I was over my dad's house the other day, and he asked me if I was interested in some boxes that he has had for, well, forever. There in the storage room were three boxes of things that I brought home from college oh so many years ago. On top of the top box was a photo album from my time as a student in Paris.
When I arrived in Paris, my first time out of North America, I was overwhelmed with everything: the hustle and bustle of a big city, a different way of living, the fact that I was in a place I had dreamt about for years. Also, the dirt... France had just started the process of cleaning all of its buildings; most of them were gray with centuries of coal soot and other stuff that causes discoloration. You can see those buildings in old French films (Mon Oncle, the Red Balloon come to mind). I spent my first week counting the days until it was time to go home.
Then it all changed as I fell in love with the city of Paris. My classmates and I were dropped into city life, and it was sink or swim. Sometimes we sank (filling in forms without knowing exactly what we were doing) but mostly we began to swim in the rhythm of the French culture. We bought very chic shoes, went to the tower of Notre Dame, had coffee in small cafes and watched the world go by. We had our favorite fruit and vegetable place, bakery, and went to movies. We lived in a boarding house in the 7th arrondissement; our room was on the 5th floor and there was no elevator. There was a concierge who brought the mail to our landlady, washed the steps and raked the grounds to make sure they were clean. She lived in a small apartment that looked out onto the entryway; she could see everyone who came in and greeted them as they passed by. We had a maid who brought us breakfast and cleaned the room, but never learned whose stuff belonged to whom, so we were constantly searching for things. I picked up a Parisian accent when I spoke French and a British accent when I spoke English. We ran to classes, took notes, and complained about assignments with our French classmates. I learned how to 'me débrouiller'. It was wonderful.
From time to time, I will post photos as I continue to look through my photos of that era. In the meantime, here is a photo of me, my roommate (on the left) and our best bud. I think we are trying to mimic supermodels; however, you must admit that we are pretty cute, in a mid 70's kind of way.
