The Occasionally Magnificent Seven

Where everybody knows your name…

Posted on by Anna

We had such great hopes for Paris. Those of the seven of us who are less enamored of the whistle-stop-style tour (i.e., if it’s Tuesday, this must be Brussels) have been eager for our longer tenure here, a whole month! We rocketed through the Pacific Northwest and western Canada, spending at most two nights anywhere. Four nights in Montreal was anticipated as a great respite, but it was gone in an instant. Next they longed for New York, where we were to stay one week. New York? A week? Please; it flew by. Another week on the Queen Mary II, which was an absolute delight and quite relaxing, but not a place to take roots, as you might imagine. That was followed by another whistle-stop tour through England, with plaintive cries for “Edinburgh! Our first true home; a whole 2 weeks!” And yet, with local tourism and Fringe Festival events to attend, there was hardly any time to create a home. We had our first dinner guests (thanks, Stephanie, Yit, Ethan, and Sonya!) and quite a few home-cooked meals, but we weren’t exactly developing Scottish accents or anything. That was followed by a month in Switzerland, consisting of a couple of almost one-week stays but also a hiking trip where we spent one night in each hostel or hut, not enough time for laundry to dry, let alone friendships to develop. And thus, we had great hopes for Paris.

In anticipation of embarking on a 2-year trip around the world with kids in tow, it was important to us that we at least attempt to deviate from being merely tourists. We have envisioned making local friends, becoming regulars at neighborhood shops and restaurants, feeling valued by a church community, perhaps making a difference by doing some community service. It was for this reason that we determined to stay a month at a time in most of our chosen cities. Well, in Paris at least, a month does not amount to a hill of beans.

Don’t get me wrong; a month in Paris does allow one, at the lugubrious speed of our large family, to visit once all of the sites and places that one has heard about and is supposed to see. But it has not been long enough for us to put down even the tiniest roots. I guess what we want is quite universal: we want our local community to care about us, notice us, acknowledge that we exist in some way. I don’t think that’s happened at all here, but we have at least worked on some ideas.

To start with, here’s our neighborhood. This is Rue Montorgueil, by Claude Monet. I recognized this painting in books but that name never meant anything to me until now. When I saw it last week at the Musée d’Orsay, I noticed the title because that is the street on which we have been living this month in Paris, all dressed up in flags for some national holiday. Unfortunately, I think when you live on a street that is featured in a major work of art by an A-list impressionist painter, it’s difficult to get the street to care much about you.
Rainier joined a local soccer development league for a month. Rainier does not speak French, but the beautiful game transcends language, right? Not necessarily when it comes to meeting other parents and trying to make connections. Plus, it took a couple of weeks for us, and the French families too, just to figure out which sessions he wanted to attend.
Here’s a bubble tea establishment right across the street from us that Shefler frequented. The cashier in the picture did in fact get to know us, and Shefler had one of those loyalty cards that gets you a free boba after you buy 10 or whatever. Sometimes capitalism creates community.
Here’s Libbey at her weekly ballet class. Since the role of soccer mom didn’t open doors, dance mom was probably my best chance, but, again, the time was just too short. I was able to commiserate with some French ladies on the difficulties of obtaining children’s leotards in Paris, and I believe Libbey learned some ballet, but I am going to need to learn to be more socially aggressive if I am going to make any new friends in just a month.
Shefler’s sport is American football. As spectator or player, it is probably the ultimate community-builder in the US, but not anywhere else. There’s a reason it’s not in the Olympics. Take a pigskin to the park and you might be able to drum up a rugby match. One time, however, Shefler ran into this guy, who had played in a local youth league, had a wicked arm, and told us he had plans to play in Canada. CFL, maybe?
Church is, of course, the best place to build community and find people who might care enough to notice that you’re alive. This place seemed like a no-brainer, but they are appropriately more geared toward longer-term expatriates. It would have been ideal if we were staying for just one year, for example. Nonetheless, we took their advice and are doing our best to “Bloom Where You’re Planted”.
In the immediate term, this is where we were planted. This is the view I wake up to in the morning, of St. Eustache, a storied local church. We didn’t attend mass here since it’s Catholic, given in French, and thus less suited to us the the American Church, but we did attend an organ recital here (on the largest organ in France). It’s a lovely view, but you should know that the Eiffel Tower is directly behind and thus perfectly blocked by the church from our point of reference.
And so I leave you here, a local bistro of obvious interest to us but which we only found time to visit once. We are headed to Barcelona tomorrow, where I warn fellow soccer and dance moms, any prolonged eye contact will result in a playdate invitation.

4 thoughts on “Where everybody knows your name…”

  • We love you, notice you, want to be with you, hear you, long to make you a home cooked meal, and look forward to that becoming possible.

  • Sounds like a beautiful and amazing experience with a great blend of local and tourist. Loving following along!

  • What Aunt Deborah said! Can’t wait to see you in TWO DAYS! Also, OMG does Nelson look like Jeremy (and my dad) at that age. Also glad to see him repping the Tar Heels in Paris!

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