I went on holiday with my boyfriend to Europe, and knew that if I was even close to Paris, there was no way in hell I wouldn’t visit. So I did (I am). We first traveled to Reykjavik, Iceland, and then to Paris. IcelandAir has an amazing deal where you’re able to do a stopover for up to seven days while en route to Europe at no additional airfare. We both had an interest in going to Iceland, so having the opportunity to go there was one we took.
But let’s get to the nitty gritty. Iceland is a world of its own, and I thoroughly enjoyed every moment there…from the ice-capped mountains, lichen on rocks, volcanos and waterfalls, but it just ain’t Paris.
I remember the first time I went to Paris. It was 2009, and I was 15 years old. It was my first time to Europe, and Paris was one of the stops on our tour. I remember the exact moment I fell in love with this city. We had just driven in after taking a ferry from London to Calais, and had been in the central part of Paris for half an hour. As I stared at the buildings, whose architectural style was works of art on its own, illuminated by the iron lamp posts, I knew that this was the place I needed to be. It still is a feeling I cannot explain, but I just know that my life should be based here.
The next day, I called my mother (who swore I called her at 2 a.m., but I will fight it to this day that it was 1 p.m. her time) while we were walking along the Champs-Élysées. I said, “I’m going to buy something from Louis-Vuitton” because I knew I didn’t have the bank account for Chanel, and hello! I was in Paris for christsakes. She replied back, “Don’t you dare, or you aren’t coming home” So, I didn’t. Today, I might be okay with not coming home…
I met Paris this holiday with the same warm, familiar feeling I have had every time I have visited. I tried to tell my boyfriend that Paris has a particular scent. (He asked, “Trash?”) It’s like the smell of women’s perfume, fresh crepes from sidewalk vendors, cigarette smoke (let’s be honest, this is a metropolitan city, it’s not perfect) and fresh flowers gathered together. The sound is also too comforting to me. I like the European police and ambulance sirens, the clinking of glasses as people eat at sidewalk cafes, the foreign languages of passerbys, and the click of heels on the paved streets. You could say I’m just a city girl, and while that’s true, I don’t feel this way in any other city, except New Orleans, and that’s because New Orleans is home. Paris is not home physically, but it’s home, mentally. Have you ever been to a place and knew that place was just for you? I know that is true in Paris. I have found myself staring off into the streets from our apartment, staring at the glow of the city lights. They emit a red and yellow glow that criss-crosses the sidewalk, illuminating the faces that walk beneath them. It’s beautiful, and I love it.
I love the aesthetic of Paris.
I will take my first step in making my dream of living here come true this Friday while I tour the American University of Paris. I hope to study French this summer so that I can further my knowledge of the French language, making my goal of working for a fashion house more realistic. I believe it is essential to speak their language if I want to work for a French fashion house. I am eager to see if this university can give me the tools I need to further my education.
Sometimes I worry that my boyfriend does not understand how passionate I am about this city. I’ve mentioned it to him several times, but I think he doesn’t understand my passion simply because he doesn’t feel this way about Paris like I do, and that’s okay. This city is not for every one. Some people see Paris as any other metropolitan city, without the charming, glamorous haze I see Paris through. He knows that I want to move here, and of course, I would want him to live here with me if our relationship progresses further. I worry that he has more restrictions than I do in moving here. I don’t have anything to hold me back and am willing to sell everything I own, save for my animals, and move into a small flat in Paris, immersing myself in Parisian life.
I know that I am probably a bit deluded about this city and I bet most people would wager that I am just seeing a facade of Paris, that I’d change once I lived here, and it would be as blasé to me like living at home is. Maybe they’re right, but they also don’t have ties to this city emotionally like I do.
Though I will admit my first time in Paris was what stirred the revolution in me, it was truly the second time I visited that I knew my soul and heart were here in this city. I had left Italy after a month-long internship. It was more of a vacation I took that had the bonus of an internship; it was really a sabbatical that helped me stabilize myself after my mom had died. I was in a weird place, mentally and physically, and coming back to Paris helped revitalize myself. It was like it ignited a match in my soul, but in exchange for happiness, I sold my heart to this city. It was an exchange I was willing to take, but is the reason that I feel so attached to Paris. For a few days during that trip, I was completely alone. I didn’t know a soul in this city besides myself, and I’m not sure I even really knew myself at that time. Yet, I was completely okay with that. I was alone in a foreign country and could be myself, unrestricted. I was alone, and yet I never once felt lonely. It was freeing.
Now, I come back, chasing the dream that I saw come true in this city, and leave unfulfilled, knowing I cannot truly be satisfied until I live here.
And if I live here, and realize I am still unsatisfied?
I suppose that is the risk I will take. I will sit on the banks of the Seine, staring at the slim rooftops, adorned with chimney stacks, letting the bateaus pass me by.
And I will be happy just to be here.
Maison de Martzell 