“Comment te dire adieu?” Françoise Hardy (recommended listening while reading)

My first time arriving in Paris was in 2022, one year after Audrey and I met. I was immediately swallowed by the bustling airport, tossed into the spin cycle of a crammed, complex subway, and swept onto the long, sprawling ride into the city, that at one point seems to dip straight into the underbelly of darkness. The spider-web subway station is jarring to say the least, people quite literally run over you, and in their very European way (or rather from our very privileged and naive North American perspective) seem to have no sense of spatial awareness, while brushing and knocking you around.

As we emerged from Paris’s buzzing underbelly, I was met by the most glorious sight… old, stout, picturesque buildings that rounded every street. There were courtyards, fountains, gardens, and the river canals… people drinking coffee and smoking their cigarettes on the popular outdoor terraces… smells of petrol and oud perfume wafting through the summer heat. I was overwhelmed and in heaven, crying tears of “what the fuck.” It looked like a movie set, and for a few minutes, likely in the middle of the road and with the impression of being completely in the way, I just stood looking up and out in quiet disbelief.

My deeply knowledgeable tour guide, who at the time (unbeknownst to either of us) was to be my future spouse, smiled and giggled in her low and appreciative way. Blue eyes sparkling for finally coming home.

Audrey certainly belonged here: vibrant, very European, confident in the bustle, moving fluidly with her people, gliding over the cobblestones, while I tripped over my espadrilles.

I’ll never forget that first time. I had my fair share of culture shock, had not perfected even one sentence of French, and was in all honesty a little scared. I, of course, had no clue that three years later we would be landing, and staying, in the winter.

Fast forward three years, and we were returning to Paris, now not just visitors, but settling in, ready to step into a new chapter. Through the throng of travellers, a familiar smile waited for us. R, a friend who feels like family (so randomly in fact, that we discovered a few years back we are actually seventh cousins) is one of the few who truly understands what it means to start over. She was traveling from New York to Europe to see her daughter graduate. This arrival felt normal in a very weird way, smoother, albeit colder.

We piled into a taxi with our mountain of suitcases, hearts fluttering with anticipation, bound for an Airbnb that would be our first home base in the city.

All three of us broke our backs up the escargot staircase with our overweight bags, sweating more profusely than we ever had in our lives. We then took our trembling legs toward the nearest Monoprix to buy the essentials. Fromage: conté, chèvre, mimolette – pâté de canard, les petits saucissons secs, cornichons, moutarde, baguette, and of course dry French vin rouge.

I remember R remarking that night that the fact I could drink three glasses of red wine on no sleep was impressive. She had no idea.

Over the three days she was with us, we explored the neighbourhoods, strolled through the parcs, and soaked in the local sights. This Paris was unfamiliar to me, bloody freezing and rainy, and after R left, I was bedridden with a massive head cold for two days.

Still, it had begun, though it hadn’t fully sunk in. After a week at the Airbnb, we loaded our bags and made our way to a friend’s house to store them over Christmas while staying with Audrey’s family, an anticipation that left us practically peeing our pants with excitement.

We boarded the early-morning train to Poitiers, spending two gentle days with her dad and his partner in their lovely one-story home. From there, we were driven to a small yet radiant city in the Centre-Val-de-Loire region, where we’d spend the remainder of Noël with her Tatie N and her husband, R, joined by their daughter and her wife. Our Maman Bichette would arrive later that evening.

And so, with suitcases stored and hearts full, we settled into the rhythm of the Loire Valley, ready to step into the magic of family, festive feasts, and the hidden corners of a countryside waiting to be discovered.