Lily Haight

God forbid we try to enjoy life, right? I think that’s why being back in Paris was such a shock to my system – my American-ness had woven its way back into my veins, despite all I do to try and hold it at bay. 

Enjoying food, taking time off work, relishing in beauty and craftsmanship that serves no purpose other than to be beautiful are all things we have built into our culture as “guilty pleasures” only to be truly enjoyed by the wealthy (those we decided deserve all the beauty and goodness the rest of us can only dream about). 

It feels incredibly cliché to say, but it took a trip to France to remember that there are cultures that have built in pleasure and beauty to their daily life, on a scale that is much more accessible, even to the working class. I remember being very poor in Paris at one time, but I could still afford a croissant, a ride on the metro, and a trip to a museum. And occasionally Judy, you would buy a poulet roti from the boucherie outside the apartment building, and we’d eat it together and it was unparalleled to any roast chicken I have ever had anywhere else.

This time, I was back in Paris as a person who is no longer so afraid of talking to strangers, even in another language, and as a person with a regular paycheck, so it may have been my best time in Paris yet. 

And despite the pandemic, from my perspective it seemed very little had changed about Paris other than me getting older. A few boulangeries have shuttered on Oberkampf, but the one across the street from the Oberkafe is still going strong (it holds a special place in my heart as being the first place I ordered a croissant on my very first day there, after emerging from my jet-lagged stupor.) And the Oberkafe itself still amasses a crowd of young people drinking and smoking at its outdoor tables each evening. (The crowd I was once intimidated by, but who now look like teenagers to me).

In the daytime, we did all the touristy things imaginable, and because of the season didn’t have to deal with too many lines, although there were still a few. The fun part was that it was Paris Fashion week and so everywhere we went, we saw people Serving Looks. It brought back my eternal disappointment with the Pacific Northwest’s ultra casual style. Why do I always feel frivolous for wearing a sundress to the farmer’s market instead of jeans and one of those slim puffy coats that come in three colors: black, turquoise, and a winey purple? (I own the purple one). I didn’t see a single slim puffy coat the entire time we were there. Instead, Parisians were acting like it was frigid – wearing either long wool coats with their effortlessly styled hair tucked into giant scarves (classic) or those huge black puffy’s with the fur hoods like they’re experiencing a Canadian winter (it was 50 degrees). I think PNW’ers have this idea that they need to dress down to look less rich. I’m tired of it. If you have the money, show me an amazing outfit. It will brighten my day and I won’t even be mad that you’re wearing clothes that cost more than my car.

Of course the best part of the trip was watching Libby experience French dining culture. Even though we didn’t fully immerse ourselves in it – we got hungry by 7 p.m. and were often the first ones eating dinner as a result. The first night, we were extremely tired but also starving and rallied to go to Chez Justine, where I thought I was doing an excellent job of speaking French until the waiter revealed that he is from Toronto. At the table next to us, there was a young couple out to eat with friends. They had a child who was probably about 3 or 4 years old, who quietly colored in a coloring book for the several hours they sat snacking on starters and drinking wine. I think they had just gotten their dinner by the time we were having dessert and starting to feel like it was wayyyy past our bedtime (10 p.m.). The kid was still going strong at his coloring book. Libby was amazed and we both wondered if it’s just American children who are annoying to us. 

At every evening meal, no matter the day of the week, we watched French people of all ages sit and talk for hours, and it made us think about the isolation of living in a rural place with limited dining options, but also the isolation of American culture, where we center the nuclear family instead of a community made up of friends, coworkers, and extended family members. Our final night in Paris, we ate at a restaurant I’d never tried before, near the intersection of Avenue de la République and Rue St Maur. At a long table near us, a group of about eight French people who were about the same age as us were out for dinner (I guessed they were maybe coworkers celebrating something good from their workday?). They were loud and unruly, telling what I assume were some seriously dirty jokes based on the laughter in response, and having an amazing time – ordering drink after drink, then dessert (one dessert per person, by the way. No halfsies. Full portions.) then a round of shots came out. It was a Tuesday night. 

The grass is always greener in Paris, France. But it is very difficult to have that good of a time on a Tuesday night in Port Townsend. This is in part due to the age of our population, in part due to the nonexistent food culture, and in part due to the fact that I get tired after work and just want to be at home watching TV. And so, since being back, Libby and I have been thrown into a kind of despair at how things are here in America. Libby even more than me, I think because she wasn’t expecting to love it as much as she did. So we’re looking at airbnb’s in Normandy to see when we can go back next, and trying to incorporate as much of the French lifestyle into our daily life. We are trying to install a daily apéro into our routine, and have also started to try eating without staring at a screen (this is a very American trait that is very hard to part with). 

I know I shouldn’t complain because I live in one of the most naturally beautiful places on Earth (according to me). But being in Paris reminded me of how much joy I get from manmade beauty. Art, food, architecture, even a well-curated shop, or a French-style garden which mixes natural beauty with manmade structure and design. Mountains and sea are great, but there’s something so romantic about human portrayals of mountains and sea through oil pastels, etc.