Why I'm not t'aime-ing Paris

My Feelings, As Summed Up By A T-Shirt

I think my problem with Paris was that I never really wanted to study abroad in the first place.  I remember so well the months leading up to my departure, the reactions from friends and family when they heard I would be spending the next semester in Paris.  I tried resolutely to mirror that excitement, that anticipation, that awe back to them, hoping that by pantomiming what I was supposed to be feeling with enough gusto I could make it real. Those two words are probably the heart of how I ended up in Paris: "supposed to."  I'd been studying French ever since the 7th grade, and every teacher that I'd ever had in the subject, noting my hard work and terrible accent, said I should study in Paris.  Within weeks, they claimed, you'll be fluent, and it'll be the greatest experience of your life - if you have the opportunity, you simply must go.  Studying in Paris was basically the point behind studying French - a semester eating croissants justified the hours spent memorizing irregular verb conjuations and faux amis.  Coming to NYU, I was immediately interested in the study abroad program, because smart, cultured people studied abroad, and NYU's program was supposed to be one of the best.  Most people, I learned, went their junior year; it was presented as much of an expectation as anything else.  And you'll love it, was the unanimous opinion of those I spoke to about it.

Love would not be le mot juste.  I don't regret going, if only because if I hadn't I would have wondered forever what it would have been like.  And that has been the common thread of my experience of Paris - trying and learning new things, if only for the sake of knowledge.  I've learned a lot of things about myself that I didn't know before.  Maybe the biggest one: I always characterized myself as a city person, and now on further reflexion I'm not sure that's true.  I haven't felt a particular connection with Paris, or London, or Chicago, or D.C.  I always thought the big draw of New York for me was its size, and the glorious anonymity that came with it.  But Paris, as a place to live, i too large for me, too disconnected and distant.  I greatly preferred Marseilles, which was smaller and more intimate and thus totally goes against my own understanding of what I look for in a place.  I've theorized that this stems from the fact that Paris is a comparable size to New York and as a result, the two share several similarities, which causes me to think of New York often during my day and inevitably make comparisons.  In all the differences between the two cities I always prefer New York, so Paris suffers for my scrutiny.  Marseilles is too small to suggest such comparisons, so I could just judge it based on its own merits.

Also, I was only there a weekend.

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