Le Retour

I think part of the reason I was so nervous about coming back was that I'm not being spoonfed everything by NYU like I was by Smith. I hardly heard from anyone from the program, so it was kind of like going in blind, and when relocating to another country, let alone one run by French bureaucracy, you really should have one of those stick things to hold out in front of you so you at least know when you're going to run into trouble like, oh, I don't know, finding an apartment. Anyways, I digress.

The problem is that I didn't really prepare myself for this big move, and, needless to say, that was not a good thing. It's not only a big deal because I'm moving to Paris, but it's the first time I've ever lived on my own, without friends down the hall to procrastinate with, without rules to live by, without everything all planned out for me. And that scares the crap out of me, as it damn well should. So before I got on the plane, when I was talking to my brother, I was saying "I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know what I'm doing," because, really, I have no idea what I'm doing. I don't know how to live on my own, cook for myself, clean for myself (obviously), make sure everything gets done, etc. I know, I know, you're probably going, "just suck it up and deal with it like everyone else," but everyone else doesn't have to learn how to be independent while all of their family and friends are 6,000 miles away. And the fact that this just all kind of feels like I did it on a whim, like I woke up one day and went, "I think I'll move to Paris, rent a fifth-floor walk-up, and try to be an adult" (sidenote: carrying two fifty-pound bags and one 25-pound bag up five flights of stairs takes about fifteen minutes, just in case you were wondering). I know it has to happen at some point, and Paris is probably one of the best 'jump in at the deep end' places to do it (really, if you can navigate French formalities, you can do just about anything), but I'm tired and I'm hungry, and I don't want to make the bed or cook anything.

Oh, in case anyone wants to know, the flight was relatively smooth and painless. I did think we were going to die for about two minutes, but that's par for the course, and actually a really small amount of time in relation to ten and a half hour flight. The couple next to me was a very stuffy French couple who brought inflatable pillows and wipeys (not inflatable, though that might be cool), and the woman behind me kept tugging on my chair every time she got up, down, or did anything, making it very hard to sleep. Once I got all my bags and realized someone else's something peach-scented blew up all over my carryon, I grabbed a taxi driven by who was probably the nicest cabbie I've ever met. We talked the whole way into Paris about the French (he's Portuguese) and how expensive it is to live here, and then he told me I was cute, which was where it turned a teensy bit creepy, then I picked up my keys, and he dropped me off and "faired la bise" (that french cheek-kiss thing), which is where it got more than a teensy bit creepy.

After visiting with my old French advisor who's now the director of the Smith JYA program, and after taking care of a few housing formalities, I walked around St. Germain and back into my apartment - oh mon dieu, I forgot about the apartment!! It is absolutely perfect. It's just enough room for me, it's bright and gets a cross-breeze, has all the necessary amenities, and - the best part - I have a clear view of the south side of Notre Dame from my bedroom. Yes, I get to wake up to that every morning, and yes, I know how lucky I am.

I'm writing way too much, but I haven't written anything in a while, so I just can't help myself. Anyways, it's weird being back here. It's strange to come back to a city like Paris and just feel like you're coming home. It makes me a little sad, actually, to think that somewhere between being a tourist and mastering the metro, I got used to this city. I stopped seeing the beauty and started picking out the blaring sirens, the smell of urine on the streets, the squished neon dog crap on the sidewalks, the guys with little man purses and a sense of entitlement. Maybe it's just because I've been up for over a day and I'm cranky and jaded and have no more of that wide-eyed, anything's possible, today's a new day attitude left.

Oh, and in case you were keeping bets, on the way home I bought a bottle of Bordeaux, a mini camembert, and a demi-baguette, all for consumption tonight while I unpack and relax a bit. Oh, Paris, how I've missed you.