rue de la sorbonne

Mercredi, 22 October, 10.54am

Spent my first night at chez Alice. I’m a bit in love with my new temporary home. Small and cosy. One room, and a bathroom I have to walk through sideways. Not a lot of arm room in the shower, as I discovered this morning. But it works. Tout est agréable. The heating is permanently on, so without the window open it’s too warm and I feel sleepy. Perhaps this is why the German’s had the heater on all the time - maybe it’s a cold Europe thing.

Yesterday I washed clothes, did some grocery shopping, unpacked my bags, made a bed, made coffee and tea... and felt great pleasure in all of this. After a week of traipsing about, it’s nice knowing I have 21 days here. That I won’t be dragging my suitcase across uneven (yet pretty) paving for some time. I walked here through rain, knowing it didn’t matter if I got wet, because I had a home awaiting me, and all the luxuries that come with that – refrigerated food, a shower, a toilet, warm and clean clothing, a bed, a view of the Sorbonne.

It seems a lot of locals don’t have such things. The homeless are different to those in Australia. There, the more visible homeless (those who ask for money) appear to have drug dependencies, and are often young. Here, people asking for money are typically old, and often silent but for the gesture of holding out a cup of coins. I find it more upsetting. The person asking for spare change in Surry Hills (assuming they’re homeless at all) has the potential to find accommodation, to change their situation. The 80 year old woman on Pont Notre Dame does not. Her eyes are piercing and sad.

One week down, five to go. My reading skills are much improved, but I still struggle to comprehend spoken words. Which frustrates me, as I’d like to have a conversation. I put the radio on first thing this morning but found it difficult to concentrate, and tiring.

After breakfast, I did a little work on my Research Proposal. I don’t have the net here for another week, so now is the time for this. Just me, unconnected, with lots of words to give. With my inability to have conversations, I find I’m writing a lot more – as per my wordy emails and blogging. I also have a written journal, in which writing is easier, and editing is absent, as I’m not thinking about you (the reader). It sits in my backpack and comes out when I stop in gardens and cafés, to rest my feet, or fill my belly.