The “oh my god that’s amazing” reaction I get when telling people I will be living in Paris on my Erasmus year undoubtedly sparks a certain je ne sais quoi. Named the most romantic city on earth, home to the best artwork, crustiest baguettes and as rumour has it the rudest Frenchmen in France I have a few titles to put to the test.
On a student budget you won’t find me wining and dining on the Eiffel tower, nor at the 70 plus Michelin star restaurants, as tempting as it is to max out my overdraft… Rather you’ll find me getting an eye-full (see what I did there) and hopefully a few mouthfuls of the delicious cheeses, pastries and wines from the abundance of cafés, patisseries and hidden bars that Paris has on offer.
As a history student the city’s fascinating past is nothing short of a dream. From Voltaire to Picasso, the revolution to the Nazi occupation, Paris is not only a pretty face. Today, the capital’s present fails to disappoint. As a French student to be in the centre of domestic affairs in Macron’s first year in office is certainly an exciting place to be. What’s more, the french love to celebrate their culture which I fully intend to gate crash at the numerous (and usually free) festivals throughout the year. Needless to say, that as a 21 year old foreigner a fair portion of my time will be spent lost on the metro; wondering how many times I can say “could you repeat that” or circling the same arrondissement for the fiftieth time in search for my lecture hall.
As one of France’s most reputable Universities spanning from the original medieval foundations to the lively Latin quarter of Paris, the Sorbonne is indeed both attractive academically as well as visually. The 5th and 6th arrondissements are however not my limit. Outside the glitz and glam of Le Jardin du Luxembourg lies an intrigue for the so called ‘infamous’ banlieue (suburbs) which wall the rose tinted glow of central Paris.
A few people have warned me I will struggle to speak French in France’s Capital. Understandably with the number of anglophone tourists every year, me dithering between le la or les undeniably places me within the category of “incapable English speaking tourist.” Alternatively if I were to pick up a Parisian accent, plain stupid for not knowing the difference in the first place. Nevertheless, this does not dampen my enthusiasm. I anticipate the challenge to push my French further when I am answered in English. I’ll proudly cry “j’habite ici” whist waving my freshly bought baguette (because that’s what all Parisians do right?) I look forward to hastily word-referencing before entering the shop so I know the words for semi skimmed milk, cough syrup to ankle strap buckle fastening suede high-heels.
A year abroad is the best opportunity to go beyond classroom level language, and I
fully intend to return fluent.
Until next time,
Lily xo
