in june, the man i’ve been dating for six months returns home to paris.
in july, we make a plan.
in august, i quit my job.
on sepember 16, i arrive in paris…
i sort of believe in blending in. heck. i LIVE in paris. i’m not a tourist. i’m not a visitor. i have a home, a neighborhood, a daily routine. i know where to go grocery shopping if i want variety, and a long receipt and where to go if i want to be forced to buy milk, bread, and toilet paper, and walk home.
the first time i was in paris, five years ago, i practiced this blending in thing. i was traveling with a group, but during the five days we spent in paris, i moved around mostly on my own. you know, if you are silent, people imagine what you might be thinking to yourself – and, miraculously, they imagine that you are thinking it in the same language as they. but, then it was summer. the cues that shout FOREIGNER were less audible. let me tell you a little bit about the end of fall, and
four ways to pick me out in a parisian november:
1. black coat. black coat. black coat. COLOR! [that’s me.]
2. finishing an ice cream cone… yes, in the street, in the cold.
3. smiling. [that’s me, again…. i have to say, paris takes the smile out of me if i don’t think about it actively. but, i’ve been practicing with my pearlies, cause SHIT, a smile is a terrible thing to lose.]
4. enjoying the accordion player in the metro.