It has been six years since I was a legitimate tourist in Paris. Impressionable young eyes, tennis shoes and far too much color in my wardrobe to blend in with locals – I set off for six weeks of discovery. Three days after my arrival, I met Mr. C and headed right into a routine of seeing Paris as a local. This meant I did very little of traditional newbie visiting – map reading, monument hopping or macaron tasting.
I still saw the major attractions, took long walks along the Seine, picnicked under the summer stars and battled locals for terrace-side seating at forgettable cafés but I did so without following guide books or blogs. The trip opened my eyes to the possibility of a future in Paris with a Frenchman rather than to the city’s best bakery or wine bar. I was staying in an all-female dormitory and never had the hostel/hotel experience which offers a vastly different perspective of the city.
Since that summer, I’ve been living in a cozy (operative word for crowded) apartment in the increasingly gentrified 11th arrondissement and, as you can tell if you’ve been following me, have become more selective in where I eat and…
