Paris, I Love You
Boarding a morning train out of St. Pancras, I passed beneath the English Channel and into the green countryside of Northern France. The EuroStar experience was a pleasure—clean, spacious, and quiet, with professional staff and the food was surprisingly good! I was on my way to Paris, where I planned to settle in the attic of a Haussmann building in the 3rd arrondissement. There, I would focus on securing the company’s business continuity while exploring the city in my free time.
Though my work was complex, dealing with risks in a new environment, I was determined not to miss the opportunity to immerse myself in the city. Paris was a mix of old and new, and I wanted to experience it all—from the grand boulevards to the hidden courtyards. As I balanced technical work with exploration, I found that my time in Paris was not only about solving problems, but also about connecting with the city’s unique energy.
Traveling alone with no fixed plan through two foreign countries over a month can leave you feeling disconnected, like a wanderer in a foreign land. At first, everything felt uncertain, and the weight of being away from home was hard to shake. But that first night in Paris, sitting in a warm oyster bar at the steep convergence of three city streets with a steak tartare and a glass of rich red wine, something changed. I felt like I belonged.
In that moment, the city welcomed me. I wasn’t an outsider anymore. It was a shift in perspective, a realization that you can thrive in unfamiliar places and still feel at home.
As I looked out from the attic window over the Mansard rooftops, snowflakes began to fall. The timing felt perfect, like the city was rewarding me for embracing its unknown. In that instant, I knew that the journey wasn’t just about where I’d been—it was about who I was becoming.
Staying in La Marais felt like stepping into a world that spoke directly to my need for creative expression. Surrounded by trendy design studios, luxury jewelry boutiques, and a seemingly endless parade of pâtisseries, I was enveloped by an energy that felt both invigorating and inspiring. J'étais à la maison!
Yet, despite the artistic allure of my surroundings, I was there to do the work of a technical engineer. I wore many hats: project manager, reliability engineer, sourcer. The practical demands of my job meant hailing cabs and navigating the streets of Paris in fresh fallen snow, dragging a Pelican case behind me while dressed in wingtips.
What could have been just another job became an opportunity to balance both the logical and the imaginative. I got the work done, and I did it on my own terms, all while drawing from the pulse of the city around me. And when I think about it now, it’s clear: that experience, the push-pull between creativity and practicality, only made me stronger and more resilient in the end.
One of my favorite moments in Paris came as I walked down a village street lined with small, niche perfumeries. With each step, the air became heavier with the scents of florals, spices, and earth. It was like being led by my senses, the fragrances guiding me toward something unique. I found myself in front of an austere little shop that prided itself on non-visual advertising, relying solely on the experience of scent to attract customers.
I opened the door and greeted the young lady inside with my best attempt at a French “bonjour”. She smiled, likely amused by my accent, but it was when I asked for a scent with a darker profile that her expression shifted. It was as if I had unlocked something she had been waiting for all week. She led me to a shelf, picked up a bottle, and handed it to me with a knowing smile—one that I can still picture vividly. That bottle, a fragrance so perfectly balanced between the dark and the delicate, became my wife’s favorite and still is to this day.
There’s a stereotype among some Americans that the French, especially Parisians, are rude. I always found this view curious and, after spending time in Paris, I’ve come to see it as a case of misplaced expectations. Before arriving, I had prepared myself for a culture that might be standoffish, rehearsing a few simple French phrases on my iPhone just in case. To my surprise, when I attempted to greet people in French (no matter how clumsily) I was met with nothing but warmth and understanding. Most of the time, the person I was speaking to would seamlessly switch to English, but there was a distinct appreciation in their eyes for the effort I made to meet them in their own language.
What stood out even more was the ease with which Parisians demonstrated empathy. Unlike the briskness I had encountered in London, I found Parisians to be emotionally present in a way that seemed to go beyond the typical fast-paced city mentality. They weren’t just physically there—they were fully tuned into the moment, listening and responding with genuine care. In a bustling city, where it’s easy for people to retreat into their own worlds, this quality felt remarkable.
Paris, oh how I love you. There’s something about this city that stays with you long after you’ve left. The rhythm of the streets, the scent of fresh croissants in the morning, and the light that spills across the Seine like liquid gold—Paris isn’t just a place, it’s an experience that seeps into your soul. One day, I’ll be back to kneel upon your cobbles again, savoring the flaky fish and olive oil that always seems to find its way to my lips, leaving traces in my mustache, as if marking me as one of your own.
But next time, I’ll do it on my own time. I’ll wander without the constraints of a schedule, without the rush of deadlines or the weight of responsibilities pressing on my shoulders. And I’ll do it on my own penny, having earned it through the lessons, the growth, and the journey that brought me back to you. Until then, au revoir et merci pour les souvenirs!
