My Own Paris

I can hardly believe it. In three weeks, I will move to Paris.

Finally, I will have the chance to be a part of the city I have admired and loved from afar for so long. Its streets and alleys, rivers and parks, cafes and shops will become part of my landscape.

I will find and create my own Paris.

I have not yet absorbed what an enormous change this will be to my life. Shopping will have to be done every other day, as my refrigerator will no doubt be miniscule and the goods I buy will have to be light and small enough to carry. I must scope out a funky rolly cart. I once saw one on the Rue de Rivoli that was reversible : pink on one side and orange on the other. It was definitely cute. No plaid old lady carts for me, thank you. God I hate plaid.

I will ride the metro, walk or take a taxi to everywhere I need to be. Will I become a real Parisienne and scowl the whole way? Or will I dance in my seat to the sounds of the Gypsy musicians, give them a whole euro as a tip, and have them tip their hats to me as they get off and watch the train pull away? Will I huff angrily at stonewalling bureaucrats and make guttural sounds of exasperation and disbelief when I don't get my way? Or will I smile and make conversation with the taxi drivers and fruit sellers?

Aside from the very practical details of a good job, a nice work colleague, and temporary housing in the 16th arrondissement, I have no idea what actually awaits me in Paris.

Isn't that the beauty of it, after all?