Why do I call my blog “My Non-Parisian Life”? Why the emphasis on “not Paris”? For those of you who have been to Paris, you probably had a wonderfully relaxed time and could easily imagine yourself living in one of those beautiful, typically Parisian buildings or some quaint apartment like in Amélie. That had certainly been my case when I had visited Paris as a tourist and I didn’t understand why Nico was so opposed to moving there. Privately, I thought he was being a bit extreme. “What’s wrong with Paris?” I thought, “It’s Paris!” The rub, however, is that the Paris you visit as a tourist has very little to do with the Paris most people live and work in.
I came to the sudden realization that it was time to get out of Paris one morning on my commute. It took an hour to get door-to-door and I had it timed to perfection. You see, when you live in Paris or the surrounding area, time is of the absolute essence. First, a brisk walk to the metro, down the stairs and hallway, through the turnstile, down more stairs, and then along the platform making sure to avoid any suspicious puddles. After two stops, I would get out, walk up several flights of stairs, dodge the oncoming crowd, and make my way to an escalator that led outside to the tram stop. Once inside the tram, I would settle in because I had 35 minutes to wait before reaching my destination. The tram was often horribly crowded with people literally smooshing themselves into the mass of humanity, but luckily it generally thinned out after four or five stops. After the tram, it was another brisk walk to the buildings where the publishing group was housed.
I did this every day, two times a day, and as you can imagine, it got old very quickly. When you’re a tourist in Paris, taking the metro is kind of
a fun adventure and generally speaking, because most tourist attractions are relatively close together, your destination is not usually too many stops away. You can always tell a tourist in the metro because they look strangely happy. Trust me, though, if you had to take the metro for thirty minutes or more (most likely more) every morning and night, you too would look as grouchy as the rest of them.
Although I tried to maintain my humanity in the metro by making space for people with strollers or giving up my seat for the elderly, I could feel a subtle change coming over me. It reared its head one morning as I was walking up the escalator to the tram stop. Escalator etiquette (at least in Paris and probably in many other places as well) stipulates that people who are just riding the escalator stand to the right so that people walking up the escalator can walk past on the left. This is a known, unspoken rule. That morning, I was walking up on the left when my purse lightly tapped (it really was a light tap) a young woman on the shoulder. I uttered a quick, “Pardon,” and kept climbing. Then, to my astonishment, I heard the woman sarcastically say behind me, “Excuse you.” A blind rage took over me and I became curiously lucid. When I reached the top of the escalator, I patiently waited for her. A few seconds later, she lifted her head as she walked off the escalator and we made eye contact. A brief look of surprise was quickly replaced by fear. “Just so you know, I did say sorry,” I was amazed to hear myself say, “Maybe you should take your earphones out before making snarky comments.” She looked at me and I looked at her and then she scuttled off, looking over her shoulder as though I might chase her down. She honestly looked afraid of me. It was an odd sensation; I’ve never thought of myself as particularly intimidating. Mind you, it wasn’t even 8:30am yet! As I reflected on all of this during the ensuing 35-minute tram ride, I came to the conclusion that daily life in Paris was making me increasingly aggressive and I didn’t like this strange version of myself. Maybe it was better for everyone involved if I didn’t live in Paris.
We have plenty of friends who work and live in Paris (mostly they live in the ring of cities just outside of Paris due to the cost of housing) and seem perfectly content to do so. More power to them, I say! Paris is, after all, quite an amazing city. As for me, I couldn’t be happier living my non-Parisian life and being a non-aggressive tourist in Paris every now and then for long weekends. Maybe I am a bit of a country girl after all…
If you like what you just read, don't forget to subscribe to the mailing list below! You won't hear from me more than a few times a month. ;)
