Contradictions

I was born in Canada.  I live in London.  And my stubborn heart still belongs to Paris.

What does it mean?

I can't describe the restlessness I have felt since I was old enough to understand that Victoria is an island and somewhat remote from the rest of the world.  I wanted to escape Victoria long before Paris or London and long before I understood how my escape would change my life, and Chris's life, forever.

The incomparable view of the Gulf Islands flying from Victoria to Vancouver.

Almost any ex-pat will describe similar feelings of restlessness and a certain sense of disconnection to their own country.  I met an Australian colleague that lives in France but spends a lot of her time working in London.  She travels back to Australia yearly.  She spoke about not wanting to live in Australia but not feeling entirely at home in France despite her French husband and children.  She explained that it's one of the difficulties of being an ex-pat - that sense of not knowing, or not feeling, that you belong in any country.

I am starting to get a sense of these feelings.

It's funny how desperate I have become for any slight connection to Canada.  Last week I saw a man in Bloomsbury wearing a Toronto Blue Jays ball cap and jersey and I had to stop myself from tackling him with a bear hug.  My pre-London self would have thought his style tacky and tasteless.

In the past five months, I have showed my colleagues photographs of marauding urban raccoons, tried to explain the precise location of the Gulf Islands and, countless times, dispelled the myth that Canada is covered in ice and snow.  I am quick to correct anyone who mistakenly identifies my accent as American and often I start conversations with, "I am from Canada".

I feel more connected to Canada living abroad.

Londoners are proud.  If you meet a Londoner who loves London, they LOVE London.  And every time I meet one, I am charmed and excited by how much pleasure they find in London.  I forget every small thing that can make London difficult at times; from costly rent to having an unwashed armpit thrust in my face on the Tube. 

Most days it's impossible not to love London.

I spent Canadian Thanksgiving working at some events in Paris.  It was a busy weekend and my first, tiny taste of being a professional in Paris.  Saturday started with an early morning and ended with a late night.  At 11:30pm, I found myself stomping along the moonlit Seine without so much as a glance at the glittery bridges or twinkling Eiffel Tower.  My stomach was growling with hunger, my feet hurt and I was becoming angrier by the moment.

Paris who?

I stopped, slapped myself - very hard! - mentally, and reminded myself that I was in Paris.  Paris.  I slowed my pace, took a few deep breaths and took a petit pause on Pont Alexandre, to swoon over the stunning view of Madame Eiffel. 

On Sunday I had a blissful, free day to wander Paris with no agenda.  I went to Jardin du Luxembourg and stood surrounded by a riot of autumn colours, leaves crunching underfoot, smartly dressed Parisians with their faces turned to the sun, and glimpses of Saint Sulpice and the Eiffel Tower.  My throat tightened and I felt tears prick my eyes.  After so many trips and trying to find different paths to Paris, I was standing in my favourite city in the world on a sunny October day.  Everything seemed possible in that moment. 

Paris still has my heart.

There are moments when I am overwhelmed by not knowing where Chris and I will ultimately live.  Moments where I wonder where home is or even what home means. 

In these moments of doubt, I remind myself that living and working in London is a privilege; I remind myself that I am lucky to love, and to know, three amazing countries and cities; and I remind myself that while it's difficult being apart from Chris, we are chasing our dream and no matter where we settle, it will be together and we will have answered the hard questions that arose during our first visit to Paris and London in 2007.  

Paris sunrise

Things ex-pats in London say (overheard on my nightly commute up Haverstock Hill)...
"I haven't been to Notting Hill yet but I had my groceries delivered from their Whole Foods."

Moments of London misery...
During a rare rush hour Tube journey, a man squeezed himself onto the train carrying a steaming bag of take-out.  It smelled like a rotting baby diaper had exploded and everyone was shifting into invisible areas of space to escape the smell.  Despite being told that it's "common to eat on the street", this same rule doesn't seem to apply to the Tube.  It's not uncommon to see people consume entire meals, not just handheld food like burgers or kebabs, on the Tube but food that requires cutlery and tricky balancing acts.

Things you will never see North Americans do (especially on the West Coast)...
While enjoying a glass of wine at Cafe Central on rue Cler, the Parisians sitting next to me devoured a basket of white bread while simultaneously smoking cigarettes.

Moments of perfect happiness...
I have had a crush on Rosa Bonheur since it opened on the Seine in 2013.  In Paris a few weeks ago, I had dinner there with the incredible daughter of one of my best social media friends, Cassie.  I met Cassie online over 5 years ago but we have never met in person (hurry up. December!) and her daughter is doing a semester abroad in Paris.  Dining outside on Rosa Bonheur's  gently bobbing barge we shared wine, pizza and a salad drenched in olive oil and runny, creamy cheese - "to be healthy" - while talking and laughing.  At 8pm, right on cue, the Eiffel Tower exploded into its light show and all the uber hip and chic Rosa Bonheur patrons squeaked with pleasure.  Bliss.