The French don’t believe in Sundays by Rose Frith


It has just begun to rain in Paris; it covers everything and turns the deserted

Sunday streets to mirrors. Paris seems to reflect everything, on the river that

cuts and connects it, the apartment windows, the rain-drenched streets. When I

first moved here someone told me that ‘the French don’t believe in Sundays’ and

to a certain extent that’s true. Everything stops. The shops close and the traffic

dies. During the rest of the week you’re swept up in it all. You belong to the city

and find yourself rushing past landmarks and into the metro. On a Sunday you

step outside and the city is yours. It’s a day in which you finally reconnect and

open your eyes.

My mental map of Paris continues to grow. Each place is full of memories to

unfold and retrace and the river connects it all. It feels like home: the warm

kingdom of books nestled in the shadows of Notre Dame, late opening at

Musée D’Orsay, feet firmly planted in front of a painting I never thought I’d see,

composed of deepest blue, so beautiful it hurts your heart.

I think it hurts because, in that moment, you are aware that you are giving a

small piece of yourself away.

A part of me will always be stood in front of that painting, taking in its shifting

colours. Part of me still belongs to the black sand beaches and changing seasons

of Iceland. The rain will always take me back to Devon and its winding roads,

lined with ancient hedgerows- to damp school shoes.

As you live you seem to become fragmented, simultaneously hurt and healed.

I never thought you could be composed of so many things.

I won’t ever be able to forget the lights on the Seine at night, walking across the

many bridges, the secret world of the metro.

I will continue to grow and break and heal.

Bio: Rose Alana Frith is a young writer who was born in Dorset, England grew up in Reykjavík, Iceland and northern Scotland and is now living in Paris. @RoseAlana21

Synopsis: Paris- intriguing, romantic, vibrant, a city full of contrast, a myriad of clashes creates points of friction and moments of duality which truly change, challenge and illuminate.


2 thoughts on “The French don’t believe in Sundays by Rose Frith

  1. Pingback: ‘The French don’t believe in Sundays’ | Within & Without

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