Sometimes I get nostalgic for our old home in the thirteenth arrondissement of Paris. Now, I think I must be very specific here – I reflect back lovingly and sometimes longingly on the thirteenth (and maybe a bit of the fifth, but only a bit), but not Paris as a whole. Paris, like many other big, bustling cities, overflows with food, culture and experiences unique to its cosmopolis. For all the advantages these urban ecosystems offer, for all the history and the bristling life making history they can be very difficult places to live. Perhaps that is why my own corner of Paris familiar and comforting feels apart from this great metropolis.
Life in Paris was often complicated by the administrative processes necessary to life in a country other than one’s own and also bogged down by the banality of the everyday work and errands. I do remember the frustration that came with that life and the challenges of a couple cohabitating with a ginger cat in a tiny studio beneath a grey, zinc rooftop, but now I recall less that moments of tear-inducing stress and focus more warm and cosy moments. I remember the walks, the restaurants, the sandwiches and coffees in the park so much more now.
When I browse Paris guidebooks in a bookstore I use flip to see what they have highlighted in the thirteenth. Unfortunately it doesn’t usual garner much attention. The thirteenth is not a tourist hotspot, but while it may not be the fairytale Paris so many imagine (like the rest of Paris I suppose really), it holds so many surprises and hidden gems. The thirteenth blends swallowed-up villages (Butte-aux-Cailles) with, steely glass modernity (BnF) and (thankfully) well-stocked Asian supermarkets and, in spite of myself, sometimes I miss it.
A Shot in the Dark 