PARIS

Birthday Brat

I've always wanted to go to Paris in the Springtime! This trip will take place March 20-24th. First I have to survive the next term which I feel will be brutal as I'll be juggling essays, the dreaded disssertaion, an important internship and a million other little/big things. At least there will be a light at the end of the tunnel! Seriously amazed by this present, best 21st gift ever! Hope you (if there is a you/reader?) have had a great christmas and a fantastic New Year. Here's hoping that the next decade is better and more peaceful then this one, and is full of travels!

Travel Inspiration # 1

I am in love with this song. It has been on repeat this summer, keeping me company on the way to my dreaded French oral exams, to jealously dropping my Dad off at the airport and to just walking around (or (se) balader as the French so neatly sum it up). I like to think of La Javanaise as the 'pout song' with its constant ‘v’ alliteration. I guess that it would be impossible not to get kissed after mouthing the lyrics (as best as my shoddy language skillS permits!) to a lover. However, the meaning of the song can be best summed up by the lyrics, ‘Nous nous aimions/ Le temps d'une chanson’ Our love lasted/As long as a song. La Javanaise conjures up this great end-of- holiday feeling. The rhythm makes you think of swaying palm trees, as the ‘shudum dum’ swooning makes you think of siren hula girls. Yet the female singing/sighing underneath Serge’s musings (not of the je t’aime…moi non plus variety), evokes a sense of impending heartbreak either from an ending love affair or a holiday.

This song seems perfectly simple and full of emotion when listening to it sans fluent French speaking ears. However, Serge’s constant use of ‘av ‘or ‘v’shows his mastery of the French language and also his wit. ‘La Javanaise’ is both a dance (the rhythm definitely will tempt you into a little hip sway), and a form of French slang, ‘which sticks ‘av’ in between constants and vowels. We can see why François Mitterrand reffered to him as ‘our Baudelaire’ at his funereal.

Whenever I here this song, I think of being in the south of France (never been), dancing away like a little Brigitte Bardot, and God created women- style. Then I look outside my London window, and its dark, rainy and miserable. So I play the song again.