I love Paris. I’ve only been there once, and it was only for three days, but unsurprisingly, I formed an instant connection with Paris. I knew I would love being there long before I ever stepped foot on the Champs Elysees, and the reality exceeded my expectations.
My mother took me to Paris a few years ago as an add-on to our Italy trip. I was supposed to go visit some friends in Switzerland, but the timing didn’t work. My mother couched her suggestion of Paris in terms of consolation, but anyone who has ever visited knows that Paris is never a consolation. I think my mother was excited to be my personal tour guide in a city she adored.
One of the things that struck me the most about Paris was the people. Not necessarily the people themselves, because my travels have reinforced what I have always suspected: people are essentially the same, no matter where you go. I truly believe this, and I find it quite reassuring. No, what I noticed about the Parisians was their calmness. In a major European city – one of the most prominent cities of the world, the residents possessed a serenity not matched in other locales. Stockholm is frenzied, London buzzes with excitement, and if you’re not careful in Copenhagen, you could easily become the casualty of a bicycle. That’s to say nothing of the break-neck speed at which most New Yorkers operate.
Incidentally, a word about that café and croissant. I am a fan of a light flaky pastry as much as anyone else, but I do have to admit that as a person who doesn’t drink coffee, I felt like a bit of a fraud in Paris in the mornings. A bit of a child. As I do here in New York, too, when everyone rushes around with their Starbucks venti lattes. Don’t get me wrong – I’m thrilled not to feel the need to shell out five dollars – or more – every morning to get my “fix.” In fact, though I know it is the most important meal of the day, I have to say that I rarely eat breakfast. And I simply have never liked coffee. Does this mean I could never be a true Parisian? Perhaps. *sigh*
But back to the people in Paris. Yes, the people in Paris seemed to have achieved the kind of tranquility most others seek on therapist’s couches and in yoga studios. They took time in their mornings for a café and croissant, lounged on the lawns in front of Sacre Coeur with guitar in hand, and observed children sailing toy boats in the Jardin de Tuileries. It would be easy for a skeptic to suggest these activities drew tourists, but my experience was that it was mostly locals.
When we walked the streets of Montmartre, my mother and I steered off the well-known roads and found ourselves on smaller paths un-crowded by sightseers. In a quintessential Parisian scene, a party of four people approached a bench from different directions; one arrived by motorcycle and had tucked his helmet under his arm. Another pulled out a bottle of wine and one more a baguette. Voyeuristically, I watched from afar as the quartet enjoyed food, drink, and the group’s conversation and company in the early evening. No one checked a watch or responded to a text message; it was clear that all were present and pleasant, satisfied with themselves in their city.