Reluctantly Parisian.

How does one even begin to describe what life in Paris is like?  To try to capture the feeling, the life, of this city in words almost seems like an insult.  But that’s not going to stop me from trying.  I think the best way to start is to give you an idea of where I’m living.  I couldn’t have asked for a better location.  The first night I was here with Madame, I decided to take a walk.  I left the maps behind and set out knowing only my address and banking on my generally good sense of direction to guide me home (which, thankfully, it did).  All I knew about my area (the 6th arrondissement or "district") was that it was supposed to be “nice,” and I set out wandering.  I turned left and right, passing cafes and bars, a young couple walking and sharing a bottle of wine, an old woman carrying home a baguette for dinner.  I had been walking for maybe fifteen minutes when, suddenly, the street opened up, and I found myself at the Seine.  I don’t know how to describe the feeling of exploring your new Parisian neighborhood and simply stumbling upon the river that is so often romanticized in books and movies.  It’s a very surreal thing.  All I could do was smile and laugh to myself as I crossed the street onto its bank, trying to believe this was real.  When I got to the river, thinking there was no way this could get any cooler, I realized that right across the bank, staring me right in the face was the place I basically plan on living while I’m in Paris.  The Louvre.  I started to cross the river, needing to see the giant glass pyramid for myself to actually let myself believe this was real.  As I was halfway across the bridge, transfixed on the massive glowing building that houses some of the most incredible works of art in the world, something told me to stop and turn around.  I turned to the left, and there, over the rooftops of Paris was the symbol of France herself: the Eiffel Tower.  Trying desperately to not start jumping up and down and screaming with elation, I kept turning and found myself staring at Notre Dame.  At this point I’m sure I looked insane to anyone who walked past me because of how massively I was smiling and because I kept turning to look at each, not sure which was more stunning.  I finally gathered myself together and continued on to the Louvre (which was as beautiful as you’d imagine) and eventually I made it back home (after realizing my street was about one down from the bridge I had crossed-literally a 10 minute walk from the museum).

Probably because the location is so unbelievable (10 minute walk to the Louvre, 20 to Notre Dame, 35 to the Eiffel Tower), the neighborhood in which I live is ridiculously… luxurious is the only word I can think of to use.  The closest main intersection to my apartment has a Louis Vuitton, an Empirio Armani, Swarovski, Cartier, and a world famous café, Les Deux Magots (where Hemingway, Picasso, and Simone de Beauvoir all used to hang out) on its corners (intersections here often have more than 4 corners) to give you some sort of an idea of what this area is like.  It’s a ridiculously nice area that screams “Paris”.  It’s essentially what you think of when you think of Paris, in both attitude and appearance.  Needless to say, living here is incredibly lucky and has given me plenty of opportunities to go out and explore the city.

In my short time here so far, I’ve come to find that the city in which I now live is incredibly paradoxical and very unique.  Wandering around, I’m stunned by its beauty, yet it is one of the dirtiest cities I can remember being in.  There is liter everywhere, no one cleans up after their dogs (who show absolutely no concern for their whereabouts when they go to the bathroom), and graffiti covers most buildings.  But somehow the constant fear of what you may be stepping in doesn’t detract from the contrived yet seemingly effortless beauty of Paris.  And wandering between the beautiful architecture and piles of dog poo, you’ll find a slew of grudgingly romantic Parisians.  No one seems to want to give in to the notion that this city is the most romantic place on earth, yet the Parisians themselves are tragically romantic.  From my friends cousin who has gone into a deep depression over the “love of her life” not returning her feelings (she had a crush on a boy who didn’t feel the same way) to the old men helping their fragile wives slowly climb the stairs of the metro, Paris doesn’t disappoint in the romance department.  Normally being single doesn’t bother me at all, but it’s hard to be in Paris and not have some of it rub off on you.  What I’ve essentially come to realize in these past two weeks is that Paris is beautifully, unknowingly, and reluctantly stereotypical and that’s exactly what I’ve fallen in love with.  And I can't wait to discover more of its quirks.

I promise, I've done more than just wander to the Louvre and back since getting here.  And in writing this post, I really set out to write about my actual experiences, and not waste time on observations, but writing this somehow took much longer than anticipated.  And I’m about ready to fall asleep on my keyboard.  Alors, now that I've gotten the descriptions out of the way, I’ll hopefully be writing in the next few days about my actual life.  À plus tard et bonne nuit!

A couple kissing in front of the I Love You wall in Montmarte.  I stood behind them for an awkwardly long time waiting for this shot.

A couple at Le Sacre Coeur

Same couple in front of Le Sacre Coeur

French artist painting pictures of beloved Paris, the last thing you would expect to see here.