In Paris, my world turned upside-down and flipped left-to-right, actually. A black decal of the world above my bed in my new rented apartment illustrates the world, indeed, in a way I’m not used to seeing it: Europe and Africa on the left, and North America and South America on the right. Furthermore, the same apartment has already been through two blackouts in, ahem, the “City of Lights.” WiFi and Netflix fell through soon after arrival. Candles, cards and genuine conversations with my roommate became a kind of nostalgic normalcy. Oftentimes the glamorous life that one spends time arranging in their mind actually turn out even more dazzling, except lit up with candlelight.

After three weeks, the obsessive Internet addiction slowly faded, and instead of Netflix, gatherings with friends, parties, and hipster outings became more common than in NYC, the mecca of such. We wake up to the bells of the Notre Dame, which ring at increasingly random times, and fall asleep after watching the five-minute light show of the Eiffel Tower at the beginning of every hour. Soon we will even start counting money in baguettes (ex. 1€ is a baguette).

The charm transfers inside of our apartment, too, where a wine cellar-like rez-de-chaussée (ground floor) leads to a second floor via an old, winding staircase illuminated with string lights. Windows from the ground floor face right onto the street, where we can watch passersby and catch them shyly checking out our place when the curtains are open. Our bedroom part of the flat on the first floor (American second) is a bright space with two beds, a rocking chair and the center of attention: a large window looking out onto the street. An old white radiator stands below the window, providing an uncomfortable cushion to the people watching from the opening, but it doesn't stop us.

«Chez Moi»

Endless couples, of all ages, pass below our windows every day. Sometimes they stop to embrace and even kiss for moments right below us before continuing their aimless stroll. All kinds of people, even random friends, end up below our windows. Some look up to see our American smiles of approval, others continue their trek without noticing the historic street. Large tour groups with their backpacks in front of them, because they’re always perpetually afraid of robbery, instead of focusing on the city, focus on their backpacks. The whole world passes by our windows.

And sometimes when I miss NYC, afraid that my life there will fade, I realize how present I am here in Paris. Paris lives very much in the now. All the tables and chairs at bars face out to get out of your own bubble and incorporate the world outside. Dinners last hours on end and are meant to be savored, with wine to carefully serenade taste buds alongside the food. But other activities, like aperitif on the banks of the Seine, mornings in the park, and endless cheap bookstores all suggest the importance of spending time with purpose.

While I am sore from running up and down the spiral staircase every day (they’re only a good idea in theory,) even my aching limbs remind me where I am every day. The soreness will pass, and even the WiFi might start working at some point , but fortunately Paris will always be here, and I don't mind at all.