This is what a friend assured me on finding out that I was moving to Paris… that I would become a true Parisian. Now in regards to someone who managed to live in Russia without once donning a mini-skirt, make-up or stilettos, I find this hard to believe. (I was actually intrigued by the impossibly sharp high heels of Russian girls though, especially in winter time. I developed a theory that stilettoed boots were somehow akin to ice-picks for the feet, and hence amazingly practical, but I was informed that this was not the case, and that in fact they were as difficult to walk on as first appearances conveyed).

Not that I’m tea and crumpets through and through. I’m not oblivious to cultural and culinary differences, I think I’m just a bit lazy, a bit daggy, and very comfortable with who I am. This, however, has not stopped me from succumbing to a lightweight, three-quarter-length, trenchcoat-style rain jacket. When in Rome, drive like a madman… when in Paris, have the transitional season coat. Being a diverse and cosmopolitan city, you can have four choices in regards to the coat: black, grey, navy or beige.

This morning I didn’t feel like walking home after my early morning school drop-off. I took a vélib’ public transport bicycle instead, and made it home in no time at all, my coat tails flapping behind me in the wind as I picked up speed. I couldn’t help casting impressed glances at myself in the shop windows. This is probably about as Parisian as I’ll ever get. And considering I’m still wearing hiking boots (from the summer’s hiking trip in the Pyrenees) rather than the latest issue winter boots (my sneakers have holes in them, not very practical for the rain)… any analogies will just have to remain within the confines of my imagination.