Paris, Je T'Aime

This morning I realized that a month from now I will be in Paris once again. Wonderful, wonderful Paris. It feels almost too good to be true, like if I think about it too much I can't catch my breath; I'm light-headed and giddy. Yes, I love Paris that much.

On Sunday I rewatched Paris, Je T'Aime, which is this lovely movie filled with shorts - directed by a crazy range directors - where each one is an ode to a different section of the city: the Latin Quarter, Montmartre, Tuilleries, etc. The tone, story, and even cinematography changes so drastically from episode to episode that it's impossible to not watch it with rapt attention. It probably helps that half my heart lives in that city, in that I literally feel a pull in my chest cavity when I think about being there (and when I'm in Paris, I feel that way about Altona).  Although the stereotypical image of Paris is love, Paris is my favourite place in the world to be alone, solitary, a passive observer in this vast and overwhelming sea of people and history and art. Yet passive is not quite the right word: though I may not be interacting with the people of Paris, I am certainly interacting with the city itself. It is a living, breathing organism, telling me its story, and in how I live within it, I am telling it my story as well. The final episode of the movie shows an American woman touring Paris, and she comes to the conclusion that not only has she fallen in love with Paris, but that Paris has fallen in love with her, too. She, like myself, becomes one of Paris's many mistresses. Paris, je t'aime.