Embracing Change: My Journey from Paris to Louisiana
Hemingway wrote that Paris is a moveable feast. I agree. It’s a magical city, part Emily in Paris, part Chacun Cherche Son Chat, part something else altogether. Always something new to discover. Delightful and frustrating. Rich and poor. Calm and chaotic. Delicious and not-so-much. No matter where you go, it stays with you. In your heart. In your soul. In your belly. So when a good friend asked me if I was leaving Paris or just going home, I replied, “going home.” Warning: major photo dump. I should have broken this down into several blog articles, but I didn’t. Humor me.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Let the Games Begin!
Summer 2024 kicked off with Olympic mania. As a volunteer with the City of Paris during the Olympic Games Paris 2024, I spent two weeks working with the accreditation team at the Hôtel de Ville. Minus the less-than-stellar catered lunches and a few glitches in the tech system, it was wonderful.
As someone who has spent years working solo, I finally understood what it meant to be a team player and how good it works when that team is superb, happy, fun and competent. Our managers were also efficient, friendly and never lost their cool. If only every workplace could run that well. Not only did I get to volunteer for my favorite city and a world-celebrated event, but I also attended a couple of games, a party or two and made some lovely new friends. We even met the mayor! If you’re in the city, consider volunteering with the City of Paris. Secrets of Paris also created a helpful list of do’s and don’ts plus additional volunteer opportunities in Paris.
Paris is a Giant Canvas.
But you can’t live in or visit Paris and NOT visit the museums. As part of the volunteer package, the City of Paris gave us a few tickets to visit monuments. This included the Eiffel Tower and Sainte-Chapelle. Yay! I love playing tourist. I also added in a few other visits: the surreal exhibit at the Pompidou Center; the Matthew Barney exhibit at the Fondation Cartier pour l’art contemporain; the Opera National de Paris to see the Bluebeard ballet by Pina Bausch; and the Théâtre Bo Saint-Martin to witness the hilarity of Julie Collas.
Cooking Up Some Summer Fun.
With Parisians fleeing the city to soak up their vacation days elsewhere, and not as many tourists as predicted, Paris felt like a village. That’s where the calm comes in. It. Was. Marvelous! To wander the quiet streets. No one unapologetically sauntering in front of you as if you were invisible. Less honking. Less yelling. Happy people thanks to the Olympics. I’d almost forgotten what the city was really like, until la rentrée in September. But Paris is Paris. And it will always be magical despite the grumpiness, fonky sidewalks, constant scent of piss and frequent bland dishes. Yes, I said bland.
Although a moveable feast and often praised for its gastronomic gems, Paris also offers plenty of crap places to eat. Check out this post by the formidable Tatty Macleod. (I got nearly 400 likes on my comment … woohoo!) I’m talking about restaurants with the same menu of “traditional” dishes that all taste the same. Blah. From Louisiana, I’m used to flavor. Not heat necessarily, but flavor. Of course, Paris has its gems. And I have my faves. Then there are the colorful, animated markets and the multitude of international restaurants (some amazeballs). And, the gorgeous and delicious pastries, although others … still … meh. I won’t name names. But for a few suggestions on the good ones, head to my Dining in Paris page.
I was still pretending I was a trust-fund baby with no need for a job. So, because it’s France, and it’s Paris, I booked a few cooking classes. France had to get its reputation from somewhere, right?
I booked tickets for me and a friend for a week in September. With thoughts all over the place, I was in a rush to get everything set up for Mom. It was all about Mom and what she would want. Mom. Mom. Mom. Not a vacation for me. For Mom. But it ended up being both.
I’ve always loved to cook. But aside from that one Thanksgiving gumbo dinner I had when I first moved into my Paris abode, and a few apéro dînatoires, the quintessential dinner-party hub my small Parisian apartment was not. In my … erm … maturity … I’ve come to realize that counter space, an adult-size fridge and a comprehensible stove/oven are essential to my peace of mind. But Parisian apartments aren’t known for this, which is what contributes to the city’s convivial café scene. Give and take, I suppose.
But without a job to pilfer my time and with the gnawing craving of returning “home” to Louisiana (for many reasons), I decided to learn as much as I could while still in Paris.
Say Cheese.
Not a cooking class, my first culinary quest began at the recently opened Musée de Fromage (cheese museum). Interesting, interactive and a great way to get to know more about the cheese-making process. A small cheese tasting was included along with a guided tour in English. And of course, you can shop for cheese at the end. Seeing the milk jugs reminded me of Nana. She grew up having to churn butter and wasn’t a fan. But still, it made me smile.
But learning the history of cheese in France and tasting it wasn’t enough. I needed more more more. This led me to the Paroles de Fromagers (the Cheese School of Paris) for an animated cheese-making workshop (in English) with Agathe. We not only dug our hands into the curd to make a young gouda (not enough time for aging), but we also made butter in a lovely press and had a tasting with wine at the end. Definitely recommended!
Wining in Paris.
Lacking basic knowledge about natural wine, I opted for a class and tasting at Juicy Cave à Manger in the 10th. Lucky ducky for me, I got the tasting all to myself! Brave was wonderfully informative and told me all about the wines (white, rosé, orange, red) along with their cheese and dessert pairings. We had a great chat as well when his lovely American wife Olivia showed up. A fun and delicious place for a tasting or for a light and convivial dinner. Do it!
Mere steps away, I had to stop by Rori in the 11th for more natural wine and a scrumptious New York-style slice or two. Love it!!
Pastries are Forever.
Bland or not, pastries are still pretty precious in Paris. So I couldn’t NOT take a croissant-making class. One of my favorite croissants to buy/eat is the two-toned with hazelnut or pistachio. I chose a bicolor croissant and breakfast pastries class with Séverine at Pâtiserrie à la Carte (max 6pp). Not sure I’ll be able to recreate what I learned, at least I got the basics in a fun class. I will attempt them again one of these days (again, once I have a big kitchen – hear that, Universe?!). What’s great about all these classes is that not only do you learn special techniques on how to make the items, but you also learn the French terms. Merci, Séverine! And even better, we ended up with a nice packet of pastries to bring home.
Classin’ it Up.
Although I never won the Sweepstakes Clearinghouse, I still think it pays to enter contests. After all, I won! And not just a lil sumpin’. After sending my entry through their IG account and receiving the great news, I was awarded a discount on a course at Cookin’ with Class. Located in the Montmartre area, the team also gave me a nice array of schwag including an apron, a water bottle and a t-shirt.
Let’s Get Cookin’!
I luuuurv making sauces but never learned the basics. So why not now?! During the four hours of the French Mother Sauce Class, Chef Fabrice taught us how to make nine sauces out of three sauce bases. We did these simultaneously while also making potatoes and fish and meat for our meal. Whew! It was a rush of chopping and boiling and grating and searing, But it was also invaluable to discover the soupçons necessary to make the sauces the way they were intended. And, of course, dining together with wine and thought-provoking conversation afterward made a great end to a fruitful afternoon in the kitchen.
It was so great that I went back for a two-hour express macaron class. Chef Sarah is both professional and hilarious, fun and instructive. I’d made macarons before, including at Le Panier in Seattle where I worked as both a baker and salesperson. But I needed a refresher on the basics as well as new ideas. This hit the mark!
When in Paris, Escape.
Although summer in Paris was glorious, I still had this feeling that I needed to move back “home”. What was up with that?! Well, if I was going to leave Europe, I wanted to see more of it. Two of the top spots on my list were Scandinavia and Greece. So I followed the flock of Parisians and flew the coop.
Up Up and Away.
Although I only had a long weekend to visit my friend Amy in Sweden, it was now or never (or maybe much later, but when?). I walked five minutes from my apartment to Gare de Lyon to take the 14 line which now goes all the way to Orly. How convenient. After landing in Copenhagen a short flight later, I hopped on a train and made my way a few stops to Malmö, Sweden. How cool is that?!
Short and sweet, but I finally got to go. Of course, it only magnified my desire to explore Scandinavia more. But this would have to do, for now. The weekend was brilliant: great (real) Thai food, a trip to the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art in Copenhagen, Swedish meatballs made by a real Swede (Amy’s husband), some corn-shuckin’, a stroll on the beach, a full-moon ritual, EXCEPTIONAL! barbecue at Holy Smoke and then a day checking out funky Copenhagen (love Chrisitania!) with a beer for Mom at Café Woodstock. Make love, not war, y’all.
Greece is the Word.
One of Mom’s favorite books was The Greek Treasure by Irving Stone. In the novel, based on a true story, archaeologist Henry (Heinrich) Schliemann and his young wife Sophia Engastromenou Schliemann set off to excavate the treasures of the lost city of Troy. And Mycenae and others. There’s a book about Sophia I’m anxious to read. All in good time.
It was a dream of Mom’s to visit Greece; unfortunately, she never got the chance. I’d visited Athens and a few islands in 1994 with friends and found it to be both beautiful and gross. The scenery and food were incredible, and we had tons of fun, but I remember a lot of yelling. Plus the debauchery of the college-age tourists was off-putting (never mind us dancing on bars, etc.). Still, I was determined to go back and visit for Mom and give her the trip of a lifetime.
All about that Athens.
We stayed at the Regal Hotel Mitropoleos, a short walk from Athens’ Plaka neighborhood. The front desk agent mentioned something about us being in the best room. But it wasn’t until we walked inside that we understood. That large balcony looking out over the Acropolis/Parthenon? Breathtaking. Not even being right below the lively rooftop bar could quash the reverence. If you follow suit and stay there, do go up to the rooftop bar, Taratsa, and get those chickpeas in tomato sauce! Unfortunately, I didn’t snap a pic of the menu, so I forget what they’re called. But, damn, they were delicious.
Following a drink and those gorgeous chickpeas, we walked over to Atlantikos, an inexpensive, authentic and divine spot for seafood dishes. A short wait in line and we were seated at an outdoor table alongside the restaurant. Note: when you order Retsina, they bring you a bottle or a pitcher, not just a glass. This was one of our favorite meals. And had we stayed longer, we would have returned. I can say the same for the super scrummy Lukumades with Greek coffee we had the following morning. OMG.
Not only did Mom enjoy great food (like mother, like daughter), but she also loved art, history and literature. So following her lead as well as notes from The Greek Treasure, we made it to a few of the city’s stunning, must-see sites.
The grandiose house, Iliou Melathron, where Henry and Sophia once lived is now the Numismatic Museum, which I highly recommend. Coins across the ages! There’s also a little garden café in the back to enjoy lunch or coffee and spy little kitties through the bushes.
The First Cemetery of Athens is also worth a visit (now home to Henry and Sophia). There, you can pay your respects at their monumental tombstone.
One could spend days soaking up the history of the National Archaeological Museum of Athens, where some of the Shliemann’s artifacts can also be viewed.
There are plenty of other cool spots in Athens, including:
Hymopeeo in Monastiraki Flea Market (Watermelon juice!)
Maria Callas Museum (I didn’t get to go! Waaaah! Guess I’ll just have to go back. Heehee.)
Don’t miss the changing of the guard.
Heading West.
It wasn’t easy leaving Athens. I rediscovered my adoration for the goddess Athena along with fried anchovies and really good olive oil. The history. The architecture. The nice people who smiled. I began to remember what it was like to live in a place where people smiled. And I missed that. One more reason to leave Paris? Le sigh.
Back near the airport, we picked up a rental car and drove an hour-and-a-half west to Mycenae. Again, breathtaking. You have to be there to realize how magical it is. So, do that.
It’s a bumpy uphill walk up to the top. But the views and the realization of standing in such a majestic spot in history are … well, I don’t know how to describe it. First, I couldn’t grasp that I was really there. And second, the sensation that Mom was right there with me (although she would have hated that climb). I wanted to cry and scream and laugh and love all at once. But I just stood there. Feeling it. Taking it all in. Mom had guided me to where she wanted to go. Thank you, Mama, for leading me there. I knew she was seeing what I was. Because we were looking at it through the same eyes.
Back to the car and a little over two hours later winding up and down and around mountainous roads in our trusty little I-Think-I-Can-I-Think-I-Can rental car, we settled into the Zoe Seaside Resort in the coastal town of Gialova. All I could think of was jumping into Navarino Bay and feeling the salty water on my skin and in my hair. This place is truly a little paradise. I even got to practice my yassas’ and kalimera’s with the staff. Note to self: learn more Greek.
Drinks on the beach, a saunter through the small village/street and a nosh next door kept us content until a good night’s sleep opened up to the next morning’s feast of the perfect breakfast buffet. This, before driving up to omega-shaped Voidokilia Beach for a lil ceremony for Mom.
Mom. Mama. Mommy. This is exactly where she wanted to be. The emotions washed over me like a big bear hug as she and I swam together in the stunning turquoise waters. I could have swum with her forever, going and going and going. But no. She was free. And she reminded me of my freedom too and that I needed to go now. That she would always be near, but that I didn’t need to hold on anymore. So, with tears in my eyes, I walked back to the beach and sipped a glass of wine in her honor. And, again, I thanked her. Her love shines in me. I feel her every day. And I’m so happy to feel her in her element.
Other places to see around Gialova:
Pylos (I highly recommend sitting in the Central Square and enjoying a frappé and a slice of syrupy orange pie – more of a cake texture made with phyllo dough, not flour.)
Marathopoli (Eat and shop at Riki.)
I could not have imagined the impact that Greece would have on me, on my thoughts. More than Paris? Maybe. Life had already changed in many ways, but bringing Mom to that one final place she always wanted to visit created a major shift.
Leaving or Going?
It was at age 16 during my first trip to Paris that I began dreaming about living in Paris and/or France one day. I did so several times including a short stint as an Au Pair near Aix-en-Provence, a year as a student in Paris, weeks or months here and there as a tourist and finally in 2022 (the longest) as a resident and employee.
While there were bumps in the road during each of these stays, my dream persisted. Paris was home, even if only in my heart. So of course, after receiving the job offer in 2022, I took it. Although this time was different. I wasn’t sure. I’d been through a lot. Taking care of Nana. Her passing. Grad school. Moving. I was tired. But for years I’d whined incessantly to my family and friends about how much I missed and loved Paris. So how could I say no? After all, wasn’t it the Universe giving me what I’d asked for? Be careful of that.
But I’d done it. I’d done what I’d wanted for years. I’d moved back to Paris, had a job, had an apartment, had friends, gone through the excruciating admin process and succeeded. But it never quite felt right. Exhaustion? Age? The need for more space with a real kitchen and space to create? The lack of a real community? Paris is very transient, and it can take a long time to create lasting friendships especially with those who really get you. My idea of the life I really wanted, not the one I thought I wanted, had changed. I missed comfort. My job didn’t fit. At all. So I quit that. Then I took time for me, to rest, to write, to travel, to listen to myself. I’d already longed for more space to cook, live and create, a higher salary, more time to write and live the life I was meant to live, reconnect with my beloved community and eat food with more flavor. But why would I go back to this town, to Lafayette, to the one I’d run away from? Because my family was there, in spirit and in my friends. And no matter how far away you go, or to what exotic destination where everything seems rosier, family/community is indispensable. Kinda like breathing.
So 26 months after I’d arrived, I decided to leave. Paris had given me what I needed to let go of, or maybe make peace with, the past. Somehow, that was the theme of the moment.
This year, too many friends or friends of friends have died or gotten cancer or been through some terrible tragedy. It reminds me of 2008. It’s heavy. In August, after a fall, my uncle was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer. He thought he’d contracted a stomach bug and become dehydrated due to lack of water and air conditioning; they didn’t have the latter in his prison dorm. He had surgery, but it had already gone to his liver. I had hoped to visit with him, at least one last time. Maybe because of his condition, they would let me.
On his birthday, Saturday, August 31, we had a wonderful conversation. He was in good spirits, optimistic, even after having moved to a hospice room. He was hopeful they’d let him out. This concerned me because of logistical reasons, but I knew I had to go home. He was so happy I’d decided to move back to Louisiana. His voice was a little strained, but he was my joyful uncle, the one I’d known as a child. The one I’d played games with. The one I’d had taco-eating contests with. Our last hug was in 2018 when we’d met after the mediation process. I wanted at least one more.
But he didn’t wait for me. The following Thursday, I got the call. Shock. Heartbreak. Surreal. Everything at once. Nana’s passing three years earlier. Moving to Paris. The job. All the things I’d done in Paris over the summer. The cooking lessons. The trips. Taking Mom to Greece. Setting her free. Making the decision to move back home. And now my uncle suddenly gone. The end of a very very big chapter. As Nana would say, “What to do, what to do? We have a time, don’t we?” Unfortunately, no one filmed or took pics of the funeral – I was still in Paris and couldn’t make it. The caskets are made by the prisoners. And the former are transported by a gorgeous carriage and black horses. They also gave him a memorial service at the Baptist School. They’re supposed to send me a dvd.
When I got back to Louisiana, I was able to go to the prison to visit his gravesite. They had nothing but kind, loving words about him. Needless to say, it was an emotional visit.
I barely remember the week after I got back to Paris from Greece. I finished packing, got all the admin stuff under wraps, said a few goodbyes when I had time and shipped 15 boxes. Surprisingly – even to the AWESOME agency I went through (Sherpr) – they made it to Louisiana before I did. This was it. I was leaving my Paris home to return home home. No turning back now.
Home Sweet Home.
But where is home? Is it far away in that place you’ve always dreamed of? Is it in your hometown with your family? Is it where the job is? Is it where the weather’s best? The Universe was telling me it was Louisiana. And it was loud! I felt it in my bones. If you know me, then you know how shocking that realization is. I have lived in limbo my entire life, even with Mom, moving from one town, city, apartment, country to another, looking, searching for home or the next adventure. It was my/our normal. What is key here is that I know I had to go to all those places and live all those chapters to understand. To return to my roots. My community. To the scents and sounds and flavors and love I knew as a child.
I miss my family more than I can express. I wish they were here, physically. I wish I could hold them in my arms, laugh with them, cook with them, watch silly shows with them. But now that I am back in Lafayette, I feel them here, all around me. In the Carolina Wren, Blue Jay and Northern Mockingbird. In the dusty windowsill. In the way the old screen door creaks and slams shut. In the way the sweet olive reminds me it’s autumn. In the way the roly-polies and spiders and ants scamper around and the snakes slither and sway along the Têche. In the smiles and hugs and love of my friends. I am extraordinarily grateful for them. It’s overwhelming.
Due to some fonky health issues since I arrived, I haven’t been out and about as much as I’d like. But still, some. I told a friend in Europe how much of myself I felt here since I’d been back. He replied, “oh, well you’re still in your honeymoon phase.” But he was wrong.
I’m well aware this is no honeymoon. There are tears and fears and panic attacks and exhaustion and loss and doubts and this constant state of feeling as if someone took my body and heart and brain apart and put them back together haphazardly. There are the shit politics and the squiggly things and the crime and the should-do-betters as well as the threat of it all disappearing with one bad storm. Louisiana is no paradise. I have not forgotten.
But I’m here. And it feels right. I feel the excitement and the hugs and the smiles and the manners and the familiarity as I recreate my place, me, in Louisiana once again and reconnect with all those I love so ridiculously much, and who love me too. And as I search for the right job and the right car and that “home” with the spacious kitchen and bathtub and adult-size fridge and screened-in porch in the neighborhood I love, I recognize that this is no honeymoon. This is going to be hard. This is going to be beautiful. This is a real marriage, with all its ups and downs and passion and pain. I am ready. “I do.”
So, I say MERCI to Paris. Thank you for giving me all I’d asked for. Thank you for being my mistress and for your sexy ways. Thank you for letting me go. Thank you to summer. And thank you to my family, friends and the Universe for giving me all these special gifts. And if you took the time to read this, thank YOU! A new chapter begins now. Bon appétit!
Paris and croissants are forever linked in my palate. I truly loved this look at the many Parises you’ve experienced over the decades and how each time the city has changed your own views of life.