It may take more than a perfect spring morning to put a real smile on a Parisian face, but then again perhaps not... It was Maurice Chevalier who said that he loved Paris every moment of the year, and indeed it is not difficult to always love this remarkable city for its distinct atmosphere, but it has often been asked, by the cheerful American who has just had some trouble ordering a drink in a Paris café, whether the city loves you back.
Yet, in the few days that I spent there last week, with sunny days and mild evenings, I really did feel like Paris was all-embracing, and that the surly city folk were smiling and elegant and receptive to the non-natives. Spilling out of the cafés drinking their café crèmes and Kronenbourg 1664, nice and cool, it wasn't hard to strike up pleasant talk with the cousins of Proust...
My English friend E Winter, who has resided in Paris for over five years, has found it hard to integrate into the Parisian way of life; her English manner, she feels, is somewhat incongruous with the Gaul way, but as I watched her dance, barefoot, under the sparking Tour Eiffel, to the sounds of a live and funked-up brass band, I found it hard to believe that she has not been seduced slightly by this gorgeous, gorgeous city with so much to offer to the aesthete and the bon viveur, which she is both.
I remember finding it hard to integrate into London life when first moving there many, many moons ago - and indeed I could rattle on about the hardships of starting a fresh life in other European cities, for we must be patient and brave to take on the strange ways of the "foreign" and worse still, the feeling of ignorance and childishness when confronted with a new language.
Yet people continue to leave all that is familiar and move to unknown territories in the hope of the thrill, the challenge, and in this age of über-capitalism, the financial reward.
My friend E Winter talks of moving back to London soon, but I feel she will miss the abundance of gooey cheese and affordable oysters on offer at the food market a few doors away from her apartment, the thrill of being slightly alien, the financial reward of working for a luxury goods multinational that takes her to China and New York and other exotic destinations... but who's to know?
A year ago a Portuguese friend moved to Paris from Milan; I have always wanted to live there, she said to me.
And so with the bravado of a Portuguese pirate she upped and moved to a city with little knowledge of French and not many acquaintances - six months later she decided to leave the city and return there frequently (for financial reward and rendezvous with her Zurich-based boyfriend). It wasn't quite the same living there, she said, this is the way for me to enjoy Paris.
And so for five long nights and short days we lived it up in Paris, taking in the Lovis Corinth exhibition at the Musée D'Orsay, promenading along the boulevards until our feet hurt, sipping acid citron pressé with mountains of sugar, picking up sweet violet soaps and fine teas from the little shops in the Marais, feasting on plump Bordeaux snails and chilled Brouilly with long-lost friends, eavesdropping on Tricky of Massive Attack fame at the former hostess bar turned club Le Baron - knowing full well that quotidian life is not packed with these thrills and extravagance, we slept little and talked much until it was time for us all to return to our respective realities.
Having never lived there, I feel no shame in being romantic and cliché about Paris; ever seductive and always mysterious, this city will always be alluring and beautiful to me.
Yet, in the few days that I spent there last week, with sunny days and mild evenings, I really did feel like Paris was all-embracing, and that the surly city folk were smiling and elegant and receptive to the non-natives. Spilling out of the cafés drinking their café crèmes and Kronenbourg 1664, nice and cool, it wasn't hard to strike up pleasant talk with the cousins of Proust...
My English friend E Winter, who has resided in Paris for over five years, has found it hard to integrate into the Parisian way of life; her English manner, she feels, is somewhat incongruous with the Gaul way, but as I watched her dance, barefoot, under the sparking Tour Eiffel, to the sounds of a live and funked-up brass band, I found it hard to believe that she has not been seduced slightly by this gorgeous, gorgeous city with so much to offer to the aesthete and the bon viveur, which she is both.
I remember finding it hard to integrate into London life when first moving there many, many moons ago - and indeed I could rattle on about the hardships of starting a fresh life in other European cities, for we must be patient and brave to take on the strange ways of the "foreign" and worse still, the feeling of ignorance and childishness when confronted with a new language.
Yet people continue to leave all that is familiar and move to unknown territories in the hope of the thrill, the challenge, and in this age of über-capitalism, the financial reward.
My friend E Winter talks of moving back to London soon, but I feel she will miss the abundance of gooey cheese and affordable oysters on offer at the food market a few doors away from her apartment, the thrill of being slightly alien, the financial reward of working for a luxury goods multinational that takes her to China and New York and other exotic destinations... but who's to know?
A year ago a Portuguese friend moved to Paris from Milan; I have always wanted to live there, she said to me.
And so with the bravado of a Portuguese pirate she upped and moved to a city with little knowledge of French and not many acquaintances - six months later she decided to leave the city and return there frequently (for financial reward and rendezvous with her Zurich-based boyfriend). It wasn't quite the same living there, she said, this is the way for me to enjoy Paris.
And so for five long nights and short days we lived it up in Paris, taking in the Lovis Corinth exhibition at the Musée D'Orsay, promenading along the boulevards until our feet hurt, sipping acid citron pressé with mountains of sugar, picking up sweet violet soaps and fine teas from the little shops in the Marais, feasting on plump Bordeaux snails and chilled Brouilly with long-lost friends, eavesdropping on Tricky of Massive Attack fame at the former hostess bar turned club Le Baron - knowing full well that quotidian life is not packed with these thrills and extravagance, we slept little and talked much until it was time for us all to return to our respective realities.
Having never lived there, I feel no shame in being romantic and cliché about Paris; ever seductive and always mysterious, this city will always be alluring and beautiful to me.