LA in Paris
We wandered through the winding streets, arm-in-arm, marveling at the still-light sky and the density of humanity that surrounded us. It didn’t matter where we meandered. There was discovery in every direction.
A medley of sights, smells and sounds challenged the complacency of our day-to-day. Scraggly and sleepy-eyed from travel and the too-hot night before, we perked up at the slightest stimulation. Those beautiful boutique windows, trimmed with pale green-painted wood, peeling and revealing the stores that came before. The aroma of flaky-crusted croissants as we passed each patisserie, gracefully displacing puffs of petrol and smoke. A dance of dialogues we couldn’t understand, flowing from a charming café we later knew to be mere blocks from the hotel.
How about here? She searched for an English menu, or at least some familiar French words. Her nod confirmed there was at least one veggie option, so we took a seat outside, wedged into a stippling of tiny tables. We were really in it now…
Wait, was that English? In the corner of the patio, directly beside us, sat a pair of expats. Though we’d been having our own chat, our ears unavoidably absorbed the patter of our native tongue. Of all possible places, they also happened to be from LA, and spent the meal pontificating about Paris and trashing our hometown.
To be fair, it was mostly the guy engaged in the bash sesh. Decked out in post-punk hipness, his swagger suggested he’d been in Paris long enough to feel a certain ownership of it. He knew the ins and outs of the city, its culture, its people and the way it worked. His companion was softer-spoken, seemingly agreeing to his assertions more out of a sense of connection than conviction. She wasn’t actually an expat, as we’d first assumed, but a visitor probing the possibility of setting up shop in a new place. Much as we tried to focus elsewhere, our proximity to the two made it impossible to ignore their sentiments. Nothing unexpected — a pastiche of punch-downs, gripes and generalizations about tropes like LA’s traffic, inferior food and Hollywood attitude — but wince-worthy nonetheless.
When they left, we were relieved. Now we could return to immersing ourselves in this cuisine, in this crowd, in this café, in this city. The corrosive comparisons reminded us to remain in the moment, unencumbered by expectations or the baggage of others. We resolved to have our own experience, an inspirational vacation that would lend us much-needed perspective and life-affirming purpose. One whose wonder we’d bring back with us to LA, motivating us to appreciate and explore our home even more.
Postscript
I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t admit my own sometime-doubts about LA — land of my birth and boomerang return. I’ve also fallen into unaware comparison, where the city becomes an antagonist in the story of my misplaced ire and place-based alienation. But all places have tailor-made draws and drawbacks, especially once the novelty has faded. After enough time living or visiting anywhere, cracks tend to appear. It’s up to each of us, as in any relationship, to determine what drives our decision to stay or go. Though I may not always live in LA, it’ll always be a precious part of me, faults and all.
