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A few weeks ago we both started new jobs. This was a bigger deal for Toby, who hadn’t worked for 4 months and so hadn’t gotten out of bed before 8am for about the same amount of time. His official title is Management Information Analyst, some geeky IT-related thing at Scottish Gas. The office is down at Leith which means a bit of a commute (30 minutes in the morning, up to 60 at night). I’m sure if anyone is interested Toby will tell them more. I started as a temp with Scottish Widows, not a punk rock band but a pensions/investments sort of company. I know what you’re thinking, that sounds like it’s right up my alley. The pros and cons of this job are as follows.

Pros

It’s really close to home and the gym (20 and 10 minute walk respectively).
It actually has its own gym, which costs ¼ what I pay at Virgin Active, so I’m switching over at the end of this month.
I am working with actual people, in an actual team, which means I’m getting the chance to know people and (hopefully) making some friends in the process.
I’m getting paid more money.
I only have to work 7 hours a day (this actually negates the point above – I end up with the same amount in pocket as I did when I was working 7.5 hours a day).
There’s a shop just down the road that sells yummy soup.
If it’s raining or I don’t feel like leaving the building, we have our own cafeteria and coffee shop in-house (this is also a con, when the mid-afternoon sugar slump hits).
It’s a 6 month gig so it will basically keep me going until we leave Edinburgh, if I want it to.

Cons

It is an incredibly boring job. You know those financial advisors who come to your house and tell you where to invest your money? Well after they come to your house, they print up a little report and it gets sent to you with a bunch of application forms and shiny brochures. Well, I’m the person who looks at the report and puts the page numbers on it and so forth. It feeds my editing beast, kind of. Some of these advisors write like they haven’t even gone to high school, but there’s a limit to what I can change especially when I don’t understand a lot of what’s in there.
There isn’t a whole lot to do right now. In fact I’ve written this entry, the Paris entry, and more than half of my novel during working hours. Last week 3 of us got sent home at 12 (unpaid of course) because there wasn’t enough work. I don’t know if it’s going to pick up before Christmas or not, but as they haven’t fired any of us I’m assuming they think it will.
We don’t have access to the internet or email, or even Solitaire. This makes the not-having-enough-to-do thing even worse. There is an internet point in the lobby, like you have in malls or airports, but apparently it’s really slow and there’s some lady who always sits there for her entire lunch break, spilling crumbs into the keyboard.
I am totally not interested in finance. Not even a little bit. Being my parents’ daughter, I had to find a way to feel comfortable with the fact that I’m working for a company whose sole reason for existence is to make people more money. I decided that it was nice that these advisors were helping people like widows to sort out their finances so that they would have less to worry about at least. That worked until my parents sent me a book of Australian poetry for my birthday, which included a verse about financial advisors who eat widows for breakfast (or something like that). So now I’m trying to not think about the fact that not only am I not interested in the business, but I don’t even think it’s that important, in the grand scheme of things. It is making me appreciate my previous jobs even more.

There is no fridge, no microwave, and no kettle. I assume this is their way of making us eat the cheap mass-produced food in the cafeteria, but I don't like it. At all. There is a drinks machine - hot and cold water free, everything else costs 20p. I have had to buy myself one of those insulated lunch bags so I can take my lunch to work and it won't go warm and slimy (mum I think that's why I never liked school lunches, as long as I can refrigerate it, it's ok).

The most exciting thing that’s happened recently would be the purchase of Toby’s motorbike. Because the commute out to Leith every day was resulting in such long days (up at 6 to go to the gym, home after 6) Toby decided he needed some transport and what else would Toby want but a motorbike. The day we went to Paris, he went to Glasgow to look at bikes. Of course I was very supportive and completely understood why he would go to Glasgow to look at motorbikes when he needed to be on a 3pm bus to the airport (ha). But still it was very exciting when I got a phone call later in the day and he told me he’d put a deposit on a BMW bike. Last Saturday we were up bright and early to go and pick it up. It wasn’t even in Glasgow but was in Paisley, so that required two trains and a bit of walking, in the rain of course, because it’s always raining in Glasgow. They’d nicely put the bike inside out of the rain, so while they sorted out the paperwork we walked up to the post office to pay for the tax (rego) which of course can only be done at a post office, not all of which do tax, not all of which are open on Saturdays. Toby had done a lot of research and made a lot of phone calls to find nearby post offices, but in the end the guys in the shop directed us to one in the Paisley plaza. Even though Paisley itself hadn’t been very inspiring (exactly how you’d imagine a fairly industrial suburb of Glasgow), the plaza itself was quite pleasant and there was even a farmer’s market going on. I found this very exciting as we have yet to find anything similar in Edinburgh. We sorted out the tax and ate weird Scottish meat pies (the filling was kind of like a rissole – delicious but odd) and then went back to the bike shop to get kitted out in our new bike gear. I am now the proud owner of my very own motorbike helmet and jacket. We had very cleverly worn thermals under our clothes which I think was absolutely vital. The rain had stopped but it was still windy (it’s always windy here) and generally very Scottish, weather-wise. The trip home was brilliant, if a little chilly and longer than it had to be due to getting lost. It feels great to finally have our own transport. We are planning lots of little trips out of Edinburgh to see more of the coast and countryside, which we haven’t really done so far. The rest of the weekend was taken up with other bike-related things, like riding out to Toby’s work to test different routes, and buying a sat nav system so we’re not relying on Google Map print outs sticky-taped to the tank (which is how we’d gotten home from Glasgow). Edinburgh is certainly a fun city on a motorbike, what with all the hill starts and cobbled streets. We have seen parts of it that we would never have seen before and looking forward to a lot more exploring now we’re more mobile.
So now that the birthday in Paris is over and we are working hard it’s time to look forward to Christmas, which we’re spending in Edinburgh with my sisters. We’ve booked three nights in Berlin over New Year’s and are starting to think about a jaunt to Prague in January or February, as it is a city high on our list of must sees. Probably not the most pleasant time of year to visit Eastern Europe, but that’s ok. I’m also going to go and visit Ali in Dublin in a few weeks’ time – I am really excited about the thought of seeing an actual family member, even if the weather in Dublin doesn’t sound like it’s any better than what we have here right now. Edinburgh is really cold at the moment; I’ve been told it’s due to the lack of cloud. It’s slightly warmer today which I’m assuming is due to the arrival of rain. Luckily Toby has figured out how to put our heating on a timer, so it turns on in the morning and at night before we get home. It really is very cold, like what you’d get on a snowfield back home. Trying not to be too miserable about it though; it’s far too early in the season to be moaning about the weather. Now that there’s a motorbike in the picture we are also going to think about exploring some of Europe on it next year when the weather warms up, before heading home. What a strange thought.

Toby in his new motorbike gear. Can't decide if he looks like a ninja or an executioner. Either way, he's warm.

On the bike, on the way to Loch Lomond. Neither of us were crazy about the idea of a yellow motorbike, but the big plus is that it's highly visible...people look in their rear view mirrors and get out of our way. Which is what you want them to do on the highway.

This is Loch Lomond, the biggest loch in Britain. This photo does not do it justice, in any way. Trust me when I say I have never seen anything quite like this.

Today we got our first glimpse of Highland Cows, which basically look like shetland ponies, only...more cow-y.

A birthday weekend in Paris

Soon after we decided to come and live in the UK for a year, I announced to Toby that he could take me to Paris for my birthday. We’ve been to Paris before, on our whirlwind backpacking trip a few years ago. Because I’d gotten all cocky with our ability to find hotels of our own accord, I’d cancelled our hostel reservation so the first thing we had to do was find a hotel. Which we did. It was horrible, very small, very crampy, and smelt strongly of smoke. The next morning we’d checked out and headed to an Internet café to find something better. Due to a very inaccurate map (this was in the days before Google Maps, our new best friend) we spent the next 5 hours or so trying to find another hotel. Did I mention it was raining and I was wearing my new beige suede shoes? You can imagine how they looked after that adventure. So that was 1.5 days spent in Paris, gone. We went up the Eiffel Tower, visited the red light district (ostensibly to view the Moulin Rouge), and saw the Mona Lisa so we didn’t completely waste the trip. But I have always felt we missed out on an opportunity to really experience Paris, which is why I wanted to go again. And a birthday is an excellent excuse.

We headed off around 5.30 on Thursday 1 November, arriving in Paris an hour and a half later. National Novel Writing Month had started that day so I spent most of the trip trying to get my word count up, correctly guessing I wouldn’t have many more chances over the weekend. We got the train from the airport into the city and then changed to the metro to take us to our hotel. How I love the metro. Toby couldn’t stop talking about how it was the perfect public transport system, and listing all the reasons why. The only thing I don’t like about it is the buskers because they never play decent music and I think that’s just rude, because there’s nowhere you can go if you don’t like what they’re playing.

The hotel was a 5 minute walk from the Arc De Triomphe, but the best thing about it was the (partial) view of the Eiffel Tower from our window. At night especially it looked amazing all lit up. It was a very cute, very French room. The weirdest thing was the bath which came with a hand-held shower head, but the wall next to the bath came out at such an odd angle that you couldn’t stand up straight. I ended up just sitting in the bath but Toby, not being that good at sitting, struggled. We needed a little stool, like you get in the Japanese baths. It was very strange but felt like an authentic European experience.

Our hotel (on the left) with the Eiffel Tower. I'm not sure how people knew they were in Paris before they built it. It took my breath away the first time I saw it from the train, coming in at night.

Once we were settled we went downstairs to ask the man at reception where we could get some food. By this time it was after 10pm and we knew there wasn’t much around the hotel that was open. The man told us something about it being Halloween and therefore a lot of things were shut. Weird, especially considering it wasn’t actually Halloween. We finally found this teeny tiny little supermarket and bought some crackers, ham and cheese to have a carpet picnic back at the hotel. Seriously, it is difficult to describe how small this supermarket was. Anyway. That was the first night.

The next day was my birthday, which started with a card from Toby that made fun of my shoe fetish. (I know, how dare he.) It also started with some chocolate left over from the night before, because if you can’t have chocolate for breakfast on your birthday then it’s just not a birthday. We found a bistro not far from the hotel that served breakfast so we found a table. The old man working there didn’t really seem to know English, but that was ok. We’ve gotten a lot more confident with just muddling our way through; French is pretty easy because you can normally figure out roughly what something is. Not like Japan. I asked for an omelette and Toby got a crepe, and some coffee. Easy things to order. The man put a placemat and cutlery down in front of me, plus a little basket of bread, and we both got coffee (which isn’t what we normally drink, but I didn’t want mispronounce ‘tea’). Then I got my omelette. It was the best omelette I’ve ever had; it was just cheese and ham but it was brilliant. Toby’s crepe still hadn’t arrived, and the lack of a placemat and cutlery did not bode well. He was eating all the bread but then we got given the bill and yep – there was no crepe there. I still don’t know how we missed that one, but since the omelette was huge I very nicely let him have the second half. That’s just what I do.

One thing I love about Paris is the flower shops. They're everywhere, and they're massive, taking up so much room. I love what this says about the importance placed on beautiful, natural things.

After breakfast we went to the metro station and waited behind an English woman who was trying to buy some tickets from the machine. She was getting very frustrated; she had some rowdy kids jumping around and her husband was several metres away, looking at a wall map and pretending he didn’t know them. Finally they figured it out and then the guy in front of us got halfway through his purchase and walked away, leaving the instructions all in French. We still got our tickets fine, so I don’t know what the English lady was doing wrong. We took the metro to the Catacombs, which I’d decided was what I wanted to do. Might seem an odd choice for a birthday outing, but really it’s just one step up from when mum and dad used to take us for picnics in cemeteries on family holidays.

The line to the Catacombs was really long by the time we got there. I held our place while Toby went in search of a public toilet which was apparently disgusting and scary (I forget the details). We waited around an hour, which was made more bearable by some tasty crepes we got from over the road. Yum. When we finally got to the ticket window I was amazed because people aged 14-26 got in for half price!!! So I flashed my drivers license and only paid 3.50. It’s been ages since I was considered young enough to get a discount, and even though I’d been feeling a bit down about turning 26, this made it seem ok. The Catacombs themselves were brilliant and we were both so glad we’d made the trip, and waited in line. I found it odd that they’d been open since the 1800s to the public; one reason I think I found it almost normal is because there is no way I would have known any of skeletons down there, or been related to them or anything. But to visit so soon after they’d been exhumed, surely that chance would have been real for some visitors? At first you were really struck by the fact that you were walking through corridors created by piles of human bones, but after a few minutes it felt more normal and you could appreciate the effort and care it must have taken to make it look like that. I wished I had better French; there were lots of quotations and things marked onto the walls which I didn’t understand. It was great though.

Here are some spooky photos of bones and stuff:

After the Catacombs we walked up to the Luxembourg Gardens, had a look at the Palace (only from the outside) and watched little kids play with their sail boats on the pond. It all felt very French. Then we got the metro back to the hotel and went for a quick walk up to see the Arc De Triomphe and Champs Elysees before heading back to our room to rest and make ourselves beautiful for my birthday dinner.





This is my new house, up on the top floor with the views over Luxembourg Gardens.

Two random ladies in front of Luxembourg Palace. Note the green chairs where you can sit and people watch. I can't imagine how crowded this place gets in summer.

More of the gardens. This is the pond where the little kids stick their sail boats. Some smart ass had brought along his remote control speed boat. Talk about ruining the ambience.

The Pantheon, where lots of important French men are buried. I'm not sure where they've buried all the important French women...

I wish I could order a country to build a monument in my honour. Toby was quite taken with the logistics of such a massive roundabout.

Toby getting dressed up for my birthday dinner. What a man.

I’d booked http://www.lecoupechou.com/ which I'd seen recommended for special occasions on the Lonely Planet forums; I don’t normally bother making reservations in foreign countries but I didn’t want us to wander around, get lost and tired and hungry, and end up somewhere sub-standard. The restaurant was tucked away in a back street of the Latin Quarter and you would never find it if you weren’t looking for it. It was in an old building and we were seated up on the third floor. It was a gorgeous restaurant full of little nooks and crannies, complete with open fireplaces. The room we were in was empty except for us when we first arrived, which was a little strange but luckily it started filling up after a while. We had a glass of champagne to start with chose the set menu, with 3 courses. Toby ordered the duck starter and then steak tartare for his main; when he said that the waiter automatically said, ‘It’s raw.’ He is obviously used to tourists ordering steak tartare and then being surprised when it’s not what they expect. Toby had a flashback to severe food poisoning in Japan following raw beef (even though it was because of the water that he was sick) and changed his mind. I got a salad for the starter and then duck confit for my main. The food was great, lots of it, very buttery (even my salad) and French. We shared a bottle of rose wine and dessert was a very rich chocolate mousse and crème brulee. I think I ate most of it, for some reason Toby found the mousse too rich. Crazy. All in all it was a perfect way to end a very delicious birthday.

On Saturday morning we had bread and cheese in our hotel room for breakfast, but unfortunately there was no tea or coffee provided so we had to drink water. I’m not sure if that’s a particularly European thing; I can’t imagine ever getting accommodation in Australia without tea and coffee in the room, no matter how dodgy the place. The first thing on the list for Saturday was Notre Dame. We got the metro (of course) into the city and then walked over the Seine to the Notre Dame courtyard. It is a very impressive building. The line to get in was really long, and it was starting to rain, so we just enjoyed the view from the outside and then walked across to the Saint Chapelle church as well. Again, another really long line so we kept walking and had an explore of the Saint Germaine district. Which is pretty much the quintessential Paris – exactly what you imagine, with the bistros and cake shops, gorgeous boutiques and cobbled laneways. After lunch we got the metro again to go and see the Sacre Couer. The guide book suggested 2 different metro lines to get there, but I could see there was another line that went close by and would mean we didn’t have to switch trains. So we got that one and when we came up onto the street we realised we were the only white people we could see. I’m not sure if it’s officially the ‘African’ quarter of Paris that we saw, but it was like a Chinatown, only African, full of African supermarkets and beauty shops selling hair extensions and skin whitener. It was strange, like we’d come out into a whole different city. A white French man saw us with the guidebook out and told us where to go to find the Sacre Couer – I guess in that area any white person with a guidebook is looking for it.

Looking down the Seine to Notre Dame.

Notre Dame, close up.

Cool Parisian street, with my head in the way.

We had a hilly walk up to the church, complete with many steps, but once we got there it was definitely worth it. The views alone were brilliant, even on a not-so-clear day like that one. There was no line to get into the church so we had a wander inside and then made our way down into Montmartre, being accosted by African men selling souvenirs and wanting to braid bracelets onto our arms the whole way down. I had wanted to have a walk around Amelie-land but somehow we ended up in the red light district. I know, what a surprise. We had a coffee at some random little bar and then headed back to the hotel because Toby needed a nap.

Steps up to the Sacre Coeur.

It is a pretty amazing church.

The views are amazing too. And the best thing is - they're free!!! Although you do have to walk up all those steps...

the Moulin Rouge. Not as impressive in the day time.

That afternoon I went out to the Champs Elysees to meet my friend Amy and her mate Deb, whom many of you will remember from a previous blog entry including a visit to the castle and cocktails made from Moet. Somehow it turned out that they were on their final stop in Paris on the same weekend as we were there. We went into lots of different shops including a massive fancy cosmetics place which I’d read about in the guide book but didn’t want to drag Toby into. It was so cool, but unfortunately very expensive so n

On Saturday night Toby and I went to where Amy and Deb were staying, in Deb’s dad’s apartment. It was quite an adventure just getting there, as the metro line was closed and we had to get a bus which meant we were about an hour late. The apartment was gorgeous, exactly how you’d imagine a rich person’s apartment in Paris, and in an area full of lovely old buildings. Amy and Deb had put on a great dinner so we ended up having a dinner party in Paris, definitely a must-do, complete with amazing little cakes they’d bought at a nearby patisserie. After dinner we wanted to go out for a drink but the nearest place we knew of was an ‘Irish’ pub Toby and I had passed on our way in, so that’s where we went. It was actually more full of Australian paraphernalia (like big flags with Fosters written on them) than Irish, but we had some drinks anyway and then headed home.

Deb, Toby and me at the Irish pub.

Me & Amy

The first Sunday of every month is free museum day in Paris, so we’d saved our gallery trip for that day. Amy decided to join us so we met at the Arc in the morning and then got the metro to the Centre Pompidou, Paris’s gallery of modern art. From the metro we just had to walk up the block and the building was right there, so we joined the queue and sent Toby up to see how long it would be. He was gone so long we started hoping he’d gone off to get a crepe (as you do in Paris), but he said he’d just walked up the line and back again. At least 4 times longer than the one we’d been in for the Catacombs was his assessment. At some point in the line we passed a glass sign that had ENTRÉE written on it, with an arrow pointing around the corner. Then it said ENTRÉE BIBLIOTECH, with an arrow pointing in the direction we were heading. That’s weird, I thought. I pointed it out to Toby, who said that since the ENTRÉE was written in red, that meant it was closed. An interesting theory. After some more time, we decided a crepe would help, so Amy and I headed around the corner to a big courtyard lined with shops and restaurants to find a crepe stand. There was another line snaking its way into the same building, and we briefly wondered if that was where we should have been, but ended up going back to join Toby in the line instead. Finally we passed another sign with ENTRÉE on it, and this time it was definitely pointing in another direction, and that was just three too many signs that we were in the wrong place. It was then we started to realise that there were no loud Americans in the line. In fact, we were surrounded by young French people, many of them reading text books and highlighting paragraphs and writing things in the margin. It was too suspicious. By this time we’d been waiting an hour, but we left the line and headed around to the other side of the building, hoping that none of the people near us had known enough English to realise how stupid we’d been, and how long it had taken us to realise we were in the wrong place.

Sculpture things outside the Pompidou.

More sculpture things.


The front of the Pompidou. Yeah, don't know how we missed that one.

We walked straight in the doors and into the exhibitions, and tried not to think about how much time we’d just wasted standing outside. It was a great gallery and we really only got to see half of it, and not all that much of the half either. Something else for us to do next time we are in Paris. After that, we went to one of the bistros in the courtyard and had croque monsieurs for lunch, because that’s what tourists do. And then it was sadly time for Toby and I to get the train out to the airport, although not before we’d had some yummy gelato.

Saying goodbye to Amy.

So that was the weekend of falling in love with Paris, and if anyone offers either of us a job there, we will not be turning it down. What a brilliant city.