I was recently in Paris for a business trip–as I often am–and I must say how little I have always liked the city. When I was growing up in my town of 300 people, France seemed like a marvelous dream land…that I never thought I–a mere mortal–would ever visit. Fast-forward two decades, and I seem to be in Paris at least five times a year.
Why do I hate the City of Love (aka City of Light?) More to come on that later, yet for now, I will tell you, dear reader, that I am trying to reconcile with Paris. Heck. I am listening to Louis Armstrong’s “La Vie en Rose” whilst typing this bloggery. Whilst I was dreading this particular traverse to France, my wise step-mum inquired as to why I hated Paris. Her sentiment seemed that I was, in fact, quite lucky. I tried to have this thought in my head during the whole trip. Transportation from the airport to my local office? No problem…hire a car. Long week of 10+ hour meetings? Make friends (of whom are lovely and from around the world. #dreamcometrue) and be charming. Jet-lagged dinner at hotel alone? Make friends with barman and surprisingly get a glass of Chablis on the house.
And if all else fails, be Julia Child. Besides the wonderful attitude adjustment, my stepmother loaned me her copy of “My Life in France” by Julia Child. Julia’s chicken was more “chickeny,” every challenge was an opportunity, and she literally went with the flow in every step of her life–from the US to France to post-WWII Germany, Norway, and home into our kitchens and hearts. Julia, you might have made me love France. And that is la vie en rose. Bon Appétit !