The year 2001 was not a good year for Americans. It was a double whammy for me. Just weeks before the terrorist attack, I was diagnosed with a serious illness. The recovery from both would be slow and painful.
Adding to that pain, I had to cancel that year’s “Paris Fix.” It would be nine years before I saw the city I treasured again. During that time, I moved from New York to San Francisco. I think San Francisco is part of the reason I stayed away from Paris so long. I now lived in the American Paris and could enjoy the wonders of these sister cities without enduring a 13-hour flight.
But this year I needed to see the real thing once more. For me, the anticipation of a trip has always been part of its excitement. For weeks before takeoff, I was psyched about my return. But on the taxi ride from the airport to the hotel, I started noticing changes from the Paris I was expecting. The ride seemed longer, the traffic more gridlocked, and the outlying neighborhoods less pleasant than I remembered. That was the beginning of the then-and-now comparisons that shadowed the early days of the visit.
Paris itself seemed noisier, certainly more crowded than I remembered, and everything appeared to move faster (maybe because I now move slower). The lines at the museums, always long, were now prohibitive. Restaurant reservations were a must, no sign of recession here. My husband and I couldn’t risk something we’d always loved doing—starting out with no plans and eating when we got hungry, wherever that might be, delighting in our own discoveries, on nobody’s list of “Bests.” Maybe the hardest-to-take change was the euro, so inflated compared to our dollar. Though the euro is easier to use, I found myself yearning to do the math the defunct franc required.
Then something amazing happened: two days into the trip, none of this mattered. I was my starry-eyed Francophile self again, thrilled to be in the city I had loved at first sight many years ago.The drizzly weather failed to dampen my spirits. With a lilt in my voice, I “Bonjour”ed everyone who crossed my path. I stopped asking, “Combien?” before buying something, and knew all was well when I no longer mentally converted euros to dollars (gasping!) and just paid up with a smile.
When I look back at the disappointment I felt at first landing, I have to admit it was largely because it wasn’t only Paris that had changed; I had changed, too. Nine years ago, my life was very different. I brought a new me to Europe this year, and though I had not returned to the Paris I left, I could rejoice in the Paris I found by accepting that change happens. Neither time, nor Paris, stands still.
To contradict
myself , there are places in Paris where time does stand still–its enchanting parks. To sit in the Luxembourg Gardens or the Tuileries today is no different from sitting there nine years ago. They are not only bucolic wonderlands, but restorative necessities for stressed-out tourists and locals alike.
Exiting the Louvre one day, we found that what had begun as a drizzly morning had turned into dazzling sunshine, immediately making everything look better. Even in Paris, a gray day is a gray day. We cut through the hordes of visitors rushing into the museum and made our way to the nearby Tuileries, where we claimed two of those familiar green iron chairs around the pool. This time, we didn’t feel the pressure to move on to other sights. We were content just to sit in the sun and watch the ducks circle the fountain, paired off in couples, like us.
Adding to that pain, I had to cancel that year’s “Paris Fix.” It would be nine years before I saw the city I treasured again. During that time, I moved from New York to San Francisco. I think San Francisco is part of the reason I stayed away from Paris so long. I now lived in the American Paris and could enjoy the wonders of these sister cities without enduring a 13-hour flight.
But this year I needed to see the real thing once more. For me, the anticipation of a trip has always been part of its excitement. For weeks before takeoff, I was psyched about my return. But on the taxi ride from the airport to the hotel, I started noticing changes from the Paris I was expecting. The ride seemed longer, the traffic more gridlocked, and the outlying neighborhoods less pleasant than I remembered. That was the beginning of the then-and-now comparisons that shadowed the early days of the visit.
Paris itself seemed noisier, certainly more crowded than I remembered, and everything appeared to move faster (maybe because I now move slower). The lines at the museums, always long, were now prohibitive. Restaurant reservations were a must, no sign of recession here. My husband and I couldn’t risk something we’d always loved doing—starting out with no plans and eating when we got hungry, wherever that might be, delighting in our own discoveries, on nobody’s list of “Bests.” Maybe the hardest-to-take change was the euro, so inflated compared to our dollar. Though the euro is easier to use, I found myself yearning to do the math the defunct franc required.
Then something amazing happened: two days into the trip, none of this mattered. I was my starry-eyed Francophile self again, thrilled to be in the city I had loved at first sight many years ago.The drizzly weather failed to dampen my spirits. With a lilt in my voice, I “Bonjour”ed everyone who crossed my path. I stopped asking, “Combien?” before buying something, and knew all was well when I no longer mentally converted euros to dollars (gasping!) and just paid up with a smile.
When I look back at the disappointment I felt at first landing, I have to admit it was largely because it wasn’t only Paris that had changed; I had changed, too. Nine years ago, my life was very different. I brought a new me to Europe this year, and though I had not returned to the Paris I left, I could rejoice in the Paris I found by accepting that change happens. Neither time, nor Paris, stands still.
To contradict
myself , there are places in Paris where time does stand still–its enchanting parks. To sit in the Luxembourg Gardens or the Tuileries today is no different from sitting there nine years ago. They are not only bucolic wonderlands, but restorative necessities for stressed-out tourists and locals alike.Exiting the Louvre one day, we found that what had begun as a drizzly morning had turned into dazzling sunshine, immediately making everything look better. Even in Paris, a gray day is a gray day. We cut through the hordes of visitors rushing into the museum and made our way to the nearby Tuileries, where we claimed two of those familiar green iron chairs around the pool. This time, we didn’t feel the pressure to move on to other sights. We were content just to sit in the sun and watch the ducks circle the fountain, paired off in couples, like us.
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