Lawd … these two weeks have been a trail-mix of emotions. One minute I am practically squeal-clapping with excitement in my treehouse as I zip another piece of checked-luggage to ship back to the USA (I’ve had to buy 4 more bags this week! They practically know me by name now at Rayon D’Or luggage store) and then the next minute… I am sobbing in the fetal position praying that the Église Saint-Louis-en-l'Île bells, next door, are loud enough to drown out my ugly-cry-howls for the neighbors.
I can’t believe I’m leaving! And more than that. I can’t believe how stressful this is! I haven’t slept a full night in 12 days.
I was full of wonder and excitement when I moved over – and now, almost two years later, I am full of sorrow and defeat, and at the same time, clarity and hope. Cue the violin, because I’m sad to say goodbye. But also, someone throw some confetti! Because through the sadness, I’m happy to begin this next chapter, and proud of myself for finally making the impossible decision — to leave.
Judging by the message I received from my dear friend, Blaise, last week, she is definitely more in the gripping the confetti camp than humming along to the main star of a string quartet.
Warning… pardon her very French French!
“AC! I read your En Route dispatch closely and am very, very selfishly THRILLED - FUCKING THRILLED - that you will be State side soon. In the glorious US of A. On behalf of everyone in this nation, we can't wait!”
So sweet! And at most times lately — I can’t either!
THE GREAT PACK FOR THE GREAT MOVE
Picture me. A scale. A scatter of things – EVERYWHERE. And beaucoup of bags. I now know all too well what I weigh (and thanks to the cadbury mini eggs that Cara smuggled back from the US for me last week my kgs is ummmmmm slightly higher than it typically is). Because each time I zip up a bag, I get on the scale. Memorize my kg number. Get off the scale. Pick up the bag. Get back on the scale holding the bag for another reading. Then, unzip the bag. Take out 2-6 kg of things. Zip back and repeat the cycle until I get them all reading under 22 kg / 50lbs (Delta’s limit).
My closet is now bare, my walls are naked, my plant, Gertrude, is in another precious home (still on Île Saint Louis — with my dear friend Justine as her mama now), and there are neatly stacked huge black bags all over my living room ready to be shipped.
I’m ready to go! It’s a weird feeling to already be packed and now just be waiting.
So, when I shared that weird feeling with Miranda this week, she had a genius idea! “If you want to stay a few more weeks, pretend you're on one of your European vacations until you leave. Create a list of everything you want to do and then — do it!” Proud to say that I marked the first thing off my list two nights ago with her…
1. Beers and carousel rides with my family over here – Miranda, Nico, and their delicious bébé, Margaux.
It was one of the highlights of my week! I will miss them more than I can say. And if I do start to say… I may start with a long boo hoo (again). — I meannnn look at that joy coming out of that baby!! Gawd I will miss her!
At the times I have not been in my head with all the – packing, planning, sorting, organizing, calling Delta, looking up shipping prices, asking my father if I can use his car again when I’m stateside (he said yes with glee of course - I think he is most excited for my return), texting my sister to ensure I have the right to steal her daughter almost instantly when I land for a full on slumber party week, and voice noting my cousins to see if they are free for me to lip lock with a boodle — their daughter/niece, Smith – So again, when I’m not doing all of that – I’ve been spending time with my people here.. starting to say goodbye!
Here are the highlights:
Lebanese Disco — we had a BALL! Pictures below for proof.
An incroyable La Fête du Muguet weekend — where I genuinely had forgotten it was even a holiday (though, I gave myself grace, because it feels like every week there’s a holiday here in France — including the latest one just three days ago!). Learned to play Kings Cross on the Seine with Justine, Noodle (dog), Eddie, Corrine, and Renée (not pictured). Discovered parts of the city I’d never explored — especially around the canal near Bastille with modern architecture.
Got a crash course in ‘hobby vineyards’ from John (Cara and Kiel’s friend), who happened to arrive from Cali the same day I went to pick up a checked bag they generously gave me for my GREAT MOVE. Met an 80-ish-year-old Larry David doppelgänger, Benjamin, on Pont Louis-Philippe – who gabbed with me for 90-minutes! Was told I’m a great storyteller by Leah’s partner, Hassan — highlight of my life! Walked through Bois de Boulogne with Sara, where she told me, “I had forgotten how much I loved to laugh,” when she was reminiscing about her Easter trip home seeing her best friends in LA — ahhh! I can’t wait for that too – medicine! Missed snagging two tickets to one of Cyril’s final ballet performances (I had to sell my ticket to his final final show in July since I won’t be returning) – but I think the box office will come through for me later today. And ate my final pistachio and chocolate escargot from Du Pain et des Idées boulangerie. I got to meet Ellie for a gab in Jardin du Luxembourg where I learned about two new books that are on order as I type. Had a date with my sweet David Jimenez at our spot on the Island, Le Flore en l'Île, after that abrupt and brutal hail storm several days ago!!
But that’s not all…
I’ve had beers, and wine, on the Seine, and a dinner at Le Petit Célestin, two different nights, with Justine — one of the nights with her boyfriend, Will, where we talked all things art history and the only art people I have any connection to (Julian Schnabel - who, remember, was the first person I ran into and knew over here in Europe? Reference: my first En Route. Willem De Kooning – who made a cameo in this En Route, and Bruce Weber – who I got to know at the same time I met Julian in Montauk) and what exhibits he suggests I go to before I leave the city. His energy was contagious when he talked about: Musée national Gustave Moreau, Carnavalet Museum, and Musée de la Chasse et de la Nature (Miranda told me the last two were a must also before I go)... along with a ton more! I also got my picture taken by a film photographer walking on the seine while I was enjoying my demi bier and book. I must have looked artsy. I walked through Jardin des tuileries for hours. I visited Musée Rodin for my final time – favorite secret garden in all of Paris! Attempted to stop in to Musée de l'Orangerie – yet the line was around the corner for three days in a row!
And that’s still not all…
I finally made it to Maison Toto for the best grilled cheese on the planet with Selden to say farewell to Thomas, her boo, and owner. I attended an art opening for Will, Justine’s beau – where the best part of the night was when an artist stood in a box and listened to a record Will had cut, as part of the exhibit. I have never seen anything like it! And meeting all of their friends in the art world.
Still more…
I had two solo dates with an expecting bébé-nombre-deux Miranda at Cafe Judy and Le Jardin de Verre de Locke. I roamed about Place Vendôme where I spotted a lady with grey braids down to her ankles! I strolled the quai where a couple was taking an evening siesta in the public hammocks over a homeless man who had the same idea (sound asleep on the ground under them). Went to lots of yoga of course. Had my final steam at SoHo – I am officially not a member anymore. Had a bottle of wine with my Margot at her BEAUTIFUL apartment – where I may or may not have (but 100% did) smooch on her baby, Henri, too many times and blew kisses to her boodle Sasha (who is too old to be forced to take my bisous like her boodle brother, who was strapped to his mama and had no chance of escaping me). And finally, I broke the news to my sublet-er, Simona, that I’m leaving by the end of this month. I still think secretly owns this apartment and won’t say it for some reason.
And… in between… I PACKED.
ABOUT LARRY — I MEAN BENJAMIN
After my very long, very hot, very lovely solo dance party walk (blaring the likes of Aretha Franklin) last Friday, the day after the holiday which I learned they call the Pont. Like the bridge day from the holiday to the weekend. I took two scoops of ice cream (salted caramel and thyme with olive oil) from Bältis Artisan Glacier and then made my way over to Pont Louis Phillippe, where I took a seat to read through this En Route. I was searching for the bar and mixologist’s name that I had written about almost a full year ago. (En route has become my search engine, if you will).
As I mentioned, Cara had her and her husband’s friend, John, in town for a few nights and they wanted to show him a good time. Earlier in the week while on our walk (oh!! I did that too! I had a sweet 2 hour long coffee date with her at the Canal after our coffees at I/O Café. When we passed Maison Proust Bar, I told her about how Colin, the famous mixologist from Hemingway Bar, was brought in every Friday night to make cocktails there. So, this is where she wanted to take their friend. While I found the place almost instantly in my dispatch and sent it to her… I got intrigued so I kept reading about where I had been almost exactly a year ago to the day. Wild how much has changed.
As I was deep in my words, I got interrupted by Benjamin – my new (80 ish year old) friend and confidant. And Larry David lookalike. He was walking on the bridge and in awe of its beauty, so asked if I would take a picture of him. It was so sweet! After I took his photo and handed his phone back, he pointed to the bench I had been sitting on and said “hurry” … there were people eyeing it. I told him thank you but I was about to leave anyway. That's when the clock started. Some 90 mins after that moment we stopped gabbing. No joke. It was such a great meet cute (as they call it in the movie biz).
He sounded like a jewish New Yorker and looked like one too (slinder, glasses, curly grey hair and sporting all black) — Which was very familiar to me. Just having an easy flowing laugh / conversation with someone who is old enough to be my grandparent, it made me excited to return to a place where I will have no trouble having moments like these all the time. Speaking to strangers and learning about… I don't know… anything they want to share! Because I’ll understand them! And they’ll understand moi!
In Benjamin’s case, I learned that he had spent his whole life enjoying traveling and living all over the word – not caring one bit about becoming rich. And yet, at his age, he told me - with a laugh - he was possibly rethinking that choice. Especially given that his friends have all just sold their companies for upwards of $30 million each. He was kidding of course about wanting to trade in his wanderlusting for their bank accounts. But he’s not wrong! That would be pretty good, as his lookalike, Larry would say. “They get to stay at the Ritz while I crash in my $200 a night airbnb.” I also learned later, because he LinkedIn friended me, that he must have been being modest. He’s a pretty big deal at Amazon – so not exactly NOT rich. Ha!
Before I left him he said the kindest compliment to me - “Talking with you, AC, was the highlight of my trip. Thank you for being so open with me and curious.” I thought, moi aussi, Benjamin. It was a pleasure!
THREADS OF FRANCE
This past week when I took my 75th bag of recycling out – it’s amazing the trash you accumulate when you are moving, am I right?! – I noticed that my jar of olives from the organic grocer on the island was labeled Picholine. Made my heart swell. That was the name of my last bike in NYC. I named her that because the bike before her was named Olive (given her color) – 1970 olive green Raleigh. It was her almost identical replica. Olive had gotten hit on the street by a car while I was on a trip to Chicago circa 2015ish. Devastated to return to her broken frame, I texted all of my friends with the news in hopes for support. Instead, I got even more! My dear friend who knew how much I loved my bike, gave me her never ridden almost brand-new vintage (we call that deadstock ;)) bike that looked like Olive’s older sister. She was 10 years her senior – a 1960s olive green Raleigh. So, I named her Picholine – a type of small green Olive originally from the south of France – to keep the name in the family if you will. Isn’t that wild? This isn’t my only kind of story like that. French threads have woven in and out of my life story since I was born. Full circle though, I feel, now that I may end back up in NYC.
Speaking of bikes though. This week I also sent my friends a spreadsheet of everything that I have and that MUST GO in the hopes to A. offset some of these shipping costs by selling everything I’ve bought - for a steal. And B. give my friends an opportunity to keep parts of me in their homes when I am gone. (That part B was written with no vanity… at all!) And, the MOST difficult item to write down? That was of course, my James Chocolatine! I love her so much and can only hope that whoever gets her (already had 3 inquiries) will ride her as often as I do. I plan to also go ask stores if they want to buy her from me. Stay tuned. She will be so hard to let go of.
MISSING MY TREEHOUSE ALREADY
There are so many things I will miss about this city. That deserves it’s own En Route – so stand by. But these two weeks, since I’ve spent a great deal of time in my apartment packing and preparing, I’ve realized that there are so many things I will miss about her!
I will miss how I have to hike to the very top of my historical building to reach her front door. I’ll miss walking into her (tiny, but charming) foyer, that's lined with cupboards that used to be stocked with dried goods and cleaning supplies. I’ll miss opening the glass door into the open living space, where the fireplace greets me alongside those warm terracotta colored tiles. I’ll miss her spiral staircase that leads to the second floor – that second floor, I’ll miss too. The wooden beams that have held this place up for centuries and the history behind her structure. I’ll even miss ducking to get into my hobbit sized bathroom, and the tiny shower tucked right next to the toilet. I will miss my ritual of opening up all the windows slightly every night in order to create a breeze… and by doing so, letting all the sounds of Paris seep in while I sleep. I will miss waking up to the sound of church bells most mornings. I’ll miss her light — the way it pours into this top-floor courtyard-facing apartment, even on the cloudiest of days. I will miss secretly spying on my new neighbors who have just bought the top floor apartment across the way and who have started a coffee ritual of drinking them under their tasseled umbrellas that are placed beside their ten new lemon trees on their sprawling terrace. I’ll miss my coffee ritual of: boiling water in my one pot to pour over my French press, then heating my milk in the same pot before pouring it into one of my mugs (now packed away). I’ll miss the tapestry I hung over the refrigerator to hide its dull exterior. I’ll miss the birdsongs that float in all day long. I’ll miss her so much!
I always knew she was temporary — but what a haven she became back in August when it felt like my sky was falling here. She brought me back to life and I loved her so much while I made her my home.
Now… what I won't miss in this precious apartment of mine is… well, the loud door below me that makes my skin crawl when they open it. The way my neighbor’s running-smell (you know the one) wafts through the hallway in the mornings. How stark white the walls are or that all the walls are cracking severely and need attention. The loud banging noise that my water heater throws off nightly. The way I have to duck to get into my bathroom. The way I have to shower right beside my toilet. (I know I said I’ll miss those, but nah. Full on, nah!). I won’t miss that I only have one pot (I know that’s something that I could have more of. But did I mention? I knew on a soul level she would be temporary. No need.) and that my kitchen isn’t bigger than a minute. I won’t miss that I don’t have an oven!!! And I won’t miss knowing that she isn’t my permanent home.
I’m not quite sure where “home” is yet, but I know it’s coming. I’ve had a few very flowy things happen this week that let me know it’s on its way! Tiny god winks. Stay tuned. Not ready to share yet.
And while we’re on the topic of things I won’t miss. One hit me hard this past week: I won’t miss how insecure this country has made me feel — and how often. It’s been brutal more than I thought it ever would have been. (I thought hard about whether I needed to add this bit in. But honestly, it solidified my decision. So I think it’s necessary to document.)
This week in yoga, near the end of class, as we laid on our backs. Out of eyesight from my teacher I drifted into my thoughts and stopped listening to him. Instead, I started planning, thinking about all the logistics, the flights I needed to book, the packing … hummmmmm all the reasons that I’m not sleeping at all recently (us yogis refer to this “monkey mind”). I didn’t even hear him calling my name. The teacher stopped the class, looked directly at me - lost in my stress - and asked if I spoke French. Evidently I had missed the cue to “extend the legs” for the final pose. I responded with, “Un peu. J'apprends encore le français.” The room fell silent. I was humiliated.
From then on, he addressed only me in English. I know he meant to be kind, but I was mortified. And honestly, I’m sick of always giving people who do this the benefit of the doubt. I had posed for him even — as a model for the class! So I UNDERSTAND YOU I JUST WASN’T LISTENING I wanted to scream!
Sometimes, I want some compassion too. I want them to stop doing that! I want them to appreciate that I’m trying my hardest and that their spotlight on me by switching to English actually isn’t kind. It’s hurtful and embarrassing and makes me want to leave this country faster with every situation like this! Which I know I have already decided to do.. But it intensifies it. And it makes me want to leave because I’m upset, not for the hopeful reasons I have chosen to leave for. Hot tears streamed down my face during savasana that day. Thankfully, hidden from other’s eyes since we were supposed to have them closed – I could let them pour out.
This is not how I imagined living abroad would feel. Call that naivety, but I didn’t. I thought I would have been met by people who wanted me to learn, who would practice with me and encourage my efforts. I didn’t expect to feel so small, so often. I’ve never experienced insecurity this intensely, or this consistently, before in my life. It’s like I never get a break from it over here. Even on days that I’m in flow and feeling good at my language – inevitably a French person is going to look at me strangely when I speak, call me out for saying 15 instead of 30, is going to immediately start speaking English, or something else to make me feel about an inch tall. Truthfully? I don’t think it’s good for the soul to have this kind of defeat so often. I actually think it’s pretty damaging. Hence me packing my bags. I have loved my experience, I have grown from my experience, and I’m not cut out to live a life where I feel like this so often.
Lucky me, I’ve got my English speaking friend – Vivian, who won’t call me out, rather, she will applaud my efforts when I order for us – coming to visit me for this long weekend. She lands any minute now. And then on Tuesday, I’ll be hopping on a plane to Italy — where I fully intend to swap the embarrassment of not speaking the language for the far more delicious embarrassment of eating all the pizza and pasta.
Until next week. Here’s a photo that Benjamin took of me on my Île.
Xxo ac
Your HOME eagerly awaits! All my love to you & very sad to not be joining you for pizza in Italy. A slice in NYC
instead! ❤️❤️
Awe! Well, I am sure Paris will always remain one of your many homes. I hope you are well and have some broader pastures ahead.