"It's just Paris," I replied.
Given that I have spent the majority of my life enjoying sweet sea breezes and wide open green spaces, I should be more bothered by Paris' less shiny and perfume scented bits. At home I am never more than ten minutes away from the nearest beach and the only sweat I smell is from Countess' flanks after a sunny ride. I can always find space to be alone and even my office has a forest view.
Truthfully, I don't miss those things very much. When I am away from Paris, I crave architectural details and streets that spill into each other with names I can't pronounce. I crave the challenge of walking shoulder-to-shoulder and not tripping into the street to be run over by an errant scooter. I love that I always have to be aware in Paris. I am not a dreamy person and I love how Paris demands my attention and my engagement. Paris stimulates me. I crave hearing different languages. I crave restaurants that sit on sidewalks and waiters that will let you linger two hours over a single glass of wine. I don't mind eating with my elbows tucked tightly into my ribs to avoid knocking over my neighbour's plate of foie gras. I like hearing whispered "pardon's" and the polite replies of "c'est pas grave". I am not bothered by the traffic noise, even the piercing and peculiar sounding sirens that cause older Parisians to drop their shopping baskets to cover their ears. I love that Paris is mostly a city of greys, greens, creams and golds and that its residents provide its colours and enhance its personality. I crave Paris' attention to detail; for every piece of garbage or grimy smudge I notice, there is something so stunningly beautiful or carefully executed that it literally brings tears to my eyes. I love that if I walk two blocks in any direction, I can experience a totally different Paris.
I love Paris.
Still chic...
After yesterday's wild storms, the sun came out and temperatures soared near 30 degrees. I took the métro to meet a friend (another one!) for a drink at Merci and arrived sweaty and sticky, trying to dry my face with those teeny-tiny feminine face blotters. I needed a body towel. The Parisians standing near me on the métro looked dry and shine-free. There was a guy leaning against me wearing a thick green tweed suit who looked so comfortable he could have been wearing a Speedo on the beaches of Nice. None of the women had make-up running down their faces or sweaty, smudge marks on the lenses of their over sized sunglasses. Maybe I have had too much fresh air?
I'm trying not to pick favourite posts, but this one really captured all my feelings about Paris too. Beautifully said!
ReplyDeleteI know what you mean, Paris can be dirty and smelly but I guess it's the bad that comes with all the good.
ReplyDeleteThis last time I was there, I noticed a stronger sewer smell that sometimes was unbearable if you were in or near a toilette. I hadn't noticed it before so I don't know if they're having a problem with this now.
I always think of how different a place is for visitors than it is for locals.
As visitors we get to see the nice parts and charm of the city; we are on vacation and don't have to deal with the day to day nuisances that locals have to experience.
When people visit Miami, they can't understand why I don't like living here. To them this is paradise!
You write beautifully and express the mood of Paris very well.