que je change de cap, de capitale

riding to work, velib included, originally uploaded by julienpaul.

The office was still bustling while I started packing up. It was actually happening: in the middle of a huge competition I was going to be able to keep my long planned four day weekend to London to see the National and Jonsi. There had been nights of stress when I was sure my bosses would tell me it just wasn’t possible as there was too much work to do, but this once things were going to work out ok.
I logged onto gmail to send myself a few files just in case I had some time to work on them on the Eurostar and noticed an email in my inbox. I opened it and read it.

“Um.” I said to the two workmates at my table. “David Chipperfield’s office just asked if I was in London this weekend for an interview.”

“That’s great” Guillaume said, looking up from his work. “Isn’t it?”

“Um. Well. Yeah.” I had sent off the CV to David Chipperfield’s office three months earlier and it had somewhat been forgotten amongst the 80 or so CVs I had sent.

The irony was that I had been leaving work early to try and pass by my gym and sign up for a years subscription while the rates were still cheap. I was so close to accepting staying in Paris for at least another year.

So, I hesitated, and went to meet up with Nat next to the canal instead. The wine was excellent, and I was euphoric due to the prospect of seeing Jonsi and the National (and Nat’s fine company, obviously). Somehow the whole job interview business just seemed like a surreal addition. Nat and I finished off a bottle each, had a wonderful meal, and the next morning I hopped on the Eurostar.

Well, the weekend was wonderful; Jonsi was beautiful and the National made me feel warm and fuzzy for weeks after. And on that rainy Monday when London was having a transport strike I did two interviews and got the job. The starting date was going to be almost exactly one year after quitting my last long term job.

The next month passed by in a snowy gloom. Work got tough, the competition deadline approached. As usual though, friend’s and alcohol made things bearable. Now that I knew I was going to leave Paris my time left seemed too short. Everything was already seeping into nostalgia: will this be my final trip to the Buttes Chaumont? Will this be my final Shrek at the Kitsch? Soulwaxmas at La Villette, the insane end of year drinks with my work where I still don’t know how I got home (and I am sure I didn’t pay for any of my drinks, but the bar owner took the same metro home as me and he didn’t mention anything, so it’s all ok).

Paris also continued to show me its quirks:

While taking the metro home late one night a young man hopped on at the station after mine and started a familiar spiel: “hello, my name is Jean, I’m 25 and recently I lost my job and my house. If you have a ticket rest, or...”

Meanwhile, a muttering could be heard from the other end of the carriage: “I don’t have a house, I don’t have any money, if you could please...” A much older man, shabbily dressed, completely drunk, was giving the same speech.

The younger man stopped and shook his head. “I don’t believe this. Can’t you see I am talking?” He said to the older man. The older man seemed confused. “This is my carriage, go away, go home, everyone can see you are drunk”.

People were both laughing and a little uncomfortable that the younger man seemed to be so aggressive to the older. The young man apologised to everyone, and then pulled the older man off the train with him at the next station.

A few days later Ray and I would be walking around the gare St Lazarre, freezing to death, and wanting a tea. Ray stared at the prices in horror: 5 euros 20 for a tea? I tried to explain that it was normal for this area, but that didn’t seem to make things better for him. We found a place that sold a pot of tea bag tea for 4 euros 20, and a demi of beer for 4 euros; at least it would take us out of the cold.

I was in mid sip of my beer when I noticed a mouse running around the neighbouring table. I was somewhere between amused and a little worried. I called out to the “garcon” and he shrugged, said “so what”, and told me that the mouse was very well behaved.

When I came back from new years in Cologne I found myself with two days to get my stuff together for London, and everything started moving so quickly. I hopped on a train, and suddenly I now lived in London. Paris had slipped away without me really realising, and the whole move is still only slowly sinking in.