The first time I imagined Paris was after watching the cartoon movie Anastasia. The movie is based on the history of the Russian Revolution and Anastasia is a girl who loses her past and grows up in an orphanage. Eventually, she discovers that she is a royal and finds herself in Paris, dancing through the streets, transforming from rags to riches.

As a little girl, I dreamed of Paris, a city I thought only worthy of princesses. I could not imagine the distance I would have to travel to go there but my parents promised me that someday I would.

It is true that people in Paris go out onto the pavements and dance. The traditions happens of July 14 every year on what English-speakers call Bastille Day and the French call la fête nationale.

But when I got there and my ideas of Paris became a reality, I realised the rest of my previous perceptions were perhaps not entirely accurate.

History and money has made Paris into a beautiful place but, like other cities in the world, it is not filled with just princesses.

In Paris there is a group of people, referred to as the bourgeoise, who are surrounded by luxuries envied the world over.

Unsurprisingly, that is not all that Paris’s streets are made of.

Tourists flock to Paris in their millions every year, excitedly visiting the monuments, churches, streets, boulevards, restaurants and museums that they have always heard of. Yet no tourist can avoid confrontation with the city’s unpleasant cultures along the way.

Beggars and gypsies line the streets of Paris. In the heart of Parisian luxury lies an entirely different society, one that I, as a temporary inhabitant of the city, have been well exposed to.

Twenty sections, or arrondissements, form Paris and the extended city that surrounds the ‘centre’ is referred to as the banlieue.

Paris is made up of buildings that rarely exceed six or seven stories high. The skyscrapers have been strategically placed to avoid intrusion on Paris’s historic charms. The main modern business district, La Défense, is built on the outskirts of the city.

There are many famous gardens and parks in Paris and the Seine, a French river, runs through the centre.

Each arrondissement provides a different experience and a visitor’s stay is usually affected by whatever quarter one happens to be based in.

Arguably, the most famous arrondissement is in the centre, the 5th, or le quatier latin (Latin Quarter) where the night life, jazz and student influence is most prominent. One can walk from the Notre Dame cathedral up along Boulevard Saint Michel and see the fountain of Saint Michel, the Sorbonne, the Pantheon and the Luxembourg Gardens within fifteen minutes. At night, the district is known to ‘move’. There are jazz clubs at every corner.

My Parisian life began living on the outskirts at Courbevoie in July, 2009. Every day, I would take the metro line 3 to the centre of Paris, in the 5th, to do my classes at the Sorbonne.

Courbevoie borders the business area but my daily adventures to the heart of the city prepared me to move closer that September.

I lived in the chic 16th arrondissement of Paris. Working as a jeune fille au pair, or baby-sitter, for a French family. I was provided with a well-equipped, practical chambre de bonne.

While this term may not sound familiar, it is commonplace in Paris. Not just anyone and everyone can buy their own Parisian apartment. Many of the city’s inhabitants live in these small studios, built in to every apartment building on the very top level. While most blocks of flats accommodate two apartments on each floor, the top levels are filled with these tiny rooms to accommodate one or two people each.

Through my job I met other au pairs. Some lived out of town on the outskirts; others lived like me. One English friend lived in a tiny chambre de bonne and was surrounded by 30 other rooms.

The top floor was not accessible by the lift and I had to walk six flights of stairs. As well as a desk, bed, television and storage space, I was provided with a kitchenette and salle de douche (shower room). Toilets for studio-livers are often communal and out in the hallway.

I might add that communal peeing was not half as shocking as what Parisians are exposed to every day on the streets. As a young, naïve woman living in Paris, the sex culture was something that I just had to learn to live with. Lots of men approach you on the street and there are places in Paris that one simply would not go to alone. There is one avenue devoted to sex shops that houses a sex museum and the Moulin Rouge. Hailing a cab on the Champs-Elysée at night can be a frustrating when taxis pass by but cars full of men stop to see if you will get in with them instead.

Life in Paris would not be the same without the metro. Almost certainly a polluted and unhealthy environment under the streets, taking the metro may come across as an unfavourable way to travel. However, I found that it was one of the best things about Paris because of its efficiency. Living on one side of the city, it was so practical to hop on to an underground train and be in the centre of town in 15 minutes; another line gets to the North-East of Paris in less than an hour. I even found the journey calming and enjoyable while Parisian road rage and chaos carried on without me, far above my head.

I’ve heard people suggest that Paris is a dirty, unpleasant city. But when sitting in the parks in the 16th, surrounded by beautiful trees and gardens, the ground covered with leaves and the only sign of dirtiness within the well-kept bins, I can’t imagine why or how people can assume that it is true. On the streets there are street cleaners who wash and hose down the drains and pathways; graffiti artists leave their crimes to metro walls and tend to steer clear of the beautiful buildings and monuments.

There are beggars and gypsies in Paris, most of whom make a considerable amount of money out on the streets asking for ‘un petit pièce, s’il vous plaît’. They are dirty, smelly and there is usually an empty space around them. Shocked tourists throw them coins. 

After I learnt more about where their collections went, I chose not to give beggars money. However, I did grow fond of some of the scruffy entertainers that I would see on a regular basis.

On my metro line there was a man dressed in black who sang the same song over and over again – Working Class Hero – and he never waited to collect his money; a man in the walkway between line 1 and 9 at the station Franklin D Roosevelt had a dog with four little puppies and there is another that I saw all over Paris with no arms. I used to watch him and puzzle over how he managed to carry his money box. After a while I realised that I probably did not want to know.

A surprising challenge in Paris is finding a Parisian. Lots of French people are from other parts of France or have immigrated and proudly call themselves French.

My friends who originate from Africa often found it difficult to narrow down their nationality as they live or were born in France but their African culture and origins are widely accepted and practiced in Paris’s diverse community.

For the ones who can boast Parisian roots, they are usually not the happiest of people, living in a place crammed full of tourists most days of the year.

After the revolutionary “I love Paris” t-shirts became one of the biggest selling souvenirs in Paris, a Parisian made his own slogan that amused the Parisian ‘locals’. It reads, ‘Je suis parisian, j’aime rien’ (I am Parisian, I love nothing).

In August, the locals leave for the summer and the ramble of the city dies down. It is rumoured that on the first day of Summer holidays the autoroute changes colour visibly from outer space as Parisian’s flock to various holiday destinations in their cars, fleeing the capital for their annual bout of peace in the country.

Almost every family who can afford a Parisian flat can afford their own holiday house in Normandy or the Alps. The people left in Paris are usually tourists who consequently lose a sense of the real Parisian experience while the city’s buzz is dead.

It is hard to pick out the best time of year to be in Paris.

Some who enjoy the heat would strive in the holiday months: their days would have to be spent soaking up the sun at Sacre-Ceour in Montmatre, eating late (the sun can stay up as late as 11pm some nights) and outside in the parks or on the pavements of restaurants with a fresh glass of French rose.

The weather cools (freezes) in November right through until mid-March. The trees are bare and one can usually see more of Paris minus all the leaves.

Lucky tourists who make it on a snowy day can experience the city’s magic multiplying. Having said that, Paris’s transport systems usually breakdown as a result and it is nearly impossible to catch a flight out of the country.

She is a place that changes with the weather and you will love her or hate her more for it. But one thing is sure: that once you love Paris, you’ll love her for life.

Before starting journalism studies, I assumed from conversations with my father that I knew what I was heading into. He began work as a journalist in the 1970s, when being a scribbler was predominantly a man’s trade. It never really occurred to me that gender could play a large part in my future career and I never thought to ask. I presumed that male and female journalists functioned more or less equally.

I had occasion to think about the issue during my first journalism assignment - logging my media consumption patterns. Journalism, it seemed, was not confined to politics, crime and finance. Clearly, social and entertainment media also played big roles. And while these “soft” areas were well represented – even dominated – by women, in the halls of politics and business, men seem firmly in control. A few women held top positions in the press galleries but not many. It struck me that this was something I was going to have to consider. Was I heading for a world where I would have to adapt at the risk of not succeeding?

Joe Saltzman, in an academic paper about the image of journalists in popular culture, addresses the issue. He contends that women can succeed but only if they are prepared to take on blokey qualities: “The female journalist faces an ongoing dilemma: How to incorporate the masculine traits of journalism essential for success – being aggressive, self-reliant, curious, tough, ambitious, cynical, cocky, unsympathetic – while still being the woman society would like her to be – compassionate, caring, loving, maternal, sympathetic.”

This rang alarms bells. I could understand the need to be tough to succeed but, would I really need a testosterone implant? How masculine was I expected to be? How much femininity could a girl retain without risking her career? In one of our texts, The Content Makers, Margaret Simons reinforced the fear. She recalls an incident in 2005 as the only woman in a group of journalists in a pub: “Now at the bar, without the public members and without women apart from me, the boys stand as mates, thumbs hooked into pants pockets.” I needed a third opinion.

Geraldine Doogue, one of the ABC’s senior reporters with a glittering career in radio and television, essentially agrees with Saltzman’s and Simons’ views. In a telephone interview, she told me that while she is delighted that women of all ages are now accepted in the industry, “unfortunately looking beautiful and feminine is still a key to survival.” She pointed out that for male journalists the opposite is true. “Senior men most certainly can survive looking bald: it even adds to their authority.”

Doogue notes that throughout her career she has time and again observed young women coming in to the industry and facing the same issue. “I really believe that the hard/soft news bifurcation is massively overdone. A broader news agenda would allow more younger women in.”

TEN News anchorwoman for 17 years, Marie-Louise Thiele has a different take. She began her career at The Daily Sun in Brisbane amongst future male frontrunners such as John Hartigan (now CEO of News Limited), Malcolm Farr (Daily Telegraph political journalist), and Des Houghton (one time editor of The Courier Mail). Thiele asserts that she has always been judged solely by her work, not her gender and she believes that this is generally true. “I think it’s a cliché,” she says. “It’s not easy to be a career woman and a mother but if you’re good enough, you’ll thrive. That’s the case in any field.” They are not there for their looks. “Many women reporters in Brisbane now are all in their late 30s, early 40s… even their 50s,” she says.

Doogue and Thiele believe the “use-by-date” that once plagued women is no more. Social forces in the industry have changed attitudes toward gender equity. Employers are legally obliged to treat women as equals and have employee policies that address gender issues.

Doogue hints that issues other than gender may be at play. Being successful in an industry run by deadlines requires practitioners to make quick decisions. “Younger women can fuss around a bit. I think you’ve got to be prepared to make a decision with conviction…. Girls and women have a very broad range of curiosity that is a real feminine strength but you have to be careful it doesn’t become a bit too catch-all.” She contends that whether you are male or female, your story still has to be harnessed to journalism’s pyramid writing style.

It seems to me that Doogue’s point is that women should not hide behind their gender. In researching this assignment, I was challenged by the prospect of telephoning Doogue and Thiele. It took me out of my comfort zone and made me make decisions. Did I have to become blokey or did I just do what I had to do to get the story? The latter, I think.

Saltzman describes how a woman in journalism typically progressed in the late 1800s. She could, he writes, gain recognition but she would rarely cover the big stories. Fame was short-lived and, when a woman ceased being young and fresh, she would usually quit the newsroom, get married and have children. In the field, they were not encouraged to be masculine, rather their success was based on their feminine qualities. Skills were apparently not a priority. Clearly things have changed a great deal. Now women can achieve high positions but rarely through their femininity. In fact, masculine qualities are favoured. Doogue wants what she refers to as “female sensibility” to be part of the news agenda but not at the expense of an individual’s personality.

The challenge for me, I suspect, will be the path I choose if and when I am called on to fit a stereotype. Doogue imparted useful advice: “Find your own voice, in the broad and narrow sense. The public conversational tone in Australia is still very masculine. When you can have the guts to find it you will do your best work.”

Finding my own voice seems a worthy aspiration. Who knows, perhaps the next Rupert Murdoch may even be a Sheila.