant of ‘perfect solutions’. The only way to fix what looks set to be this year’s biggest problem is through some kind of fudge. Never mind forever. What about for now? Break more rules. Treat yourself to more activites that truly inspire you. That’s the way ahead for you this year. But then, you already knew that, didn’t you!

That’s not to say that I didnt realise my life was good – I knew it was great.

Thats not to say either that I didnt appreciate what I had – I was so grateful for what I had.

But I [...]]]> I didnt realise how good my life was until I got here and realised it was gone.

That’s not to say that I didnt realise my life was good – I knew it was great.

Thats not to say either that I didnt appreciate what I had – I was so grateful for what I had.

But I seriously lacked the depth of understanding.

I did, really, take a lot of things for granted. Like the cheap cost of living, variety of restaurants, perfectly fabulous group of friends where each one is an absolute star that I would happily spend hours with. I didnt realise that the friends I have in Sydney are the result of year and years of culling and careful selection, a gradual build-up of fantastic people. I thought I could make friends in Paris quickly and easily, and while I’ve met lots of new people, there are not many I would be willing to keep as friends. Or is a friend an acquaintance that has shared years of trials and tribulations with you, and has become a friend through proof of commitment? I didnt realise that making friends was actually a very complex process.

I thought I would find out who my ‘real’ friends were by those who stayed in contact with me. Actually, staying in contact superficially is  quite easy and doesnt necessarily mean that someone is a good friend. Some of the people I’ve realised are good friends dont always contact me. But they are are the one’s who are first to support me when things are a bit tough, the one’s who encourage me to keep going and remind me why I’m doing this in the first place.

That said, what I also didnt realise, was how comfortable I would be here in Paris.

I knew I would like it, that I would enjoy it. I thought I would like living here.

But it’s turned out to be more than that.

I find that I have a lot in common, in general with Paris and Parisiens. I have discovered that I havent really had to change my personality to be “socially correct” all that much at all and that most of the ways I’ve changed have been in ways that I’ve enjoyed changing.

I am loving politeness. I’m loving the bitching about paying too much in taxes and yet getting so excited about government paid leisure activities (Paris Plage for example: 3 “beaches” created next to the Seine by way of truckloads of sand, temporary restaurants, palm trees, book hire, hammocks and deck chairs etc etc – who needs to leave the city for holidays?!!). I’m loving that people dont eat and walk at the same time. I love that at a dinner party everyone will agree that the wine doesnt go with the meal, and the host will put the cork back in and select another. Takeaway coffees dont exist.

I didnt realise that I would be so comfortable with the French acceptance of both the pains and joys in life. Life is lived passionately, joyfully. Even anger, sadness and depression is, I wont say “welcomed”, but “accepted” as a facet of human existence. Emotion is a normal part of living, and there is no shame in showing it publicly.

I didnt realise how much of an English “stiff upper lip” I have, and how cold and repressed I can be.

What I did realise, was that living in France would give me a whole new perspective on life. And I’m still so grateful to have the opportunity to broaden and deepen my experience of life.  I hope it makes me a better person. I think it’s started a little already

I cant tell [...]]]> About 3 months after I arrived in Paris, and after a multitude of visits to my favourite cafes and bars, hoping desperately that I would one day become like one of the Parisians and be greeted warmly by the barman, I was finally recognised by the barman at Au Petit Fer du Cheval.

I cant tell you how satisfying that was

At first it was just the barman in the evening. A flicker of recognition in his eyes. A slight smile. The next time, it was a full smile, and a “comment ca va?” (“how are you going?”), which is usually reserved only for friends.

Over the following visits, it turned into playful banter, conversations, and unexpected generosity. Like when I had a cold, but had made arrangements to meet some people for networking purposes and went anyway. The barman was shocked that I ordered a cup of tea at 8pm, but realised that I was sick. He looked concerned, and said that I should have some honey and lemon with my tea because it would be good for me. Before I could say anything, my tea, a pot of honey and some slices of lemon were sitting in front of me.

Over the last couple of weeks, the owner who works during the day started to remember me. Yesterday, Lisa and I stopped by at 4pm for a coffee and a slice (slice? more like a slab) of Tarte Tatin (caramelised apple tart) with deliciously sour creme fraiche. I clapped my hands excitedly when my plate arrived and the owner and barman laughed at me. The owner said “you know, this is really easy to make at home.”. I agreed that it looked easy but I had no idea how to make it, let alone make it as delicious as they did. He said: “Next Friday, at 8am, come past, and you can come to the kitchen and watch how we make it.” “Are you sure?” I said, and he held out his hand to shake on it.

Last week, they said I should bring my business cards down to the bar because they often have lawyers stop by and they would be able to let them know I was looking for work.

People say that French waiters can be really rude (I’ve got another post coming on that topic). And its true, sometimes they can be. There are reasons for it, which I’ll attempt to explain in the other post. But once you get past the initial “waiter/client” barrier, and you’ve established yourself as a “regular”, or even just someone who is polite, most waiters will go out of their way for you.

A friend told me that they once went to the same cafe in Potts Point (Sydney) every morning for 2 weeks and not only did the same waiter never remember his order, he didnt even remember his face.

Can you imagine Bill Granger (famous Sydney chef) inviting you to join him in the kitchen to watch how they make their pancakes? I think not….

Its funny how time just slips away from you even when you’re not working. Lots of people have asked me what I do all day, especially now that I’m not going to french classes at Alliance Francaise every morning.

But looking for work is actually a [...]]]> OK,  I admit, its been a long time between blogs. Apologies.

Its funny how time just slips away from you even when you’re not working. Lots of people have asked me what I do all day, especially now that I’m not going to french classes at Alliance Francaise every morning.

But looking for work is actually a full time job. As is familiarising yourself with the city and trying to make friends. OK, its a pretty comfy “job”, but still, it does get busy…..

And I have been blogging, just in my notebook, rather than on my blog page (naughty…..).

So, what HAVE I been doing?

Looking for a job!

My job-search strategy is to develop and use networks rather than send my CV out to every last recruitment agency and law firm in Paris. Every foreigner here says it doesnt work and now that the international law firms are sending ex-pats home and asking people to take sabbaticals, I know that my CV will literally end up cold and dusty in a grey HR folder. “cough”.

So instead, I’m joining groups! Like European Professional Women’s Network, Australian Business In Europe, Advance, Women’s Investment Group, Ex-Pats-Paris, Intonations and Meetup. OK, some of these have a dual-purpose of helping to find friends, but the more friends you have the more people you have looking out for jobs for you!

I’m also following up any leads. These are either contacts for actual jobs, people who know the industry or people who know about ways I can work in Paris legally without getting sponsored (which is pretty tricky given the current financial crisis). This has meant more coffees, lunches, afterwork drinks and strolls in the park than I care to remember! Yes, they are coffees and glasses of Cote du Rhone in quaint cafes and bars in Paris -  boo hoo poor me – but they are still “work” related nonetheless. And they take up time!

And surprisingly, the job search process has actually been quite an emotional one for me. For lots of reasons. And thats taken a lot of time mentally and emotionally to deal with, consciously and subconsciously. There’s a whole blog on that one….

Getting to know my city and my “quartier” (suburb)!

The only way to get to know your city and your suburb is to hang out it in. Yes, sometimes that means finding a cafe, sitting in it, drinking more coffee than is recommended and watching the world go by. Sometimes this will take several hours. Its not a luxury, its research. Its acclimatising. Reducing culture shock. How can you understand the daily, living culture of Paris by staring at the Mona Lisa in the Louvre? No one can say they know Paris unless they’ve spent a good portion of their life sitting in a cafe. Its their culture, I’m just trying to fit in…..

Anyway, I’ve got at least 3 more blog posts sitting in draft or in my notebook, so I promise that I’ll get them finished and out asap!

Are you happy now Adam and Andrew? Huh?