I have found my calling: At some point in my life, I am going to live in Paris. The city. The one in France.
This is a recent development-- recent being two nights ago after seeing the film "Ratatouille" with my room-mate... Yes, yes, my realization was inspired by a movie about a rat who's passion in life is gourmet cooking. In Paris.
Regardless,-- and here comes chocolate syrup on this koo-koo sundae I am creating-- it is safe to say that I am actually in love with Paris. It's true that I only knew Paris for two weeks, but you simply can't set a time limit on falling in love. Was it love at first sight, you ask? Not really. It was more of an inclination-at-first-sight sort of thing. I knew that there was something special about it, from the moment I walked up the Rue Mouffetard, the very first night I was there. It is, after all, probably THE paramount European city. That's why it has such a snobby reputation; it is the best of the best. But don't let that visade of snobbery fool you; Paris actually has a comfortability that puts me at ease. It is a snake charmer, and I, like so many other naive and tender-hearted Americans was swept off my feet.
Compared to other well-known European cities, Paris is a breath of fresh air. Rome, although highly religious and in possession of an impressive art collection, is, once it comes down to it, a dirty old man who will happily grope you if you aren't paying attention. Berlin is a really nice guy, but its historical baggage and odd fanaticism over David Hasselhoff's music makes me think twice. But Paris... Ah Pairee! Paris is soft and gentle, politely asking before it makes love to you. And how can one refuse? Paris is gorgeous! Sooo good looking from every angle that one can't help but sigh with satisfaction at the sights seen. Paris always holds it's head high despite blunders of the past (maybe it is best to pretend that whole Reign of Terror thing never happened). And instead of listening to has-been, tight-pants-ed singers like The Hoff, Paris' soundtrack includes the sex-saturated voices of Jacques Brel and Edith Piaf. In a word, Paris is ideal. C'est parfait!, if you will.
I came out with my revelation in an all-of-the-sudden sort of manner as my room-mate and I drove back from the movie, and it went a little something like this:
"You know what I want to do? Learn French. I'll need to if I am going to be living in Paris someday... I think God is calling me to Paris." I sounded like an idiot, but luckily my room-mate is ever-so understanding of my sporadic idiocy.
She replied with, "Well, what are you even going to do in Paris if you move there?" It was a good question, and luckily I had an answer to it straight-away.
"Write, of course. That's what all Americans in Paris do." I thought for a moment, and said, "Oh, and I suppose a few paint."
"Oh good, then I can move there too," She said in a "Great, I'm glad that's all settled" tone.
I don't see myself returning to Paris anytime soon; I honestly don't know when I'll go back. But I am confident that I'll be back in its sweet embrace again, someday. That brief love affair turned out to be quite the opposite of a brief love affair. Flings are the sorts of things that come and go, but (and I thank you Hemingway for this gem of an insight) Paris stays in your heart, no matter where you are in the world: you'll always have Paris.
