Two Months in Paris

Today is my two month anniversary with the city of light. I had no idea, when I first arrived here, eyes blazing and feasting on the romantic notion that I was going to be living here for a year, of the sheer range of emotions I would feel in the next two months.

Everyone, at some point in their lives, experiences homesickness. Most people my age leave home after high school to live on university campus or to share a flat with some high school friends a few kilometers from home. Always the dreamer, I took it a step further. As my first living away from home experience, I decided to move 7946 kilometers, or a nine hour, $1200 return flight, from Vancouver to Paris. I never did anything half way I guess. Which is a good thing. Unless you end up slightly in over your head in a cold, unknown city with a language barrier to boot.

So I showed up at my first job with one suitcase and expectations higher than the sparkling tower that first took my breath away when I arrived here, and I made friends (amazing ones at that) and tried to assimilate into this new life. I drank wine out of the bottle and bought bread and cheese on the way to visit the Pere Lachaise cemetery. I traipsed through Montmartre in my new vintage digs and I tried to memorize the bridges along the Seine.

And then I realized something that altered my experience infinitessimally. I decided to change jobs and move from my quiet suburb to my first apartment in the 8th arrondissement. This decision caused a lot of upheaval in the month of October, and it was fitting that this month would hold so much change, for the seasons and me alike. I won't deny there was a lot of fighting with myself, a lot of sleepless nights and dreading morning. But I got through it and I moved in thanks to my amazing friends and my new job is wonderful and I have three metro lines within an eight minute walk from my new place.

A week into my new job, I had a week-long trip planned to Edinburgh. I was worried, since this job change had costed me pretty much the rest of my savings, and my stress almost stopped me from going. But my flights and my hostel were booked so I hopped on that plane with no plan and very little money.

And I had the time of my life.

I fell in love with the way Edinburgh's old town charm and architecture met the sloping hills and golden trees that alluded to the enchantment of the highlands, the way old bookshops littered the streets along with cozy little apartment-style cafes where tea was less than 2 pounds (unless it came in a four-cup teapot, yes, I'm talking about you, Peter's Yard.) and the pies and cakes were mind blowing. Yes, I almost wanted to stay. I hiked in the Pentland Hills and saw highland cows and I feasted my eyes on the Royal Botanic Garden and Princes Street Gardens. I watched the sun set and rise and I read and I wrote. I saw The Elephant House where the lovely JK Rowling wrote the books that wrote my childhood, and I met amazing people in my hostel across from the castle that was decorated much like my favourite cafe back home. I ate chips and tea along the beach as the clouds rolled above the slate grey sky.

And then I had to come home. In a way, I dreaded the cold streets and my dark, damp hallway and the general feeling of aloneness in my attic apartment. But I remembered the people I'd met here and I remembered how my dad is coming to visit me in less than a week and how I'm going to London in ten days to see other lovely family members.

And when I got home, I noticed you can see a reflection of the sparkling Eiffel Tower from my window into another building. It may be a concrete jungle, but it has its moments of beauty.

And yes, I woke up this morning with a sinking homesickness, but the statement 'this too shall pass' has never been truer for me. All these moments will soon be memories.

So here's to (a tumultuous) two months in Paris.

Love always,
Coral