Following our stay in Paris in August, I just couldn't stop thinking, or talking, about it. It made my french man a little annoyed, and eventually I had to admit that he was right when reminding me that to live in a place is never the same as visiting for the holidays. Sadly, I do know it is true. Living in London working fulltime is a very different story from being a tourist in London. The city is large and at times too much time passes by with only work, commute, eat and sleep and none of the fun things one can do with the time at hand.

I love Paris nontheless. Relaxing greenery in the middle of the city.
 

The Opéra national. Especially the interior, the ceiling is painted by Chagall, and it is stunning. We drove past late at night, andI knew we had to return the next day. Nights by the Seine.

French style tapas food...

This week I came across a book about Paris. Or rather, the typical Parisian woman.

How to be Parisian wherever you are: Love, Style, and Bad Habits.

It is written by four ladies - Anne Berest, Audrey Diwan, Caroline De Maigret and Sophie Mas and it describes the Parisian woman in ways such as "she smokes like a chimney on the way to the countryside to get some fresh air" or "one who randomly exclaims: this is the most wonderful day of my life".

I love the unexpected touch. I love that some things are so true. I love how many things are taken to an edge of total exaggeration. Know any woman in her 20s that is a bit of dreamer? This is the perfect gift.

Some decisions and some actions affect your life for a long period of time. First time I signed a flat lease it was for 6 months only, however it felt like a lifelong commitment. I had just moved to London with my friend and we sat on a bench in a crowded park in Whitechapel. I remember I felt a pressure. A pressure that if I didn't sign I would fail myself, and even worse - my friend.

Today is different, this time I am not calling my dad to find the strength to put my signature on the contract. Five years later, me and my man are signing the contract for a cute little apartment here in Dublin. It will be ours in just a couple of days. Our arrival day was full of contrasts. Especially in terms of the architecture, the weather and the women. While the first two are pretty self-explanatory the last one deserves some closer attention. In France I am often the taller one and I often feel less girly than the women around me. I am aware there are many tall french ladies but maybe they are all full time models without any free evenings to spend out. Or more likely, it is just a random fact that the people we happen to know are not as tall. The first Irish lady that we met however, yes the taxidriver-with-an-uncomprehensible-accent was a man, was the woman renting the airbnb flat where we are staying. She was at least 180 cm, and with her big coat and darker voice, I felt more feminine and petite than ever before. I suspect this first impression of the ladies will prove itself wrong pretty soon and I need to get over the initial wow-the-way-I-speak-is-so-different kind of feeling.

Another impression I've had of Ireland so far is that while the Sunday mornings are spent in church, it seems like the next destination for the Dubliners is the pub. It was extremely busy on the Sunday afternoon. This is different from France, where the afternoon is traditionally spent at home to socialise with the family. Since Damien and I are neither frequent church visitors or beer drinkers I have suggested that we start an afternoon tea tradition. I do like the scones, and we do like tea - preferably in huge quantities.