The memories I have of my first trip to Paris are not entirely pleasant, and I admit that I haven’t been subtle in sharing my feelings about the place.
I returned to France in 2011 to test the French waters again, and to my delight and surprise, had an altogether wonderful and positive experience there in Arras. The people were warm, welcoming and kind. The general, overall vibes were groovy, and the memories now are completely fond.
Paris, on my first trip, was nothing but streets filled with dog crap and rude servers correcting my French.
As far as I’m concerned, if you are able to understand me, I am correctly using language. Grammar be damned. The purpose of language is to communicate, and if you can understand what I would like to eat, I have succeeded… maybe not overly eloquently, but this is success nonetheless. I feel the same when someone is talking to me in English and it is not his first language. Bravo, first of all, for trying. And hoorah, if I have understood you.
This time around, things were different.
Paris, you were wonderful.
“The timing wasn’t right.”
“If only I’d met him a few years later when we were more mature.”
I’ve said it, my friends have said it, you’ve said it.
Maybe this was the case for Paris and me the first time around. Maybe we were in one of those badly timed relationships when neither of us was ready for it. Thankfully, I decided to give the city another chance at love.
Well, fall in love I did. My inner Wednesday Addams died and went to heaven (read: the catacombs) and loved the overall gothic feeling of the city. The lazy, coffee-sipping artist in me fell for the cafe culture and the sidewalk access. The wino in me loved the wine. The citizen-of-the-world in me loved the fact that the French went bananas for any attempt I made to speak their language, no matter how poorly.
Finally, Paris and I were getting along… and dare I say, falling passionately for one another.
This is a love that is here to stay…
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Paris – love or hate?
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