Media naranja means soulmate in Spanish. Its literal translation is half of an orange. The central theme of this week’s post is fruit. 

So I went on one of those ‘here’s a story for you’ dates on Monday. We met, and had coffee, I spilt the coffee on myself, and then we had a sandwich overlooking the sea. A walk in a calanque and then back to his for coffee and yet another walk, and then he made me freshly squeezed orange juice. I’m unsure why the orange juice is so pertinent to this date. At least I’m getting my Vitamin C. I’m not sure I’m his half of an orange. I also used getting back before rush hour as an excuse to leave, not in a ‘this date is going badly’ way because it wasn’t; I just didn’t know where to draw the line between when the day becomes the evening. He rode me back to the station on his motorbike. I did not think I’d be writing that story a year ago.

These dates have weaved their way into the fabric of my year abroad more for French practice and a good story than actually seeking a romantic connection. Notice how I didn’t talk about his personality? I also wonder what the other person is seeking to get out of it. Am I the one that ought to message after? Then, this desired but not sought-out romantic connection may follow. Maybe no other media naranja exists. I think too much about this. 

My French friend Simon told me I go for the wrong guys because I lack self-esteem. I think too much about this. 

The cultural digest:

• Annie Ernaux’s l’événement is both a profoundly moving and harrowing book turned screenplay. TW: it focuses on a young woman’s abortion. The screenplay is stunning, and the book even more so. 
• The Hockney exhibition at Musée Granet. A free exhibition for what would have been extortionate at the Tate. Will be going again before I leave just to relish in the colours of his works. His depictions of people are divine. 
• Les P’tites Bouchées. This dim sum was exquisite. Despite not loving coriander, the soy noodles were also wonderful. I am trying not to use the word peng here as an adjective, but the meal was just that. I then rather expressively told a story and flung my glass and the wine within it across the table. It is the things I do, not the things I say, that are funny. 

The recipe for a madeleine cocktail is as follows: 1cl Amaretto, 1cl Cointreau, and 10cl Pineapple juice. It tastes like the eponymous french cake. 

A chair, is a chair
Except, 
When you sit on that chair, 
I mean, 
It’s still a chair, 
But it’s me
Also, 
Wanting to be that chair 

Is a poem that was written in a toilet in a bar on Cours Julien in Marseille. I then googled it, hoping that I would be able to decipher this deep and profound meaning of wanting to be that chair to no avail. The first result is a youtube video titled ‘do chairs exist?’. If I think about it too hard, I could find some connection. The third result was an article on the 12 best office chairs. At least if someone sat on the chair, they could find one that improves their posture. 

I bought a whole punnet of blueberries because there was a promotion in Monoprix. I ate half this rather large punnet in one sitting. Fruit tastes a lot sweeter down south. 

Booking expired ! I have read three times this week. I am trying to rent a dress for DUCFS (Durham University Charity Fashion Show). I am finding it exceedingly hard to find one in which the renter responds to my rental request within 48 hours. The hunt continues next week. 

Bisous, eleanor xx