Post turkey: The sound of settling

PARIS – It’s funny how returning to a place can make it feel like home. I hadn’t considered Paris a home the entire time I’ve been studying here. But when I returned from Amsterdam last weekend, I felt something I couldn’t recognize until now.

Stepping out of my metro station onto the narrow streets and walking to my apartment, I felt a wave of relief. Maybe after spending a couple days in a city where I was a complete tourist in every sense of the word, I finally realized how well I have become accustomed to living in Paris.

Before I left this past weekend, all I could think of was going home to the States because I hated having to spend Thanksgiving in France. I had no idea before studying abroad that I would be so bummed to miss spending the holiday with my family. The French just don’t understand Thanksgiving; they understand it less than they understand Halloween.

Going to class on Thanksgiving felt almost sacrilegious. It was as though the French were secretly turning their noses up, raising their eyebrows and saying (in a thick French accent), “What silly Americans, celebrating a holiday where they just gorge themselves on food all day. Where’s the meaning in that?”

I wanted to explain to them: Contrary to your previous assumptions, Thanksgiving is a time to spend with your loved ones and share with those who aren’t as fortunate as you, to be thankful for all the things in your life that make you happy and to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and count how many baton twirlers drop their batons.

But there was no use in explaining. They have no idea what the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade is, or stuffing either, to my utter astonishment. So, I escaped to Amsterdam where everyone speaks my language and discovered a city unlike anything I had ever seen or imagined. Once I emerged through the foggy haze that felt like an alternate universe and returned to Paris, I felt a new level of relief – and it wasn’t a result of breathing in too much of the foggy haze, if you catch my drift.

I felt no more resentment for being an American in a French culture. I could understand them, and though they might give me a funny look while deciphering my accent, I know they can understand me. Paris has shared most of her secrets with me, and yet, even now, I continue to discover the city. I feel as though I could live here for years and still find undiscovered nooks and crannies through each narrow alley or cobblestone street.

There will always be a part of Paris left undiscovered, but once I came to terms with this and realized how much of the city I have come to know, I realized what it was I felt when I returned to Paris: comfort. It took three months, but I have finally settled in to living here.

With three short weeks left before I pack up and move on, I am able to acknowledge this city as home.