I moved to Paris last year. It is beautiful. The architecture is beautiful. The people are beautiful. Most of them have enviable figures and wardrobes. They stalk the pavement in front of those lovely buildings like it was a catwalk.
Sinfonietta Paris is a Paris chamber music organization that sponsors a series called Music by the Glass. It features intimate concerts in lovely concert halls and private homes throughout the city. The concerts last about one hour so you won’t be overwhelmed, and after the concert there are wine and snacks, included in the ticket price. You can meet the performers and mingle with the audience.
I was so proud of myself. I had figured out how to live in Paris and be treated humanely, talking to the locals and getting pretty good customer service. French classes were going well. Clerks and waiters had begun addressing me in French instead of English, which means I no longer look like a tourist, and I blended in with the other Parisien ladies with my dark colors and my lofty RBF. I hadn’t been given the stink-eye in months. It took some work on my part, but Paris and I were getting along swimmingly.
Our US furniture was unworthy of being shipped to Paris. I had to start over.
For the first time, I was able to shop slowly and chose things I liked instead of deciding which Ikea sofa went with our garage-sale end tables. I scoured flea markets and furniture stores. I consulted Parisians and expats. Our shipment of American household goods (books, pictures, one piano, one armchair, and one coffee table) arrived months after we got the apartment. Therefore, I didn’t feel truly at home for a long time. I still felt like we were in an Airbnb and somebody was going to tell us to get out. Now it’s just about finished, and feeling more like home.