This blog is seemingly turning into a mediocre, wanna-be travel blog at best and a futile lifestyle blog at worst—something I have been dreading but am too lazy to actually do anything about. After all, I have parents, guys! They’re always impressed and/or interested in my life whether I actually have something to talk about or not! One day, I’ll re-focus this blog again to focus almost exclusively on food. One day.
But in the meantime, while it’s rainy outside I might as well channel thoughts of London and throw out some thoughts to you about the weekend trip I spent there.
London seemed very imperfect to me, or at least much more imperfect than Paris. People come to Paris and complain about the smell of urine in the metros or how it’s much “dirtier” than they expected, but to me Paris sometimes feels like the inside of some chic dollhouse. Things run on an unchanging rhythm here—the thin women in black on their way to work, the shops closed down on Sundays, the aperitifs and salted snacks at certain hours on certain days. There’s unspoken rules to every society (or god, at least the good ones), but Paris is very particular about theirs, especially when they’re not followed.
But of course all of this is coming from an outsider, someone who admires that Parisian rhythm very much but will never really be a part of it. And of course this is all a roundabout way to say that, from my brief and shallow impression (sometimes that’s all you’ve got/need?), London is disordered and aggressive and open in a way that I felt very comfortable and happy with. I liked it there, a lot.
As I sat on a sun-soaked section of the carpet floor in the living room of the West Kensington house my host family rented for the weekend, lazily scanning the pages of a cookbook and surrounded by bookshelves filled with English books, I did have to admit that I had more of the feeling of home than I’ve ever had in France. For pretty much the entire year, I wake up in my small studio in Paris with the feeling that I’m somewhere else—and I don’t mean to sound corny or pseudo-science-y. I seriously just wake up every morning and in my bleary half-awake state have to remind myself that I am in my studio, in Paris. This is not “my” city.
In any case I was very happy with that small trip to London for a lot of reasons, even with the unpleasant drawbacks (um, having to tour the city with 4 kids ranging between the ages of 2 and 9 during the day and then babysitting them at night). But mainly because it made me feel very self-assured with the fact that I’ve got a ticket out of Paris a little over a month from now. Hey, future, you’ll be alright