My first month in Paris

(I wrote this post about a month ago, and I’m a tad late publishing it. So reading it, keep in mind that it’s about a month behind real life!)

March 15th marked the first month anniversary of my arrival in Paris. The whole time, I had it at the back of my mind to write a post about the experience because everything was so new and intense – from the shattering feelings of uprootedness of the first days through all the baby steps of finding my way around to when I woke up from my self-induced social winter sleep and met twenty new people at four or five events within a single week. Whichever week I’d write this post, it would take on a different coat, tracking my mood that kept changing, so take it with a grain of salt. What I write today, I would phrase differently tomorrow. (Lucie from the future nods vigorously.) But let me back up a bit and take it from the start.

The first few days were rough. I didn’t expect they would be, and certainly not for the reasons they were. I had guessed the language barrier would be difficult, as my French is still relatively basic. I also figured the first few nights in a new apartment might be strange and not very homey. What I had not assumed was that I’d be immediately homesick. I should’ve known, given how emotional I felt during my last days in Brno, saying goodbyes to people who were, rather literally, my whole world for so long. Saying goodbye to a flat that has been the coziest, safest place I’ve known. It might sound dramatic to someone, because it is. But the emotions were there nonetheless. I was excited about new adventures – after all, I’d dreamt of living abroad for so long. So what was I doing on my first night in Paris, crying my heart out and trying to figure out why the hell I ever wanted to leave Brno and computing how long I had to stay here before returning without feeling like a coward? It hit me hard, and to an extent, I still don’t have a good explanation as to why. However, basically everyone I talked to about this and who’s been through moving abroad told me they felt the same and that whenever they moved somewhere else again, the process repeated, even though they knew to expect it now. Besides being normal for the system to be shocked by the loss of a familiar environment, I think it also had another layer for me. I was in a strange stage of life (and to an extent still am) when so many things were changing and unraveling even before the move, so I really longed for some stability. Change was the last thing I needed at that moment. But we don’t always get to pick and choose the best timing and to align our lives exactly how we want to. So here I was, in an empty flat with just two suitcases of my old life, 6 kilometers from the Eiffel Tower and over 1000 kilometers from my favorite running route.

There were two beautiful outcomes of the initial meltdown. First, I learned I have a much larger and better social network than I thought. Don’t get me wrong, I have had many amazing people around me for years, some of them have been my friends for 18, 20+ years – but despite that, I haven’t always felt well-connected. I don’t know why. I don’t know what it is in my head that prevents me from trusting in my social network. However, as I felt so wrecked, I reached out to many people I care about and made it into an evening ritual. I would make myself tea, get into bed and respond to all the messages, and contact people I have not reached out to yet. It felt good, and even though some didn’t know my mental state, it still felt like I was wrapped in something warm and cozy. That’s how I realized for the first time in my life that there are people at the other end of my mental wall who care and who are happy to be around. And I also learned that I didn’t need to lose them because I moved away.

Another powerful consequence of the meltdown was that I learned I could take it. It took a while, and I wasn’t sure I could at times, but I did. I employed all the wisdom I learned over the past year and a half at the YOU app. Baby steps. So, little by little, I started to both immerse myself in things I knew made me me and made me happy and at the same focused on discovering who I am here, in Paris, because – and it seems obvious looking backward – I’m not the same person here that I was in Brno. The first happy thing I did was on my first full day here – I went to Shakespeare and Company (an English bookstore with a wonderfully rich history) and bought a book. I love SaC, it’s tiny and always seems crowded, but despite that, it has an intriguing, relaxing, laid-back vibe. The books are organized in ways I don’t fully understand, which, however, makes it more of an adventure, especially if you’re not searching for anything concrete and want to let fate choose for you. I was searching for a concrete book and found it quickly because, despite it being a maze, I knew very well where the fantasy section was. Then I climbed a wooden spiral staircase to go to rooms furnished with chairs, old books not for sale, and a piano. I sat down and listened to someone playing in the next room as I was bathing in the setting sun coming in through the window. Although the ache and the emotional exhaustion were very much there, it felt less life-extinguishing for a bit.

The first moment I knew I’d be alright – although I wasn’t yet – was a day after that. That day, I went to my new lab for the first time and met a few people. Everyone was so friendly. And then I walked home, a good 45 mins walk. As I was nearing the campus, I realized I live next to the most fantastic football stadion ever. Bear with me, I know this sounds surprising coming from me, but I swear it will make sense in the end. First, look at the picture of it:

Can you see the giant poles with reflectors on them? As I was walking by, I was immediately mesmerized, and my head started to spontaneously imagine a fantasy sport that would take place in between such huge-ass poles. There’d be a web stretched between them (high above the ground), constantly moving. The players would use karabiners to move from one end of the field to another, throwing each other a ring or maybe a few of them. I call the sport Arak (a working title), and I don’t yet know all the details, I have not yet quite figured out all the rules, but what I want to transmit here is that it was at that moment – when something cool in my environment triggered a wave of creativity and joy – I knew I’d make it. It brought me back to feeling more like myself again. I’d be just fine.

From then on, it was up and down, but mostly up. Slowly and steadily, I started to find new paths. One always expects that in such a situation, “everything will be new”, but I certainly didn’t anticipate how far that “everything” reaches. I didn’t know which stores were good, which were cheap, or where to get the most basic things. I needed a map everywhere I went. All the doors and gates in the whole goddamn “city of lights” conspired not to let me in. And then out. Sometimes I would have to pay extra because when I tried to stamp my ticket in the metro, I didn’t make it through the turnstile in time. I couldn’t find toilet paper – that was a dire situation. I ate baguettes all day, every day, because my kitchen was not yet equipped, nor did I have the mental capacity to cook.

For every struggle, there was a little win along the way. I found toilet paper. I got myself a monthly ticket for the transport. I figured out where to print. I found a shampoo that actually smelled nice and wasn’t all crap. I cooked for the first time, and even though it was just some beans with sauteed veggies, with no spices but salt since I had nothing else at that point, it still was – after a few days of the baguette diet – one of the most satisfying meals of my life. I managed to find postcards and stamps. When asking if I could pay for the postcards by card, the seller asked, “Mais pourquoi?” – “But why?” Cash it is, monsieur. I submitted my accommodation papers and managed the entire conversation in French. Well, the lady spoke French. I threw random, vaguely-related nouns at her and gesticulated a lot.

Administrative frustration became a synonym for “daily life”. The craziest story still unfolding is my attempt to get a French bank account – which, technically, I have now but cannot access it. It took me a bit to google around and get some recommendations about which bank to go to. When I learned that there is one right on the campus where I live and where they speak English and are used to dealing with foreign students and researchers, it sounded like a win. So I went there, filled in tons of documents (and when I say tons, I mean tons) – generally, all went well. They told me that due to not having a French phone number, they would have to send me all my account/access info and the card by post. I asked if I could pick it up in person since I live literally next door, but apparently, that’s impossible. Oh well, I would wait. I waited two weeks.

When the post finally arrived, there were several envelopes, each with a different piece of information. I went through them all, using DeepL to translate, and then attempted to log in to my new online account. Access information incorrect. I tried again, checked everything vigilantly, but it was wrong. I went back to the bank and told them about the issue. They promised they’d ask for another password for me. Of course, I had to wait to get it by post again. When it arrived, it turned out they didn’t send me the online account password but the PIN to my card – the same one I already got. I was ready to go to the bank again when I noticed I could ask for the password myself from the log-in page. Assuming (I think fairly) that the bank employee I talked to last time asked for the wrong information, I ordered the password again. I waited for the post one more time. I didn’t even wait that long this time and got… two letters with two different passwords. I wasn’t sure how that happened but decided to try the one dated later (they were generated two days apart). It didn’t work. So I tried the other one. It didn’t work. So I went to the bank again… Apparently, the two new passwords I received were still the ones asked by the first employee helping me and not the one I ordered myself – and once a new password is generated, the older ones cease to work. Why there were two of them in my latest mail, why I received the credit card PIN code first, and why the first password didn’t work is a mystery to me and will probably remain so until the end of time. The fact is that more than a month after I started the whole process… I’m waiting for the mail again. (Lucie from the future here. Two months in, and I finally have a working bank account!)

Even after a month, there’s still much to do on the admin side. Every day brings new wins and challenges, much more than when you live in a place you’ve been in forever. I’ll be leaving for a writer’s workshop in about half an hour, and I’m already praying things go well this time, as I missed one session due to being unable to get into the metro (a story for another time). Next week I’d like to go to a cinema and swimming pool, neither of which I have visited before. I’m excited because both activities make me feel more at home. And at the same time, I’m also dreading it because it means going to places I’ve never been, hoping I’ll find them, hoping I won’t get into any language misunderstanding, hoping I won’t make any cultural faux pas.

And ultimately, that’s what it is like here for me now. One day, you go to a Middle Eastern store and try to inquire what that deliciously-looking dessert they display by the checkout counter is. The shop owner frowns at you, not understanding what you’re asking, so you ask again (and again) and try to explain yourself. Soon, the whole store stares at you with confusion, the entire checkout line stares at you with confusion, trying to figure you out. At another moment, though, you look up and find yourself sitting around the table with writers from around the world, sharing their work and discussing yours. You get to hear your poems read to you by someone else for the first time. Your head is spinning from the idea that you get to do that, that you’re not just dreaming it, and, furthermore, that you deserve to be part of it. These are the moments when you realize that all the difficulties are worth it, and you can barely believe your luck.

Le printemps arrive.

Au revoir!