what i’m wearing: primark leopard print coat, primark sleeveless cream turtleneck, primark cropped jeans, primark gold bag & primark white sneakers
Hemingway was right, Paris is indeed a ‘moveable feast’ However, problematically, if Paris is my undeniable feast, everywhere else feels like an appetizer; a watery soup, half cold to be precise. I walk around Barcelona with an eternal appetite unfulfilled. When is the main course coming? I ask myself after over a year living here, growing more hungry and more frustrated as the months dissolve into one another. Now, Barcelona is a lovely place but it certainly isn’t Paris. Nowhere ever will be in my eyes. Finding another city like Paris is similar to looking for a new best friend, which is, rather impossible. At 27, my true friends run deep and solid and they can no longer be shifted or replaced. The same goes for the city. No location on earth will surpass or exceed it. Not even Ibiza. And so the age old question arises, it is better to have loved and lost or not loved at all?
Melodramatic perhaps, I haven’t lost Paris; work requires I return and it’s a 90 minute flight. She is still there whenever I want. But living in France spoilt me. The city gave me certain expectations. Many handsome men in blazers, top quality baked goods, abundant bookstores, clean streets, sweeping architecture…. A river. I now believe any city without one to be utterly lacking, a river bank can play many roles – it can be a party or a picnic with wine and a slab of cheese, it can be an extension of one’s living room with a book – in the summer, Paris even manages to turn their river into a beach. I’ve written many a blog post about the bridges that span the Seine too, each ancient and remarkable. The city taught me sophistication, I went from countryside life to a tiny University town, a place were sweatpants were celebrated….to finally finding, Paris.
There is a classiness to the city, unparalleled to anywhere else. The city overindulged me in my youth, at a time where I believed to be absolutely misunderstood by the entire world, I moved here and found true friends and a lifestyle to learn from. It was the biggest stepping stone, my family aside in determining who I am today. I don’t regret moving to Barcelona but I do miss Paris. I will always miss Paris. And yet, fiercely the city is part of who I am. That is both a blessing and a curse. I fear I’ll spend years in other cities shifting under expectations only she can fulfill. I predict one day I’ll move back but until then, here’s to floating over on a plane for croissants in a leopard print coat. If I could, I’d do it every weekend…
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