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Tuesday, November 3, 2009

My last night in Paris.

Je t'aime Paris.

Oh city. Oh sweet, intoxicating city. How you have captured my heart.
Nothing quite compares to you.

I've realized that sometimes the cliche things in life can be wonderful. Perhaps this is why they are made cliche; so many people have found joy in doing these acts.

Sitting at a cafe that overlooks the sparkling Eiffel Tower at night and sipping on a cafe creme while reading Hemmingway and writing in your journal is uber cliche.
But so wonderful.

Thus describes my night.
Unplanned but enjoyed, I ended up walking around the 7th arrondisement, my old "stomping grounds" if you will (from when James and I had an apartment) and getting maybe (a little) lost. In the end I managed to find my way to an endearing cafe where the bartender laughed at my French (very poitely) and the waiter, dressed in a black vest and black dress pants and awesome Parisien shoes, of course, answered my question of "Does this view ever get old to you?" with the sweetest, most French reply of "It's the best view in the world, no?"

Ah Paris.

As I sat, various Parisians rode by on their Velib bikes, identified by the flickering white light that is signature to the front of every bike. Oh how I wish I had had the opportunity to ride one, but such is the plight of an american with a credit card sans a puce.
As I sat and sipped my coffee, a group of people my age sat down at a nearby table. They spoke French eloquently and I secretly listened as I hid behind my book.
"Would these be my friends if I were a Parisian?" "Would I do this on a Monday night if I lived here?" These questions filled my mind, along with the fantasy of a Parisian life.
With every word they uttered I wished more and more that I could speak French as eloquently as they did. I promised myself (again) that one day I will master this language. Their conversation continued, and I switched to actually reading again. Just as I started to get lost in my book the Eiffel Tower started to glitter.
I was so awed and amazed by the sight.
My awe did not go unnoticed though. No longer the invisible American girl, the group of Parisians made sure to recognize my presence by laughing at how I was utterly GAWKING at the Eiffel Tower.
They mimicked my position of hand-on-chin-mouth-open-eyes-dreamy and I laughed when I noticed what they were doing. After making eye contact with me, they spoke to me gently in English and said "I know, it's very beautiful."

C'est trop vrai.

I shyly smiled in agreement, knowing that I was probably blushing as well.

After the light show I decided to write. I have to admit, I got lost in writing, and really needed to keep better track of time because I had to beware of missing the last metro home. I understand how Hemmingway and Joyce and Fitzgerald must have gotten lost in their writing in this way. For days and days. Oh sweet city.
As I wrote in my journal, I thought of them, these great writers of the past who decided to be expatriots in this city. It's amazing to think that someone, far more talented than I, was able to take the same setting I was in and create such beautiful works of art.

After finishing my cafe creme, I paid and then left for the metro, literally catching the last one. I'm practically a pro at this now. The ride into La Defense was surreal. As stop after stop passed by, I realized more and more: I'm not ready to leave this city.

As I walked through the streets of Courbevoie to my temporary home at 2 Avenue du Parc I saw the Eiffel Tower sparkling again. I wished I had taken more time to watch, but the cold was cutting through my jacket too much so I had to walk faster. But even this brought me joy because I am convinced that Parisian leaves crunch classier. Oh fall.

So last night in Paris. Okay. I suppose I can handle this for now. Maybe this is like eating the best meal of your life, and not being ready to leave the restaurant. Something amazing and beautiful happened there, but now is the time to go home and digest, and let your body process what has just happened to you. You can not stay there longer, or you will ruin it. Maybe tomorrow you will remember the meal throughout the day, and smile and rub your belly. But you know it's too soon to go back, no, that meal will not be tomorrow night's dinner. Or the night after that. Or the night after that.
But maybe in a little bit you will return, and it will be just as lovely a feast as before.

“If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for all of Paris is a moveable feast.” - Hemmingway

Oh Hem, you got it right.

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