"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man [or individual], then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast." – Ernest Hemingway, A moveable feast (1950) I cannot say that I ever fathomed the idea of living in Paris one day, a city so active, lively, and energetic; important. Paris was and remains a city in constant flow; busy. I was nowhere near as lively and energetic as the rues (roads) and avenues leading to the central squares, or Places of the Opéra, Madeleine, République, Vendôme and la Bastille. I too was busy, but incomparably so to the shops in and around the Champs [Élysées], the cafés and boardwalks of the Quartier Latin (Latin quarter), or the nightlife attributed to Pigalle, Oberkampf or les Marais. Given the stark contrast between life in Atlanta and here, I was not sure how I’d adapt to this unfamiliar world. Although cities of this size tend to offer the opportunity to stand out, I liked the feeling that Paris offered a kind of relative anonymity. I had already been fond of the idea of being unknown everywhere I went. I suppose it was this anonymity in feeling like a small fish in a big pond, that made Paris in the end, all the more attractive and alluring as a city to live. For all its grandeur, it was cool to be able to step outside and always know that your chances of running into someone you knew, although likely, in my case, was super rare. It was like being in New York abroad. Whether loitering on the streets, gathering in the metro or waiting on the next bus, I hardly knew anyone’s name or recognized anyone’s countenance, and no one in return hardly knew or recognized mine. I liked it this way. It was also cool as an American to say you lived in Paris, especially to other Americans tourists visiting the city. In spite of the anonymity though, I cannot say that I ever felt entirely out of place. This was of course largely circumstantial based on where in the city I found myself on any given day . What I do know though is that living in Paris was like reading a new chapter in a story or reading a new book entirely where, with each passing day, new characters were being introduced, the plot always changing. Every day taking bus transit via the RATP for instance, I never saw the same driver and scarcely the same passengers, and I liked it that way too. There was always someone or something new to encounter. Perhaps others had had the same feeling either as locals--long-standing or newly-arrived--or as tourists. In Paris and many big cities like it, people dare to be individuals (i.e., themselves), because there is not the constant pressure of having to fit in, of being scrutinized at every street corner. This is what I enjoyed most of all. Again, I know this to be a fact for most big cities, but it didn’t take away from the amusement of it all. I wanted to see what my own “moveable feast” would be like, what it could become. Little did I know, my life as a transient Parisian would end up proving to be a timely metaphor for finding my place in the world.
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Raymond J.
This blog seeks to incorporate stories about life abroad in Paris and beyond. |