the unresolved parisienne

There's so much to be said about this country, and this world right now... I fear words fall short. My hodge-podge of sentiments—anxiety, concern, exhilaration—is too intimidating to capture. Instagram feels more appropriate in its visual short form. As such, please excuse the self-declared banality of my reflection below. It errs on the personal side of Heather Havrilesky's words (via Ask Polly): "If you can’t own the life you have right now, ask yourself what needs to change to make you feel like more of a conquistador."

On November 17th, 2016, I landed in Paris. It was dark and chilly as I commuted from CDG to an Airbnb a mere three blocks from where I'd once lived. The route itself was jarring in its familiarity. I affectionately recognized the corner brasserie, and neo-bistro, and all the other shops and bars (save for a few that were obviously new). I WhatsApp-ed Lorelei, "I don't know how you do this regularly. I want to relive every moment of life here, on repeat times a million, plus more memories." And then, after settling into my Airbnb, I texted Ben, "the apartment has high ceilings and antique furniture and my host is an older impatient woman who offered me fruit upon arrival, so I basically feel like France welcomed me back with open arms." I wasn't kidding. It felt painfully good to be back, again.

The following morning, I woke up relatively early. I Facebooked Deanna to make plans: petit-déj at a café across from a metro stop on his line so she wouldn't get lost, we'd figure out the next steps from there, Rémi would meet up with us after class. Some context: my sister is (quite ironically!) dating a French guy she met over the summer in New York; she has visited him (and Paris) twice since.

We wandered through the Latin Quarter across the Seine and into the Marais, stopping into clothing stores we couldn't afford, a free exhibition at the Swedish Institute, and a worth-every-penny visit to the recently-renovated Musée Picaso. Then we lunched with Rémi at our beloved Nanashi before dragging him into Merci—at which he was the only consumer. They (being too cute) caught the bus home at Bastille while I returned to the 17th to freshen up. Later, I ventured outside the city to join Mia at a Salif Keita concert.

Those first 36 hours were too easy, too normal... it was hard to believe I'd ever voluntarily left! And then, before traveling to Amsterdam, I brunched with Lou at Rose Café. In her thoughtful way, she reminded me of my critiques: the cultural superiority, the unyielding otherness, the callous social capital bred from famous haute-couture fashion houses and the like. Paris, too, has an ego.

A week later, I saw Lou once more whilst staying in Melun with ma famille française. I also arranged plans with Melissa, and Rithy, and Julia, and my AUP professors on campus. We spoke about politics and ideals, life and love, ambition and responsibility. I was so perfectly inspired. I found myself overcome by immense gratitude as opposed to tragic-nostalgia. Every moment was to be savored, so I did exactly that. And I was actually ready to fly back to Los Angeles when the time came—even with its infuriating civic passivity, empty "nice days", select inhabitants trying so goddamn hard to be seen as cool, laid back, and creative in unacknowledged privilege. As my sister reminded me today (from Paris, I might add!): But don't you know that only fools are satisfied?

bonne journée

The last time I spent a day in Paris with absolutely nothing to do but enjoy, it was 2008. Seven years later I found myself with the same great fortune, with knowledge of the city's geography and the company of best friends. 'Twas so much more than "a good day".

{A croissant from Du Pain et Des Idées & coffee from Ten Belles on the Canal}

{"Elle s'appelait Jackie" and a brasserie lunch}

{Meandering through the old neighborhood}

{Happy hour at Cafe de l'Industrie}

{Dinner at Au Passage with Rachael & Lorelei}

{Red House nightcaps}

As you may have gathered from the lack of text above, there are few words to describe this day. It was coming home to people who love you for you and receiving a hug from the strange, beautiful place you've been forever molded by and that sigh. We ate and drank well, but it was the ease with which we wandered that I savored most. (Insert all the warm, fuzzy feelings and exuberant inspiration here). And so, I cried that night in Paris' warm embrace; one of those tipsy "let it all out" kind of cries, because life is more than pretty pictures with the most perfect light (that Paname has so gracefully mastered). Man, oh man... how I'd missed that light.

un brunch américan

For me, at this point, homesickness comes in waves. Mostly calm ones.

You may notice I tweet about New York regularly. I do--because I've fallen into a whole new kind of love with the city since moving an ocean away—yet I don’t necessarily long for my life there, at least not my former one. The hardest days, weeks, months never became blog posts, but they happened, and they sucked. It was a tumultuous post-college experience. I really struggled with figuring out what the heck I wanted out of this life (personally and professionally) and how the hell I was going to make it as such.

What made it infinitely bearable enjoyable, though, was the endless number of friends and family I had in such close, comforting proximity. I could text or call or see my favoritest people regularly, and that was so completely wonderful. I needed them then.

I still do, of course; albeit in different ways. Living abroad has forced me to be more sure of myself by necessity. It has also encouraged me to get out there and form new relationships, which although I was once intimidated by, I’ve also lovingly embraced. This experience has given me more space to be and flourish and for that I will always be grateful.

But I do miss home. I miss the warmth and friendliness of American culture. I miss family dinners and endless chats with friends. I miss those who truly know me, and love me unconditionally anyway. I miss pizza dates. And gosh, do I miss boozy brunches...

Then again, pretending to be Parisian is nice, too. I regularly buy bread from the boulangerie and produce from the marché, I wear black quite often, I get excited about new exhibitions, I don't make eye contact with anyone on the metro, but I always wish fellow elevator-riders a bon journée. I'm even adopting slang. And these are only the guidelines I've been easily able to pick up on.

Because, in the end, I am very much New York-born and -raised. (The state, not the city). And so, I've made expat friends here. Besides those I've met through blogging, there are also those from school, and another from serendipity. And when the latter hosts a brunch, I help her serve a spread of juice, coffee, tea, croissants, brioche, sliced fruit, smoked salmon, scrambled eggs, bread, butter, and jam. We even ensured there was champagne to be had. It's good to know I'm not the only one on mimosa-withdrawl ;).

I've said this once before, but home is more than a place, it's a feeling. I'm creating a home for myself in Paris with a flexible disposition, a few amazing confidantes, and a bit of familiarity--most notably peanut butter. Even on rainy days I've been making a concentrated effort to appreciate this time where such things are possible. One day, I hope, Paris will be one home of many.

Weekend plans: happy hour tamales, lunch with my French family, an afternoon at the Château Vaux le Vicomte, Nuit Blanche, Sunday at the races/laundry, and a Macklemore concert. Wishing you a lovely one, too, wherever you may be.

This post was inspired by Rachel's Expat Diaries.

second set of visitors

When you're moving to a city like Paris, everyone is going to visit you. Then, they don't. It's not that these people weren't being genuine in their intentions, nor that they don't want to be (they do--mostly because they miss you, but also because it's "the City of Lights") trouble is, flights are expensive, traveling is expensive, and taking off a sufficient amount of time from work is not always an option. I understand completely.

So when my mom and sister came in November, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. It was challenging to juggle grad school with visitors, but giving two of the most important people in my life a glimpse into the life I'd made here was certainly worth it. I savored every moment. It was just what I needed before wrapping up my first semester, taking a weekend getaway to Prague, and heading home before the holidays.

Whereas hosting family is wonderful thing though, hosting friends is another. There's something uniquely special about connections between those with whom you have no true obligation. And for that, I cannot even begin to express to you how thankful I am to have friends who keep in touch, who make it a point to visit.

Anna and Leslie arrived early on Friday afternoon. After meeting them at Gare du Nord, I led them back to my neighborhood where we grabbed a late lunch at L'Auberge Rouge (my favorite) and had front row seats to a car being towed across the street. Then I introduced them to ma chambre de bonne (and the six long flights of stairs it takes to get to it). We took a little while to rest and refresh before heading out again.

That evening, we walked around the 6th, had a cocktail aperitif at Le Pub Saint-Germain, and followed it with galettes and crêpes alongside cups of cider at my now favorite crêperie in Paris.

Fast forward to Monday. They set out for La Cinématique française and Cité nationale de l'histoire de l'immigration, while I began my second semester of grad school. (I'm just excited about this round of classes as I was for the last, by the way... and still a nerd). In between, we met up for "the best" croque madames.

 

Later that night, I introduced them to the guy I've been dating. 

In the midst of seamless conversation at my favorite wine bar, Le Garde Robe, we shared two bottles of  wine, a platter of charcuterie, another of cheeses, a beautiful array of vegetables, and a slice of chocolate cake. 

Oh, and he was approved (woo)! 

I had classes Tuesday as well, but only in the morning and early afternoon. Afterwards, I met them at a closed Centre Pompidou (boo) and introduced them to the heaven that is merci. It was especially appreciated in the rain and gloom that is most of Parisian winter weather. For dinner, we planned on the Palais de Tokyo.

Unfortunately, a haute couture party disrupted our plans. Instead, we ended up eating light meals at a random brasserie before heading into my favorite beer bar, La Fine Mousse; it could've been worse :).

Wednesday (my weekday off this semester) began with French breakfasts at my local boulangerie.

Our day continued as follows: a late morning visit to the Musée Carnavalet,

an entertaining and hearty two-course lunch at L'Auberge Flora near the Bastille,

an afternoon of shopping through vintage stores and designer boutiques in the Marais, 

treats to go (a.k.a. the best macarons) at Pierre Hermé in Gallerie Lafayette,

and finally, after our plans were rearranged because of a sensitive stomach and another (!) haute couture party at my favorite Lebanese restaurant, Rimal, an unexpected 12-dish mezze at a discounted price.

Thank you, Anna and Leslie for an absolutely incredible week.

As for everyone else, please stay tuned for a recap of our weekend in Marrakech. It's worth the wait! :)