Part 2: Fragments of Paris

I decidedly had a better time in Paris than I had in London, but somewhere along the way of writing posts about the experience, I lost sight of multiple displeasures there, and started thinking about spending a week there next year.

I had it all planned out: I was going to visit the Musée Cernuschi for Asian art, the Musée Quai Branly, which would continue my tradition of visiting so-called ethnographic museums in Europe (and show me more Asian cultural objects), the Musée d'Ennery (for a private collection of Chinese and Japanese art), the Musée d'Histoire d'Immigration (again, because an entire floor was closed in 2025), the Musée de la Orangerie (for Monet and other famous fine art), the Musée Jacquemart-André (for more fine art), and the Musée of Jewish Art and Civilisation. I was also interested in The House of Culture of Japan and the Arab World if I had time. 

Then I downloaded Nomadic Matt's guide to Paris, and I had a flashback to my feelings of anxiety through most of those Parisian adventures. The people felt inaccessible to me (even though I opened any interaction with French), and this caused me to feel lonely and like I couldn't rely on anyone to guide me. I felt an unmet need for human connection and the kindness of strangers. 

You may remember that I asked the barista at the 'City of Light' café to recommend a good salad in Le Marais. He dismissed my enquiry by commenting that the area was very touristy, and that no place came to mind. He could have redirected me to another person nearby who might have the knowledge I sought, but didn't. I managed on my own (and found the place with the delicious crêpes that also served salads), but I was disappointed in him. 

Admittedly, there was one chatty receptionist at our hotel who recommended French specialties that the locals were fond of, and that was how I ended up trying foie gras, but apart from her, my experience with Parisians was unfortunately uninviting. 

The pollution of the air and grittiness of the urban surroundings were other sources of displeasure, as were the high prices of hotels and other goods and services. All of a sudden it became clear to me that although visiting Paris repeatedly was lucrative to many Australians and people around the world, it was not, generally speaking, my sweet spot. I will look elsewhere for slow travel in the near future. 

Something curious happened during those four days in and around Le Marais, though. I was reminded of my former influence - French and otherwise - of postmodernism. Reproduced in the Musée d'Histoire d'Immigration is a photograph of Jean-Paul Sartre and Michel Foucault participating in an antiracism protest in the 1970s. Dad and I passed by the Latin Quarter's Café des Deux Magots and Café des Flores, where intellectuals such as Simone de Beauvoir and her long-time partner discussed their ideas. I had memories of a more innocent time, a time of abundant inspiration, jotting down story or non-fiction writing ideas in a journal, the outlines of the book I wanted to write in 2002-2004, words like 'fragments' and 'narrativity', sexual exploration and concepts of revolution (before I knew anything about social democracy and left-wing political culture). 

I remembered peppering my language with Ps, writing my name into narrative existence, and relishing the French connotations of 'Epiphanie'. I remembered efforts to bring the Chinese tones into the English language. I remembered trying to make my writing crisp and economical, and further on, incorporating Scandinavian terseness into English. 

This had the effect of reconnecting me to past versions of myself I had forgotten. Old Epiphanies had a lot of wisdom and talent that today's Epiphanie can be inspired by. There is power in each place to bring out a part of yourself you can't necessarily access anywhere else. Merci alors, Paris.  

The Joy of Smaller Places

Many travellers to Europe are excited by its megacities, London and Paris. Many more still appreciate its pulsating capital cities, such as Berlin, Amsterdam and Madrid. I find that, perhaps because I spend the majority of my time in Sydney, which fits the description of 'pulsating capital city' very well, I prefer the smaller places.

Upon sharing my post 'London and Berlin' with two friends, they both had the same follow-up question: Did you enjoy them? Reader, I must confess, that I felt mostly overwhelmed there. The sights (and some aspects of daily life) were stimulating in a positive way, but, well let's take London:

Two out of three of the attractions I saw, the National Portrait Gallery and the Museum of Natural History, were uncomfortably crowded. Viewing individual displays was a matter of waiting (in the case of the Museum in a hot room), bumping into other sweaty people, and processing a lot of human-generated noise and movement. I left both of these environments earlier than I could have because I ended up overwhelmed. Even though many of the displays were fascinating, the circumstances were such that I knew I would have a better experience if I left before I was totally frayed. 

In addition, travelling from my hotel to these attractions was draining, whether I caught the underground or the bus. On the latter, somebody near me was blasting Dua Lipa interviews on their smartphone. I usually enjoy hearing her voice, but on this occasion it made my eyes water. I tried to overcome irritation and overwhelm by telling myself that I was having an English cultural experience, but it didn't work - only after 30 mins of pain did I get to remove myself from there. 

On the street, I was ever-conscious of keeping a hand draped over my cross-body bag at all times (to prevent theft), while checking out of the impulse to consult my phone, as the place was notorious for phone-snatching. This inserted an element of stress into my pace.

(I will put in a good word for Leighton House, though - the nervy 25 min walk from my hotel was made worthwhile by the rich influences from Morocco, Egypt, Syria and other Arab countries adorning the walls, and incorporated into the interior design.)

So overstimulation was a regular feature of my stay. I can say that I had an interesting experience (one worth writing about), but not much of an enjoyable one. I don't think I'll return in the near future. Perhaps when I was younger and more energetic a month-long stay in London appealed to my inner architecture, but at 41 years of age it seems like a chore or an obligation - and why do it when there are other, more pleasurable options?

And this brings me to places I know I find pleasure in, such as Coimbra and Óbidos in Portugal - a small city and a village, respectively. In Coimbra, a woman went out of her way to help me and my Mum make the most of our stay, approaching us on the street after overhearing us discussing tickets on the bus. She explained that a multi-ticket card was available from a certain kiosk which would cut down on our costs. It was very friendly of her, and the kind of warm regard for your fellow human that is more typical of slower-paced, lesser populated places.  

Meanwhile, in Óbidos, every person I passed greeted me with "Bom Día," a polite custom that applied not only to regular community members but to this foreigner, who was wearing a rainbow image on my hat. Rural homophobia? I didn't see any. (Maybe I would have found some degree of it if I had stayed longer and had deeper interactions with the locals, but on the surface, at least, everything was fine.)

I do not yet have a clear idea of where I might travel next year, but for now I will remember my own hard-earned wisdom: stay off the beaten path as much as possible. This is my personal formula for maximising travel enjoyment. 

Key Words/Phrases

When I’m out in public, I will often guide my mind (and hence emotions) to less stressful states than I start the journey with.

I might tell myself to ‘just notice’ the sensations in my body, perhaps focusing on a specific part of it, like my neck or stomach. 

I tell myself I am a Person of Conviction. I tell myself that feeling comfortable is more important than performing feminist body language to passers-by. I remind myself to relax. 

At home, I listen to self-development podcasts like ‘Unf*ck Your Brain’. Today I ventured outside my comfort zone with 2 hours of reading. 

I care about eating delicious-tasting vegetables every meal, and enjoy putting it into practice. 

Sometimes I let myself down, and then forgiveness is hard. I make less time for self-compassion. But I try to get back to that.

I am learning.