I've heard winter wears on the heartiest of souls. If that's the case, imagine what it does to a California girl!
After the wonder of snowy scenes in my little ville began to fade, I had to come to terms with the fact that I had relocated to a place that has this thing called 'seasons'.
During my first winter in Aix (the coldest in many years, according to statistics at that time - though we've had colder since...like last year when the fountains froze!), I called a friend of mine
complaining sharing about the amazingly low temperatures and the sense of being frozen from the inside. "I actually sit with a portable heater stuck up my bum in an attempt to stay warm," I whined. (This was true, by the way...well, practically true.)
"Didn't you take your winter clothes?!" he queried, his incredulous tone smacking away the shot of support I was hoping for.
"Yes, P.W., I did. All of them. But 'winter clothes' in California and 'winter clothes' here in Aix are two.very.different.things., thankyouverymuch," I
said spat back defensively.
Looking back, ski clothes might just have done the trick that first winter, but I was still adjusting to the
glares looks I was getting on the street from the French women I passed. I was certainly not ready to hit these stylish streets looking like the Michelin Man for the sake of personal comfort. (I tried to "stay curious" about this behavioral pattern of being given the once-over from head to toe with the accompanying look a cranky principal might give a 7th grader who is wearing a T-shirt that says, "The dog shit on my homework" or something like that...you get what I mean. It's a curious look and made me squirm a bit at the beginning. I've since surmised that perhaps some of these women actually *like* my style and are loathe to admit it...but I digress...)
More than simply figuring out how to recognize snowflakes as they fell from the sky and adding a few woolen items to my beach-y wardrobe, my learning curve included things like:
• purchasing a humidifier to make life less crackly and parchment-like
• drinking way more water than I thought was humanly possible
• making sure there is always a handkerchief in my coat pocket when I go out the door.
To that last point, you see, you never know when you're going to run into someone on the street and have to exchange bisous. I try to make sure my bisous are offered
sans* a runny nose. Seems only reasonable and perhaps a part of that French politesse that somehow got overlooked when the Académie Française was hammering out the Rules to Live By. (I've been known to cringe a bit when a well-intentioned runny nose is heading in toward my cheek at a rapid speed. I'm funny that way.)
Honestly, I'm pretty good with winter these days...err.... right through to the middle of January, that is. After that point, I'm pretty much done. D.O.N.E. I begin looking for signs of Spring - well, that and winter deals for a trip to Paris for a change of scenery. Which is what I'm going to do as soon as this post is up.
That's right. Winter is the time of great deals on the train. Paris - up and back - for 50€? I'm sooooo there. A little excursion will do me good. And probably all of you, too. I'll be able to tone my whining down a bit. Keep your fingers crossed. I'm ready to be sprawled out in the warm window of an art shop, dreaming of birds and bunnies like this Parisian cat rather than bundling myself up in wool scarves and mittens to head out into another wintery day in my little 'hood. Sooooo ready.
Let's take a little virtual field trip to Paris this weekend, shall we?
Stop in when you can over the weekend for more Postcards from Paris - especially those readers from the snowier corners of the world. I promise a peek at Spring.
Ciao,
Leslie
