(title from
Le Tres-Bas, Christian Bobin)
One month ago, exactly, I was in the air flying over the Atlantic Ocean, after arriving at Charles de Gaulle much too early and spilling coffee on my carefully planned “plane outfit”. Knowing that I was going to surprise Niamh and Megan and that dad would probably film the event and consequently upload the video to the internet, I had to look my best after an eight-hour transatlantic flight. My worries about airport immigration and overweight bags, and even my appearance, were quickly conquered, and when I passed through the glass double doors that led out to Arrivals and dad’s face, the five months I spent in Paris rapidly took their place at the back of my mind.
The next few days were a blur of ‘break a leg’, ‘congratulations’, and ‘welcome home’. After seeing Niamh and Megan in their recital (admittedly through a haze of jetlag), Niamh’s graduation came and went, with aunts and uncles coming and going, lots of delicious home-cooked meals out on the deck, and the warmth of family & friends that I’d missed for a long time. I didn’t miss the humidity of Bucks County, but summer nights surrounded by the people I love were lovely to come home to.
Studying abroad presented challenges in finding a job for the summer, especially as I’d wanted to go beyond the gated walls of the Lower Makefield Township pool, where I’ve spent the last seven summers as a lifeguard. It was hard to land interviews, however, when I informed potential employers of my transatlantic location. Apparently phone interviews are out of the question most of the time.
After two weeks of relaxing at home, I begrudgingly took the few hours the management at the pool had allotted me, and sat at the front gate swiping membership cards, quite upset that such an amazing five months had left me sweating profusely in the sun, my skin sticking to an imitation leather desk chair. And then, quite unexpectedly, an interview presented itself, and a week and a half later, I was driving into Philadelphia for my first day at Night Kitchen Interactive, a small design firm in Society Hill. I’m not sure how I got here or why I was chosen for this summer internship, but I feel lucky every day to be here. The office is amazing and the people at Night Kitchen are really interesting, smart, dynamic individuals. I’m doing research for an interactive exhibit at the University of Michigan Museum of Art, and I’ve already learned a lot. It can be dull to sit in front of a computer for eight hours a day, but I’m getting paid and I’m just happy to be gaining some experience.
After calculating gas prices and tallying up thirty-five dollars a day in parking fees, I decided to invest in a weekly train pass from SEPTA.
My daily morning commute takes about an hour and fifteen minutes, but taking the train and subway (the El) every day has brought to mind certain things I never thought I’d miss about la vie parisienne. The Philadelphia subway system doesn’t have that nutty warm smell that the metro stations emit. People chat on the train into work, and make phone calls without nervously glancing around. I’ve found myself averting my eyes multiple times as I walk to work, instead of greeting strangers with a friendly smile—no doubt evoking negativity.
This morning, the metro, a commuter-friendly, international publication featured a tiny article on Sarkozy’s visit to Israel, and the worship Carla Bruni receives from many Israelis. Had I been reading metro in Paris, Sarkozy would have been not only on the cover, but probably five other places as well.
I miss Paris. It’s not one specific aspect of life in France, but so many things that made up my experience there. The food played a large part of course, as did the people and the language, but even after learning how to behave in public spaces, the elusive nature of Parisians in public was something I came to appreciate. I’m sure summer tourism is in full swing over there—I’m glad I got to see the city as more of a local and was able take advantage of fewer crowds and free entry at many museums, something unheard of in the summer months.
As I take in Philadelphia on a daily basis now, I’ve really come to love this city, practically in my backyard. It could never be what Paris is, but I don’t know if anywhere in the world could compare. Still, the culture, food, and people of Philadelphia constantly surprise me; I’m just thankful that I can still lead a relatively metropolitan life (for the summer at least), and I hope that I’ll be fortunate enough to land in an international city at some point in my grown-up life.
And if that international city is Paris, I’ll be the luckiest grown-up in the world.
