11 days later: Home in CA
Those last seven days in Paris passed bittersweetly, as I packed up my pounds of international presents, saw a ballet at the Opera Garnier as a final outing, squeezed my American friends and bis*ed (cheek-kissed) my French family goodbye, and rode the shuttle from home to Roissy airport, contacts a-blur and cheeks feeling the final drops of my last Parisian rain.
It's over. Four months of my life spent in a foreign country, four months of a completely different existence, has ended. On the plane ride home, memories of Paris seemed to be slipping by me as quickly as the land beneath us. By the time I reached Los Angeles airport, my head was only in the present, as I was struck with new old faces, overly-friendly Christmas-spirited Americans, and 76 degree weather. A deluge of new perspective on my home that was ever-before the same. Welcome back to Cali.
In many ways, it's good to be home. Car drives, grass, open spaces, family, friends, and American dollars that translate into American dollars. But, I miss real chocolate eclairs, the 58-story Montparnasse tower by my home that can be seen from almost anywhere in Paris, the efficiency of the Metro (the only efficient thing in France), the creaky floor-boards in my appartement that were bound to wake someone up at 2 in the morning, the free couscous Fridays and cigarette-polluted bars, the lights on the Champs Elysees and the French way of doing everything in the moment. Enjoying one's existence.
I think that's what I'm going to do my best to continue here in the States: living for the moment, carpe diem-ing. But, really. Taking breaks to breathe in the world around oneself. That's the only way to truly experience life, even if you're not necessarily living the dream in Paris, traveling to a different country every weekend, and exploring some new museum, park, or Metro stop every day.
They said I'd have culture shock when I returned home. They were right. The first day back was fantastic--waking up to the most beautiful southern California sunrise, riding in my dad's convertible in the summer-like weather, working out for the first time in four months, smiling at people on the street...but as little everyday exchanges sparked memories of Paris, I missed it terribly, and I realized the dilemma I had found myself in: In these two entirely-different places of Paris and California, how could I choose which one I loved more? Lucky for me, I don't have to. I'm flat broke so I'm currently an inmate of California. I guess if Paris isn't an option, though, then this not a bad place to be imprisoned.
The only unfinished business that remains now is the question, "Will I go back?" Well, yeah. Duh. But, to live? Only if I'm able to walk the cobblestone streets of the Marais on a Sunday, enjoy a cup of espresso on the terrace of a cafe in Saint Michel, or pop open a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon from Bordeaux on the quais of the Seine.
It's over. Four months of my life spent in a foreign country, four months of a completely different existence, has ended. On the plane ride home, memories of Paris seemed to be slipping by me as quickly as the land beneath us. By the time I reached Los Angeles airport, my head was only in the present, as I was struck with new old faces, overly-friendly Christmas-spirited Americans, and 76 degree weather. A deluge of new perspective on my home that was ever-before the same. Welcome back to Cali.
In many ways, it's good to be home. Car drives, grass, open spaces, family, friends, and American dollars that translate into American dollars. But, I miss real chocolate eclairs, the 58-story Montparnasse tower by my home that can be seen from almost anywhere in Paris, the efficiency of the Metro (the only efficient thing in France), the creaky floor-boards in my appartement that were bound to wake someone up at 2 in the morning, the free couscous Fridays and cigarette-polluted bars, the lights on the Champs Elysees and the French way of doing everything in the moment. Enjoying one's existence.
I think that's what I'm going to do my best to continue here in the States: living for the moment, carpe diem-ing. But, really. Taking breaks to breathe in the world around oneself. That's the only way to truly experience life, even if you're not necessarily living the dream in Paris, traveling to a different country every weekend, and exploring some new museum, park, or Metro stop every day.
They said I'd have culture shock when I returned home. They were right. The first day back was fantastic--waking up to the most beautiful southern California sunrise, riding in my dad's convertible in the summer-like weather, working out for the first time in four months, smiling at people on the street...but as little everyday exchanges sparked memories of Paris, I missed it terribly, and I realized the dilemma I had found myself in: In these two entirely-different places of Paris and California, how could I choose which one I loved more? Lucky for me, I don't have to. I'm flat broke so I'm currently an inmate of California. I guess if Paris isn't an option, though, then this not a bad place to be imprisoned.
The only unfinished business that remains now is the question, "Will I go back?" Well, yeah. Duh. But, to live? Only if I'm able to walk the cobblestone streets of the Marais on a Sunday, enjoy a cup of espresso on the terrace of a cafe in Saint Michel, or pop open a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon from Bordeaux on the quais of the Seine.
posted by Maggie at
9:24 AM
1 Comments:
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