Sitting on a bench this afternoon, trying to recover from my shopping experience, I realized that even though I wanted to see my family and friends again, I did not actually want to leave Paris. At all.
I had just gone into the small Franprix (a grocery store) near where I used to live, and just the smell of the place when I walked in reminded me of my life in Paris. Even though I can't eat half of what is in there, the sight of it all, how it is so very French, I suppose, made me not want to leave. I remembered life back in the spring, and cherished the simple things that I had taken for granted so long. The variety of jam after being in the U.K. for so long, where I swear they only eat marmalade, or knowing that I will not be able to get the shredded carrot salad in the States....
Writing it out, it all seems silly to get nostalgic over food, but I think it is indicitive of how I feel about life here in general. Yes, the Parisians are not the most friendly, but I made this place a home. Even though I felt deeply connected to the U.K. (a surprise for me), I did not have the time there the way I did in Paris.
France, for me, then, becomes the place the most difficult to leave. That's not true. I practically had to rip myself away from Wales. But the culture here is more different, distinct, than the U.K., and I think I love pieces of it. I tried to make a list of what I cared about, as I have been doing this entire trip, so that I can manifest it in my life back wherever. But I realized that trying to divide it up into pieces didn't work, that it lacked its draw for me. I realized that it needs to be whole, in context, to be itself.
Even though I want to see my family and friends, I don't know how to come back to America.
Shredded carrot salad!! Shared, in St. Paul de Vence, with plastic forks mmmm. I miss that.
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