On the last day of my French class our professor played Edith Piaf’s “Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien,” which translates to “No, I regret nothing.” I found the song extremely fitting for the occasion. After four weeks of taking French lessons, I was able to communicate over a baguette and a spread of different cheeses with my French teacher, a woman who only weeks before had spoken to me directly, and I, having little understanding of what she was saying, could respond only with, “Je ne comprends pas.” I was placed into a higher level of French than I probably should have been in, making the class challenging and unforgiving at times since many of my classmates were better prepared for the course.
And yet, I triumphed. I studied my derriére off during the following weeks, and on the last day when we all compared our cultural differences (in French) while enjoying our picnic, I felt accomplished. I had no regrets about staying in my course or challenging myself instead of taking an easier road, because it gave me the opportunity to really communicate with the French. This song, these final goodbyes to my French teacher and classmates, made me think about my expectations walking into this experience and how much I had changed.
When I left for Paris, I had the wild, albeit common, expectation that I would adapt myself to become the Parisian. Women in Paris are celebrated for their grace, beauty and charm. They are knowledgeable about art and culture, are elusive and seductive, and self-assured without seeming pompous. Paris is regarded for its delicious food, art and cultural offerings and its romanticism. So yes, I walked into this experience hoping to throw myself into the Parisian’s way of life, and ultimately, leave possessing some of these qualities. Instead, I find myself leaving with an altered understanding of the Parisian’s way of life, and of Paris itself. While Paris maintains as one of the most beautiful places I have lived, it is not the grand-all, be all for me. I know many people will disagree, especially expatriates who moved here with similar expectations, and found what they were looking for. For me, however, Paris is a dichotomy of beauty juxtaposed with harsh realities. If you are looking for the glamorous experience, (eating macarons at Ladurée, shopping at the Chanel boutique where Coco Chanel’s apartment is only a glance up, dining on room service and picking out the perfect “Parisian” outfit) you can find it—along with its hefty price tag and limited stay. Experiencing Paris as a student offers a different experience: living on the outskirts of the city, overheating from the lack of air conditioning, taking the metro with little room to move, and going to class.
My experience wasn’t what I expected, but I realize now (as a rational person instead of a dreamer) that this is because I wasn’t going to Paris as a tourist. I wasn’t experiencing Paris as a city of glamour and beauty for a few days, but for a few months. And while the beauty and glamour are there, my perception of them ran dry after experiencing some of the not-so-glamorous offerings of Paris.
Yet, despite all of this, I still maintain my original statement regarding my experience. I regret nothing about my time living in Paris. Paris is not just about seduction and glamour; it is so much more than that. It’s a city of dreams, where people come to experience the beauty they feel is lacking in their everyday lives. It is also a city where people have come for refuge or to start their lives anew. Paris is a cultural haven, where art lives and breathes on the streets, through its people, and inside its museums. But there is also art and beauty in knowing the city’s rich past, its political tribulations, and its multicultural makeup. The postcard picture of Paris is deceptive, because it shows what everyone coming to Paris is looking for. The gold details along the Seine and picturesque metro signs are great, but they leave room for disappointment.
Edmund White puts it best when he says, “Flanerie is the best way to impose a personal vision on the palimpsest of Paris. It’s a bit like being a film director who puts together his own take on a place by selecting only those scenes that conform to it…thereby converting this most artificial of cities into something bucolic…” (The Flaneur, 187). Paris is truly a city made up of people making it what they want it to be; their rendition of it all, living amongst other people of many backgrounds who are also living out their own perception of Paris.
I’d like to think that I did not become a bit more Parisian while living in Paris. I think I gained a new perspective on Paris, instead. If I wrote this two weeks ago, when I was feeling under the weather and complaining of heat exhaustion in my “charming” room, I would probably have very few kind words about my experience in Paris. Luckily, I am writing this from London, as I await the arrival of family to return to Paris next week for a few days. I will show them the Paris they are looking for: Ladurée and the Louvre; picnics at the Eiffel Tower and shopping; all of the glitz and glamour imaginable in a short holiday. I’ll keep the true Paris to myself, because it took me weeks to realize I do love this city, and I don’t want to spoil their Parisian dreams in three days.
