Life is good. No doubt about that. I love New York. I’m traveling. The book is doing well. But then sometimes Paris will cross my mind and it’s like a punch in the gut: startling, furious, making me want to laugh, cry and vomit all at once.
My first year home, lots of people asked what I missed most about Paris. But truthfully, I was so happy to be home, getting reacquainted with American pleasures like Whole Foods and Ben & Jerry’s and New York hangouts like Joseph Leonard and City Bakery, that I didn’t feel like I was missing Paris.
Now that I haven’t had a dose of the City of Light (and Dark Chocolate) in nearly six months, I’m going through certain withdrawal. Yearning. Daydreaming. Weepiness. It’s embarrassing, I tell you.
When I think of Paris, my other city, it is these things I miss most:
• Velibing - Especially in the dark, quiet streets of the Marais at night. No, especially through the beautiful Place de la Concorde. No, especially as a way of commuting.
• French – The language. Just hearing it. Speaking it. Being comfortable with it. I’m losing it.
• Salades chevre chaud – Mmmmmmm
• Luxembourg Garden – Not that I used to go all the time. But the bright green grass, the heavy lawn chairs, the petanque and ponies… taking it all in while nibbling a snack from Pierre Hermé… oui, I miss it.
• The many splendid shades of brown, taupe and grey.
• My friends – Oh, the irony. I missed my American friends from home so very much during my two years in Paris. But now it’s all those beautiful people who became new, dear amis that I miss seeing and talking to.
• Rue Montorgueil – What I wouldn’t do to wake up this Saturday morning and be able to pop over for an Eric Kayser baguette, Comté from La Fermette, fresh apples and a pain aux raisins from Stohrer.
• The canal and all its flotsam and jetsam.
• Sitting up in my treehouse late at night, blogging about the day's adventures.