“If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.”
Yes I did it. I quoted Ernest Hemingway from one of his great oeuvres ‘A moveable feast’. Can you blame me? Well you shouldn’t. Ernie and I have oodles in common. Though my best friend isn’t Gertrude Stein, and I’m not pal-ing around with the sparkling writers of yesteryear, he and I have an eerily similar back-story.
Finally having read this tale of the brilliant, unknown ex-pat who was hungry for life-experience, beauty and above all a crisp white wine and a flakey croissant, I feel that I too may take my place as a brilliant, unknown ex-pat who is hungry for this seasons Louis Vuitton…I’m drinking crisp white wine right now…and a seasoning of all Paris has to offer.
I suppose that I am technically not an ex-pat, but I think that is just a question of time. And while I am not subsisting only upon my music making, I am here to diversify my perspective and soak up the richness of culture that has been touched by thousands of artists, musicians, and poets unknown or famous. The thought that they rambled up and down the same boulevards that I ramble down reflecting upon their art as they watched the summer sun glint of the Seine is magical. Undoubtedly they were thinking of Cezanne and not of Vogue, The September issue 2010.
I used to want to be French. This was a wish that started blossoming in my heart after living in Paris in 2006. Really, the only reason to be French, other than not having to undergo all the hoop-jumping for Social Security, or being a natural size two, is to be fluent in their beautiful language. But allo…anyone can learn to speak a language, but to be a natural speaker of the sumptuous English language is a true gift.
In short, or rather, shorter than Hemingway’s 126 pages, the reason that American’s decide to pick-up-sticks and pack off to ‘gay Paree’ is to be an American in Paris. Comme ça you can get away with cultural murder. I can pick and choose, the things I love-not about the States are left behind, and the things I love, with an exception of all my chères amis, I use liberally all the time (American honesty anyone?!). The question “why have I moved to France” can really be summed up in two words; l’amour et la musique.
Or:
- love
- music
- wine (red, white and rosé)
- food
- fashion
That’s five, but you get the drift.
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