PARIS FRANCE: PEACEFUL AND EXCITING
Even though we’d been a few times for short trips with family or the occasional conference, Paris has a kind of allure that I’m still captivated by.
I was having a hard time reading her. Such a small book, the cover unassuming, not fussy. Pretentious purchase perhaps? Most likely. We were wandering around Paris for three days, living out a flaneur fantasy. Buying a book entitled Paris France while in Paris, France was the literary equivalent of buying a beret and traipsing around the city with a baguette under his harm.
Was I stupid? Even trying to read some of the witty passages to my husband in bed I found himself slightly tongue tied, short paragraphs of run on sentences, placing imaginary commas where he thought they ought to be, rereading aloud one sentence more than once to gleam its meaning.
(It was one of his favourite trips in a long time, one that he will refer back to in his mind for years to come. Not because it was his birthday, though that was part of it, but that the three days, to quote Stein, felt “peaceful and exciting.”)
I had a difficult time planning what to do for my birthday, mostly because I felt pressure to make something of it. Was there something wrong with me for not wanting to have a big party in celebration of being, well, certifiably old? Later, it made sense that I was apprehensive to do anything that drew too much attention to me. This is the plight of the summer baby who struggled with having birthdays when school was over and most of your classmates were on vacation. I don’t think I ever expected much from my birthday and I definitely don’t know.
A month ago, I made a lame ass attempt to potentially plan a dinner but when I brought it up to a couple I know they wondered if I might be open to the change the date to accommodate their travels plans. That didn’t sit well with me. Like I said, I’m not much of a birthday person, but surely I shouldn’t be trying to accommodate other people on what’s supposed to be my “special day”.
She is not the first to say it but when super model Alex Consani said “closed mouths don’t get fed,” I felt it deep in my bones, and told my husband a few months before my birthday that I wanted to spend it in Paris. No more pressure to make an event or party, no more trying to invite or coerce people to come visit and celebrate my birthday, just me and him in Paris.
Even though we’d been a few times for short trips with family or the occasional conference, Paris has a kind of allure that I’m still captivated by.
We were not there to go to the Louvre, or the Eiffel Tower or Paris Disney, though any of those things would have been great. All I wanted to do was be in a nice air-conditioned hotel, in a nice party of the city and walk around, eat good food, drink good coffee, and buy some books.
There were things that anchored us, a delicious sushi dinner on Rue Sainte-Anne, skipping Shakespeare and Company to peruse the oldest English bookstore in the 1st arrondissement, an evening at the ballet to punctuate our final night, but mostly we allowed ourselves the luxury or not having much of a plan, letting our feet, our hearts and our stomachs guide us.
We walked by the Seine to check out JR’s installation on Pont Neuf which was sadly, already closed. We saw the line of tourists by the live music venue I had seen on Instagram and instantly aborted and walked home instead (I started calling the hotel “home” as in “shall we go home and take a nap before dinner?” I was doing that annoying thing I always do when I look around a neighbourhood that’s not my own and say, “I think I could live here.” Bitch, of course you think that: all you’re doing for three days is spending money, walking and eating. If you had to live here you would have to work, and that would be an entirely different story.)
No this is not a perfect city. That doesn't not exist in real life. Even parts of Paris smell like hot, humid urine in the summer. People walk too close behind you while talking with their friends, there are cities of tents under bridges for asylum seekers. Paris, in the heat, is a true melting pot. It is the epicentre of the remnants of colonialism. Paris is extreme, it is diverse, it is a place of cultures and ethnicities blending into one another, creating the fabric of the city. It cannot be contained nor segregated. Paris feels alive.
I feel provincial in Paris. I was nervous to go to the Palais Garnier to see the Paris Opera Ballet. Would everyone be in gowns and tuxedoes? Would they kick me out for wearing Asics sneakers with my dress pants? But then I try to calm myself down, think rationally. I try to talk myself up and say to myself, “I’m allowed to be here.”
But even still, as I enjoy the opulence of the theatre and watch the most beautiful dancers perform in front of me, the little boy inside of me can’t believe that I’m actually here, in Paris. That this is actually my life. I had so often dreamed of getting out of my Pointe Claire, the suburban city on the west side of Montreal island. Never in my wildest dreams could I ever imagine I would be here for my birthday.
I like Paris for its third spaces. I like that Paris feels like a city because there is both the need, the necessity, and the desire to go out into the city, to explore its offerings and to be in connection with people. I like that in almost every corner something interesting is happening.
After the performance we were still a tad peckish. Where was that cure spot near our place? But then we turned the corner and there it was. We sat street side and watched the world go by. My heart was full: how is this real?
We enjoyed our prosecco with a simple smoked salmon sandwich with homemade chips and later a decadent piece of chocolate tart. It was past eleven but the waiter was clear that the kitchen stayed open till midnight. He was young twink but already blasé about work and life, not interested in performing for us, but offering no nonsense, impeccable service. We relished our meal thinking how difficult or impossible it would be to find such a meal so late at night in Amsterdam.
More trips to Paris in the next year. I am manifesting it. She is a city I would like to get to know more.
Closed mouths don’t get fed: more trips to Paris.