![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Pour t'apprivoiser.
What struck me about Paris is how very little there is of it just to visit. There's no real gap between the city that's lived in, and the city that's visited - the entire metropolis is inhabited and used in a way I've never really seen before. Not even the major tourist attractions are there just for the out-of-town visitors: every major thing I visited was in use by the people who live in the city. The Louvre had local families and children, the parks were full of people out strolling, the markets were thronged with people doing their usual grocery shopping, the Agoudas Hakehilos synagogue and the Notre Dame and the Sacré-Cœur Basilica were all utterly beautiful in their own way and each was used as a house of worship by those who came to pray simply because that was where they were going to pay respects to God. Even places like the Arc de Triomphe and the Champs-Élysées and the Eiffel Tower were well-integrated and evenly populated by people who were there to see the sights and just enjoy being there. The little park underneath the Tower could have been any little city park where parents take their children for a little afternoon stroll if it wasn't for the major architectural wonder right overhead - but then, if I lived in Paris, it would be nothing more than just a little city park. With the Eiffel Tower right next door.
In that particular way, of there not being a Paris to visit, of the entirety of this ancient city being used inside and out, I was reminded a bit of Jerusalem. But even that wasn't really is. Jerusalem has an age Paris doesn't, and a hardness and harshness Paris will never achieve; Paris, on the other hand, has absolutely nothing political about living there in any way. It's a grand, old city for living in a much simpler way - it's been the center and capitol for so long, so very consistently, it's come to know exactly what it is.
And it was in that way, of being absolutely certain of what it is, that it reminded me of San Francisco. The way people that lived in Paris talked about living there, the way they walked around and wore the city on their shoulders, told me that this was exactly where they wanted to live. Other places, like Pittsburgh and Boston and New York City, are fine and wonderful and many people are happy to live there, but they could also be happy in other places. San Francisco and Paris, on the other hand, are places where people live in the full knowledge that this is the only city in the world where they'll be happy to reside. The only one. And in Paris, there was a greater ease and casuality to it than San Francisco. San Francisco is tilting on an axis and moving away from a city that's lived in, anywhere inside it. Paris will always have people in it.
The first three days I was there, the weather went on and off over having its fun with me - permutations of heavy rain, spots of sunshine, light rain, and an overcast sky, never repeating the same way twice. Then the sun came out, and the entire city was lit up clean and shining. And like San Francisco and Jerusalem, it's a very pale city. Most of the buildings are lightly painted, or use lightly colored materials. That they're also nearly all the same height with generally narrow streets threw me a little bit; it was harder to orient and navigate by visually distinct landmarks in small areas that way. The metro and buses were clean and efficient, and wonderful ways to navigate long distances without needing to hail a taxi. That many of the common urban birds were crows reminded me of my hometown in California, and on the whole they were more dynamic than starlings or sparrows.
The food was, of course, worth writing home about. Nothing disappointing, some things interesting, everything splendid. I ate chestnut pasta, which I've never done before. The hotel breakfast had sixteen kinds of jam, which I now hold as the height of luxury, and included flavors like earl grey tea, mirabelle plum, Corsican clementine marmalade, violet flowers, and roses. One dessert crêpe I ordered had Calvados brandy poured over it and then set on fire, which gave it the most lovely caramelization around the edges. The Calvados didn't totally burn off, which combined with the Brittany cider gave me a pretty great buzz that night. And I had chicken that was roasted with, among other things, lavender, which is something I'll have to try myself sometime.
Every day I spent hours walking or simply on my feet, but I didn't get hurt until after everything, when I was leaving the Manhattan subway to get to my apartment, and was too fast in walking up the stairs with a suitcase and pulled a muscle in my overtired legs. But I can forgive the universe for that. No Musée d'Orsay, no fancy white tablecloth restaurants, no day trips outside the city. Always more to do, more to see, so much more there wasn't ever going to be a way to see it all. So that, too, I've forgiven the universe for.
I'll just have to go back again sometime.
In that particular way, of there not being a Paris to visit, of the entirety of this ancient city being used inside and out, I was reminded a bit of Jerusalem. But even that wasn't really is. Jerusalem has an age Paris doesn't, and a hardness and harshness Paris will never achieve; Paris, on the other hand, has absolutely nothing political about living there in any way. It's a grand, old city for living in a much simpler way - it's been the center and capitol for so long, so very consistently, it's come to know exactly what it is.
And it was in that way, of being absolutely certain of what it is, that it reminded me of San Francisco. The way people that lived in Paris talked about living there, the way they walked around and wore the city on their shoulders, told me that this was exactly where they wanted to live. Other places, like Pittsburgh and Boston and New York City, are fine and wonderful and many people are happy to live there, but they could also be happy in other places. San Francisco and Paris, on the other hand, are places where people live in the full knowledge that this is the only city in the world where they'll be happy to reside. The only one. And in Paris, there was a greater ease and casuality to it than San Francisco. San Francisco is tilting on an axis and moving away from a city that's lived in, anywhere inside it. Paris will always have people in it.
The first three days I was there, the weather went on and off over having its fun with me - permutations of heavy rain, spots of sunshine, light rain, and an overcast sky, never repeating the same way twice. Then the sun came out, and the entire city was lit up clean and shining. And like San Francisco and Jerusalem, it's a very pale city. Most of the buildings are lightly painted, or use lightly colored materials. That they're also nearly all the same height with generally narrow streets threw me a little bit; it was harder to orient and navigate by visually distinct landmarks in small areas that way. The metro and buses were clean and efficient, and wonderful ways to navigate long distances without needing to hail a taxi. That many of the common urban birds were crows reminded me of my hometown in California, and on the whole they were more dynamic than starlings or sparrows.
The food was, of course, worth writing home about. Nothing disappointing, some things interesting, everything splendid. I ate chestnut pasta, which I've never done before. The hotel breakfast had sixteen kinds of jam, which I now hold as the height of luxury, and included flavors like earl grey tea, mirabelle plum, Corsican clementine marmalade, violet flowers, and roses. One dessert crêpe I ordered had Calvados brandy poured over it and then set on fire, which gave it the most lovely caramelization around the edges. The Calvados didn't totally burn off, which combined with the Brittany cider gave me a pretty great buzz that night. And I had chicken that was roasted with, among other things, lavender, which is something I'll have to try myself sometime.
Every day I spent hours walking or simply on my feet, but I didn't get hurt until after everything, when I was leaving the Manhattan subway to get to my apartment, and was too fast in walking up the stairs with a suitcase and pulled a muscle in my overtired legs. But I can forgive the universe for that. No Musée d'Orsay, no fancy white tablecloth restaurants, no day trips outside the city. Always more to do, more to see, so much more there wasn't ever going to be a way to see it all. So that, too, I've forgiven the universe for.
I'll just have to go back again sometime.
no subject