It's not goodbye, it's au revoir

Perhaps I'm being premature in writing this farewell post, but I think it's an illustration of how far I have mentally checked out of Paris, even though I am still physically here for another three months.

But things are now official. I've handed in my notice at work and on my flat. I've started to get quotes for removals. I'm counting down the days until I leave Paris for my new life in Brighton on the south coast of England.

How will I feel when I sit on that beach and look across the English Channel to where I know France is lying on the other side? I don't know. Nostalgic, perhaps. Sad, it's possible. Proud, without a doubt.

Living in Paris was one of those dreams that I never thought would come true, but somehow it did. Partly it was luck and circumstance. Partly it was me taking the risk to give it a go. It was honestly one of the best decisions I've ever made in my entire life. Both for the experience of living in this amazing and infuriating city, and for the pride I've felt from achieving such a goal.

I know there are things about Paris that I will miss, I probably won't even realise what half of them are until I'm back in the UK. But right now I'm just excited about the future and my new life in Brighton. Back home to a country and city I love, and near the people I love.

I'm excited for my six month creative sabbatical that I'm planning on taking in 2015. I'll be learning hand embroidery and working on crochet designs and trying to learn how to dressmake. And I'll be blogging about it all from my new blog: lizzystitchyfingers.blogspot.com. 

And although it will become considerably harder to find decent croissants, at least when I'm sitting on that cold and stoney beach in Brighton a few months from now and look across the Channel I'll be able to say to myself, "I did it. And it was amazing."

Two legs good, two wheels better

At the end of April, my team was relocated to offices far far far from civilisation. To a location beyond the Boulevard Peripherique. I can almost hear your gasps of horror from here.

My journey to work changed from half an hour to just under one hour. I tortured myself by constantly calculating how many extra hours I was spending on public transport (4.17 hours a week, 83.33 hours a week, 3749.85 hours a year), and I spent half the journey to work tutting and huffing and sighing about how much I hated my commute.

I was turning into one of ‘those’ people you see on the metro. Something had to give.

After trying all possible routes of getting to and from work, I started to think that maybe I’d cycle, at least part of the way. I’ve long wanted to make use of the Velib bike share system in Paris, but have always been put off by all the cars and buses and vans that are just itching to mow me down as I wobble along the side of the road.

But desperate times call for desperate measures, and with the reassurance that a large part of the journey is along a safe and calm bike path next to the Bois de Boulogne, I paid my €29, bought a (far from) s*xy helmet, and prepared to take to the roads.

The first morning was a bit of a disaster. I didn’t check the bike before I removed it from the holder and it turns out it was without a chain, a rather essential part of any bike journey. Having already checked a bike out I wasn’t allowed to take another one for fifteen minutes. I didn’t realise this at the time and thought my card was blocked, so I resumed my huffing and puffing and tutting and caught the bus instead.

Note to self. Always check the bike has a chain, both pedals, pumped tyres, functional seat, and functional brakes before setting off.

Since then, I’ve taken a grand total of five Velib journeys, and this morning was the first morning that I didn’t get lost of my way to work. Hurrah!

It’s true, that my legs do ache a little bit from the 25ish minute journey (I still have to get the metro part of the way), and my hair looks even dodgier than usual after sweating under a helmet. But this morning I arrived into work feeling alive and happy after my little cycle work-out. These are not feelings that work generally inspires, so all I can say, is vive la Velib!