Something serious happened to me last weekend. I went down South for a wedding and fell in love.
We went to Toulouse for a Franco-Irish wedding celebration and left with much more than we anticipated. The groom’s mother, rocking an indecipherable but spirited accent, gave all the guests from Paris a little gift bag with violet jam, honey and liquor – all local specialties. Though a sweet, unexpected gesture, it wasn’t the violet treats that were most surprising.
No, what we didn’t foresee was just how enchanted we would be by Toulouse’s southern charm, cobblestone streets, picture-perfect pastel buildings and the emblematic brick architecture that gives the city its “ville rose” moniker.
Of late, the recurrent point of contention between my husband and I has been the issue of mobility. As shocking and unfathomable as it may sound, the time will inevitably come when he will have had enough of Paris. Enough of the noise, pollution and Parisians, of course, but also enough of the 1.5 hour commute he has maintained for six years. He already speaks of wanting to experience someplace new which, for someone like myself whose identity is deeply connected to France, puts me almost immediately on the defensive.
What if there were a place that was different enough from Paris within France that we both equally enjoyed? The career possibilities for him in Toulouse are clear and the proximity to the Pyrenees would mean rock climbing excursions would still be feasible. But what about for me? France’s 4th largest city is clean, has a great bus and metro system, a strong sense of community and the Garonne river. I could even see myself riding a bike in a serious, point A-to-B kind of way.
Its size (a modest 1.1 million inhabitants) is large enough to maintain the urban lifestyle we’re used to but the choice in theaters, movies, restaurants, and shops? Far slimmer. And that’s what my life IS. Seeing shows, testing different restaurants, spending an afternoon in a foreign-run coffee shop, and window shopping (with the occasional guilty purchase). I don’t know if I could leave the streets of Paris behind, even for the temperate climate, slightly slower pace and closeness to the ocean. I don’t know if it would be a wise professional move for me and I don’t know that my writing nor my social network would survive the change.
Luckily, we’re not there yet. Not even close. But for the first time in five years, I could imagine myself {happy} in another French city and I couldn’t help but feel I was cheating on Paris, the city that has shaped my life in almost every way. My enthusiasm for Toulouse and my sudden openness to the idea of another life brought a reassured smile to Mr. C’s face and to be honest, that was worth the infidelity.
