A sure sign that you've lost your blogging mojo is when you can't even remember your blog's access password.
So I went to Paris and it was fabulous. But before I show you all my pretty pictures, I thought I would share with you the most important bit I learned on my trip. And that is: how not to dress for Paris.
The French ‘météo’ said the week would be warm and cold, rainy and sunny. I’m a terrible packer to begin with but this was no help at all. I was clever to bring a hip trench coat, fitted and belted, bought for the occasion at the Gap (a wild fashion move for me. When you’re used to target brand clothing, gap clothing makes you feel senselessly extravagant.)
Remember that line they say constantly in Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris: ‘Paris is so much more beautiful in the rain’ ? Well I can’t say if it is more beautiful. But I can guarantee that it’s a great deal wetter. Over the course of 20 years in Southern California I must have acquired a romanticized vision of rain. I thought, no sweat. I can handle rain and a temperature in the 50s. I am a born Parisian after all.
Wrong! I cannot! Not with that kind of rain, and not with that kind of wind.
Within an hour of Day 1, my boots were drenched, my socks were wet, and I found out that my too long wide-legged jeans made for a terrific sponge. The fabric being stretchy (for comfort) my pants became heavier and heavier as I walked, and as it absorbed more gutter water. At the point of saturation they began an irrepressible downward motion. Soon it felt like my undies were being pull down with it something awful. So for the rest of the day, as I walked through Paris, I had to constantly pull my jeans up. Not easy to do when you’re wearing a raincoat that’s tied at the waist. Well, easy enough but definitely not the French Chic I was going for. I was cold. I looked like a chien mouillé. I was miserable.
By day two, I was prepared. The jeans were painfully constricted into the boots, and I had layered every sweater I had brought under the tight- fitted raincoat. The choice being to be ridiculously sausaged or frozen solid, I chose what they call in France the ‘saucisse’ look.
Because they don’t make windshield wipers for eyeglasses, ( had forgotten all about glasses and rain!) I bought a cheap umbrella at Monoprix. It was too cheap. It did not even last the week, what with being overturned by a new violent gust of wind every minute or so. My hair, which is used to the zero percent humidity of Southern California regressed to its primordial kink.
And here you have it; my attempt at looking dignified and fashionable in Paris, the wishful before and the unfortunately after.
Things got better, much better from there (though the weather continued to suck) and I'll post images in the next few days. If I can remember my password next time.