Victory! I took the 7.51 bus today. The roads are empty, and all the devils are snug in their beds. I feel godly.
I walked the last leg from the busstop and the rush hour was just creeping in, but it was still quiet. Parents with their kids, a lady with her dog, a boy giving his scooter a good deal of welly, and two men running together side by side. Houses in pastels and autumnal colours. Leaves, the colours of the houses. The sky, calm.
I popped into a baker’s for a cinnamon roll and a raspberry briochette, and got into work at 8.55.
Work was quite empty today. There were at most 5 of us, including myself and my boss. It was chill. I sorted the post and invoices, completed a training document, tried to complete a second, made a stationery order with my boss, did some practical training, connected my phone to the landline (marvels of modern technology – I shall now never be idle). We passed 3/4 of a loaf left on our steps on our way into town (bizarre, and only something that could happen in France, I swear), we had lunch; I tried another bakery with my boss and we both got beautifully scammed by the salads.
Picture a sea of smoked salmon, diced avocado, halved cherry tomatoes, with a single boiled egg bobbing in the middle. They ask you if you want to take a balsamic or house French dressing with it. Then you take it back to the office, turn it out onto a plate and – pouf! – the sea is four score fathoms of salad leaves. It was still a food salad though, and came with a decent chunk of baguette. My colleague asked if anyone wanted to share his tiramisu. Well, I really couldn’t say no. Tiramisu is the taste of childhood for me, and I’m occasionally curious to see if anyone can possibly match up to my mother’s (they haven’t). The verdict on his part was that it wasn’t great – the cream was too thick and the biscuits weren’t soaked enough. I said I would bring my mother’s recipe in for everyone to try. The pressure is now on.
I got out of work thinking that I need to now go and acquire an adaptor for my home laptop, which came with me all the way from NZ some 6 years ago. The place to buy one is the Fnac, so it meant I needed to go into Paris.
A trip on business quickly became a trip for pleasure. I decided tonight I’m going to the theatre. What am I seeing? I don’t know. Let’s look it up. I settle on “12 Hommes en Colère”, Twelve Angry Men, at the Théâtre Hébertot. The cheapest tickets online are 15€, which is not bad going.
It took a double-take to get there. I thought I’d missed my stop at Auber, and idiotically got off at Vincennes, thinking I’d overshot. I had been on my phone writing this blogpost.
Advice: Have some idea of the stops you need to pass before yours on a train or bus ride in a strange city, and pay attention, and don’t lose your head.
I got back on the RER, but making a detour through the Champs-Élysées was no longer on the table, and neither was dropping into a brasserie. It was to be off the train, and to the theatre. Which was stressful. This was the one time I actually thought “Take Google Maps estimated commute time and subtract 30%” may no longer apply. There are so many people on the streets, and nobody gives a fig, it would seem! And the cars. Oh. But the cyclists and motorcyclists, speeding past red lights at pedestrian crossings… Yikes.
I still got there, about the time Google said, 10 minutes early the performance, a sweaty mess – sorry, positively glowing, as ladies do.
“Horses sweat, men perspire, but ladies merely glow.“
I’d got a ticket to sit in the circle, but they had upgraded many of us to “Orchestre”, or stalls (42€ ordinarily). I had a prime view of the show. It could well have been my birthday.
The play was fabulous. I wasn’t convinced initially, but it grew on me. I guess part of it was the language barrier – it takes a while for me, though I spend my days in a French-speaking office, to warm up. Once I did though, yes, some I still didn’t understand, but most of it, I did. And the lines were great.
The premise is a Jury deliberating the verdict on a murder trial – patricide, by a 16 year old boy, who, if found guilty, stands to be executed on the electric chair. Eleven of the Jury vote Guilty, but one disagrees. They must discuss the case further.
Should I ruin it for you?
I will try not to. Believe me when I say it was genius. If you get the chance, go and see it. It’s an American work, by Reginald Rose, adapted in French by Francis Lombrail. It addresses crime, classism, the nature of truth and certainty, justice, father-son relationships as they come, morality, what it means to be mortal.
Here’s me, trying to get over heartbreak, going to a serious, modern play. I don’t regret it at all. I am buzzing. I ran back to Auber with the word “Liberty” coursing through my every capillary. This is what I came here for, this is what I’m staying here for, and everything in between.
Advice 2, which you have doubtless often heard before, but I will remind you anyway: A bit of fun, a bit of craziness, a bit of LIFE, is good for the health.
Oh, and other news: I had the conversation I needed to with my landlady. I will come home and cook dinner at or before 7pm 😊 There was nothing to be afraid of.
Now, here’s to a restful weekend, a productive weekend, an adventurous weekend.
At Least Afloat 