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| Paris,
As I See It
I’ve never been anywhere. (Relatively speaking.) As the youngest child of eight children, vacation meant packing ten plus people into the station wagon and heading to East Harbor, Lake Erie, for a day trip. Or there was the infamous “zoo summer” where we packed the station wagon on multiple occasions to visit every zoo in the state, or the infamous “museum summer”, where we packed the car to visit the Air Force museum, the Ohio Historical Society, etc. While growing up, when learning about the world, I always assumed I would see all of the places I read about, all of the places I learned about in History class. It wasn’t until sometime in my thirties that I realized I most likely would not see most of the world, as due to life circumstances, even since being on my own, I’ve not traveled much. I’ve been fortunate to travel a few places in the United States. Key West each of the last two years was wonderful. There was, however, one place, that was always at the top of my list, one place that I just knew that someday I would have to see. That place….that city….was Paris. And thanks to the overwhelming generosity of a very dear friend, my wish was realized.
I just returned three days ago, after spending a week in the “City of Light,” with my friend Alison. Neither she nor I had ever been to Paris. Neither she nor I was fluent, or thought we were even very good, at speaking French. We were both a bit frightened by the idea of being in a city where our language was not the native language. But we both had a burning desire to experience this city. We decided it would be best to book our trip with a tour group, mostly due to our apprehension regarding communicating in a different language. We arrived a day before the tour was to begin, to acclimate ourselves to our surroundings, and rest up for the experience ahead. After a somewhat terrifying shuttle ride from the airport to the city, we were delighted to realize our hotel was just minutes from the Eiffel Tower. To me, and I think for most people, the Eiffel Tower is the primary symbol of Paris. There is only one. (King’s Island and Las Vegas don’t count.) I was as impressed as I thought I would be, (I was in awe, in admiration, it was amour at first sight!). For Alison, it seemed to touch her more than she thought it would. The lines to go to the top were very long, and we were very tired from our travels, so we went to bed with the anticipation of going to the top, first thing the next morning. Sunday morning arrives. After waiting in line in a bitterly cold wind, we finally made our way into the elevator which would take us to the top. As it lifted off, we could see Paris in the distance, and I, who is not outwardly emotional by nature (or maybe nurture, I’m not really sure) got a little teary-eyed. It was magnificent, and I was realizing a life-long dream.
I could enter a travel diary here….. explain what sights we saw, what we did each day. To be honest, we saw palace after palace, church after church, museum after museum. Anyone who has been there has seen and done most of what we did. All were interesting, all were beautiful. I will take away something from every place we went. But that is not necessarily what makes Paris……Paris. I think the essence of Paris is not about which Palace which King Louis built, but is more about the Parisian way of life. To Parisians, enjoyment of life is a priority. Aesthetics are important. Making things beautiful and clean is a priority. It is a requirement that buildings be cleaned every 10 years. Flowers are in abundance……… magnificent flowers, like nothing I’ve ever seen. I suppose because Parisians do not have yards, they fill there homes with flowers, which they can pick up on practically any street at one of the abundant flower markets. Parisians are pedestrians. They walk to the market every day and pick up their baguettes, their fruit and vegetables, their cheese and meats. They don’t drive their SUV’s to their home in the suburbs, feed their children McDonald’s then run them to soccer practice, piano lessons, then youth group. Parisians are small in size and stature, and generally attractive. They dress well. Children are dressed in “prim and proper” attire. Parisians kiss in public. No one tells them to “get a room.” (At least I don’t think so, but my French is sketchy.) I found it fascinating that they seem to be in a tremendous hurry to get places (driving fast, rushing through the metro,) but once they sit down to dine…they take their time. I, personally, found this maddening at times, but in retrospect I realize I can learn from them. They drive little, teeny-tiny cars. I wonder, if given more parking options, they would ever choose to drive a Ford Expedition. I’d like to think not. Everything is small in Paris. In the restaurants they pull out the table and let you sit down, then slide the table back. You sit inches from the table next to you. The people are polite, and well-mannered. You are encouraged to address people you encounter by their proper title when you greet them. (I still want to greet people with “Bonjour, Madam,” or “Bonjour, Monsieur.”) They don’t talk on cell phones in public. They make beautiful, artistic, entrances to their Metro (or subway) stops, to encourage their use. They appreciate art and beauty, all of which goes back to the philosophy of enjoyment of life. Even their language is pretty.
Alison and I spent a lot of time racing around Paris, trying to see everything. We had to. Who knows if either of us will ever be there again? I had a wonderful time. I learned and I laughed and I discovered the joy of traveling with a good friend. I made new friends. I ate food I’ve never had, saw architecture that was so ancient and so beautiful. I walked 91 steps up a small spiral staircase to my hotel room.
Today, in America, there is, among many people, a decidedly anti-French attitude. The French are viewed as those who criticize our government and military actions, all the while “forgetting” we “saved” them in WWII. A fried strip of potato is now called a “Freedom Fry” instead of a “French Fry.” I don’t want to be trite, nor sound like a Rodney King sound-bite in saying “why can’t we all get along?,” but I think those of us who are fortunate enough in life to experience (even for a short time) a culture other than our own need to realize and appreciate the differences. Maybe we did “save their butts” in World War II. But my life would be so less rich without viewing a Claude Monet, a Rodin, a Renoir. I need to slow down in my life, and seeing how they live made an impact. I sit and write this instead of finishing tasks on my daily list of things to do. I think of the Seine, of walking up to the top of Montmartre, of all of the people who were kind to me, of the beautiful art. I think of the Parisians I saw wearing purple wedding dresses or groups of girl friends wearing brightly colored wigs….. of waiters who claimed to like speaking in English, more than French, in cafes in which if you listened closely, Motown hits could be heard over the speakers.
Last week, one of my greatest desires in life was realized. Paris lived up to it’s reputation. I did not see all that I needed to see. I need to go back. I’m glad it is still a dream, I would hate to lose that. And now I understand a bit better the following: “If you are
lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever
you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris
is a moveable feast.” |
