Texans In Paris

There they were:

Jeans, running shoes, windbreaker, big camera, baseball cap, cigarettes, gigantic smiles. My texans. They stuck out like sore thumbs and I loved them for it. In a city of small; small people, small rooms, small portions, small streets, etc., these big personality Texans  were a breath of fresh American air.

I met up with my uncle Tom and cousin Rachel this past Monday morning (sorry for the long delay) and headed straight to Notre Dame. Though I had been there many times, seeing it through their eyes made it that much more impressive.

Rachel, who has never been out of the country, was humbly rendered speechless. The grandeur of the building--inside and out--is incomprehensible. The fact that it was conceptualized and created 848 years ago still boggles me. There is a contagious hush as soon as you step through the monumental (or as I like to say, monumentous--monumental +momentous) stone doors. The towering concrete beams, constant shadows, and massive stained glass windows transport you to another time. Although it is filled with hundreds of tourists, you cannot help but feel far removed from everything but yourself.

We wandered around for an hour, mostly silent and perplexed. They definitely do not have things like this in Texas, let alone America.

After our hour of reflection and awe we grabbed some greek to-go food and sat for lunch. Après ça (after that) I took them around the 5th and 6th before running off to work. 

That night Rachel and I wandered through the 10th looking for a good cafe to sit and have a fat glass of wine. We ended up stumbling upon one tucked away by the Porte St. Martin (built in 1674 by Louis  XIV and looks like a mini Arc de Triomphe). We ordered a very large carafe of red wine, and Rachel decided on a raclette galette, something I had never seen before.

A galette is a savory, open-faced, buckwheat crepe. This one was filled with boiled potatoes, sauteed onions, lardons fumes (smoked bacon pieces) and smothered with raclette cheese. It smelled amazing.

After a few glasses of fruity, delectable red wine we were feeling good. The cafe was completely full on a Tuesday night and the owner seemed to know everyone. Rachel and I were enveloped in a cloud of cigarette smoke and buzzing french conversation. We stayed until it closed, chatting and people watching, before strolling back to the hotel happily warmed by wine. I cannot remember the last time we were able to spend that much alone time together. Usually surrounded by a bucketload of other Texans, it is a rarity to have an entire night devoted to one of them. I am so lucky to have had the chance...especially in Paris.

Our next adventure: Versailles.

French phrase of the day: ça se discute--kind of like, "that's debatable."

WTF, Wilde?

"Le seul moyen de se délivrer de la tentation, c'est d'y céder"--Oscar Wilde. 

I read this over and over. 

I had been strolling through metro La Defense, killing time before my train to work, when I stopped at a papeterie and browsed postcards. The name caught my eye, as Wilde is one of my favorites. At first I struggled with the translation, as directly, "moyen" means middle. But then it clicked. "The only way to deliver yourself (or be delivered/escape) from temptation, is to give in to it"--roughly translated by me. 

Paris. I never saw it as my temptation. Sure, the pastries, breads, wines, candies, chocolates, etc., I could surely give into those. Actually, my problem is not to, if I want to stay in my new Parisian clothing. 

I was always cautious with some things, hardly the type to jump in head first and asses later. Unless you count in my compulsive shopping days, but those are besides the point. 

I decided to move to Paris after much consideration, and then finally forcibly pushed myself into the commitment, knowing I would regret not doing so for the rest of my life.

But now that I am here I find myself tightening my grip on the outer ropes, not yet ready to fling myself into the fray. Perhaps I am afraid of losing some connections at home, or maybe I should cut myself some slack since I have not even been here two weeks. 

My temptation is to be Parisienne--to speak french fluently; wear all their amazing outfits and pull them off; capture some of their alluringly romantic, sexy confidence. 

Isen't that why I am here?

I faltered. Am I trying to lose myself within them, these allusive Parisiens or find myself through them? Truth be told, the whole "I moved to Europe after graduation," is translated into, "I have no idea who I am or what the hell I am doing. I need to find myself. Be back later." So, do people actually find themselves in these adventures? Or do they just pause that process in lieu of the new distraction. 

In all honesty, I am scared. I don't want to let go and fully sink in/surrender fully to this distraction. I have someone at home that I am petrified to lose, tentative plans I cannot help but focus on, graduate applications to throw my whole self into. 

I am sure I have taken this Wilde quote a bit too far, possibly stretched it way too thin. However, it resonated with a lot of fears I have been dealing with. Giving in completely, to anything, is frightening. How do I give in fully to this whole experience without losing myself? 

...perhaps that is the point.