Inside America

I could not find better picture than this one – the Statue of Liberty under construction in Bartholdi’s studio, rue de Chazelle in Paris in 1885 – to express both how much I miss Paris and my joy of being back in the United States. Mixed feelings of happiness and nostalgia. It’s like having two homes 3900 miles distant, where you would feel equally well. What a chance! …and what a torture!

Spending the past 10 days in my home town was delightful. Although I was traveling for work and had little time to enjoy the city, the simple smell of the warm air released by the Paris subway ventilation was enough to make me smile. I haven’t been in Paris for the past 18 months. Except a few new skyscrapers in the business district of La Defense and a lot of new bicycle lanes everywhere, the city looks pretty much the same. The “Parisian spirit” also did not change. The very same angry driver that I left behind 18 months ago was here again to welcome me with the exact same swearword. It is always as hard to get a taxi and once you get one, the driver still complains he does not have enough customers to make his day. Friends and colleagues did not change much as well. Overwhelmed by work, complaining about the economy and a stressful life, while planning their next “RTT” (day off) and three-week summer vacation. But as they took me out for dinner at the Saut du Loup – a fancy terrace in the middle of the Jardin des Tuileries with a magnificent view over the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower – I could feel their incomprehension. Their mouths were complaining about hard life, while their eyes were interrogating: “how could you leave all this for America?”.

I love Paris for that. Whatever the difficulty of living, the city cheers you up with its beauty and its people. A glance at the Conciergerie (a magnificent palace and former prison where hundreds of prisoners were executed on the guillotines during the French Revolution!) makes your worse problems laughable. And the swearword of the angry driver gives you the energy you needed to move forward. Bad words are a way for Parisians to tell you “I’m like you: I’m working hard and life is not as easy as I expected, but here I am, and I count in your world as you count in mine.” Yes. I think that the Parisian swearwords are often compassionate words. You must appreciate the modulation to make the difference between anger and compassion, that’s all!

Back in Pittsburgh, I know that I will miss those magic moments and the Parisian “atmosphere”. However, I will enjoy a city without angry drivers, where what you say is usually what you really mean, where kids are served first at the restaurant, and where you can ask for your doggy bag without being judged stingy

Definitely, Pittsburgh is a good place to raise a family!