Paris Vous Aime

By Karla Quimsing

July 2018

Dearest Papa,

PARIS VOUS AIME. Says the big luminous sign at the Charles de Gaulle airport.

It means PARIS LOVES YOU but if I translate it word-for-word, it says PARIS YOU LOVE. We took a photo on this spot of the bittersweet moment of our arrival. I was uncertain if I felt happy or sad.

On the day we arrived in the City of Lights, it was scorching with a 42-degree fever. My husband’s colleagues had warned him that this summer will be brutal, and no one will get a good night’s sleep. They were joking but it’s true. Our apartment does not have air conditioning. We thought our country of origin was poor. But at least, over there we can have cool air if we could afford expensive electricity. It was a shock to learn that air conditioning is not common here in Europe even for offices and restaurants. In The Philippines, affording it is synonymous to wealth and comfort. Not the case in Europe apparently. The children’s cheeks were red and puffy, but their spirits were unbothered. They could not wait to see the Eiffel Tower. It is about 35 minutes by “metro” from where we live. “The Metro” is the trainline of the city center. In total it has 14 lines or routes. We rode Line 8 and it took us straight to Champs de Mars. It is this wide-open park with a panoramic view of the Eiffel Tower.

I had the impression that everyone in Paris was there that day. It was filled with people. They were relaxing on the grass without the bulkiness of chairs nor umbrellas. Some were sitting or lying on blankets, some on the grass itself. They were reading books, eating charcuterie and bread, drinking wine, smoking cigarettes, talking, and kissing. It was crowded but everyone was conscious not to invade someone else’s personal space. Their voices were soft and they seldom made eye contact. We had to keep reminding the children (and ourselves) that talking loud and staring is considered rude and impolite here.

The scenery was very cinematic. Audrey Hepburn once said that “Paris is always a good idea.” I think Paris is a woman like Ms. Hepburn—graceful and self-assured. There is magic in the way she moves. How her dress flows while riding a bike.  How her red lipstick marks the glass as she sips her wine at a café. How her heels land gently as she exits the boulangerie carrying her groceries and baguette. How she whispers French words to her lover while sitting on a green bench.

Paris performs pleasure sans effort and renders it as their own culture. Thus, making everything that the French do and create luxurious: cheese is classier than kimchi or muscovado sugar, and champagne is more opulent than tequila or whisky. This is my first impression, and I will bet my husband’s life that absolutely no man (or woman) can resist her charm.

This metropolis has around 400 municipal parks and gardens that cover three thousand hectares and contain more than 250,000 trees. Each park has a children’s playground and water fountains. Potable water is free and believe it or not, some fountains have sparkling water. We don’t have to pay for access to beautiful public gardens. So, although Parisians live in very small apartments with no air conditioning, the most beautiful city in the world is their backyard.

This could have been what the internet said, “Living your best life.” If only we could speak French. That big lighted sign in the airport, I couldn’t read it correctly. The name of the airport itself, I mispronounced it. Almost all interactions outside our apartment triggers anxiety. For someone who majored in Languages and Literature, I have forgotten its true value— that primarily, language is a tool for survival. I have to search on Google Translate and practice what to say to the baker. I have to repeat simple sentences thrice because I mispronounced a couple of words. Sometimes, I just say “oui” or “yes” to a question because I did not understand it.

Unfortunately, we are not here on vacation. This will be our everyday reality. And unlike us Filipinos, the people here are not hospitable. It is quite bizarre because despite their haughty attitude, Paris hosts 50 million tourists a year. It is one of the most visited cities. I used the word “host” not “welcome” because their manner of receiving foreigners is never warm or friendly. They act like you have to earn their hospitality and politeness. It comes with a price unlike their potable water and parks. We Filipinos are known for being warm and welcoming and we are proud of it. To be honest, I am no longer sure if that is a positive trait. If Audrey Hepburn is an overly polite people pleaser, would we still think of her as remarkable and confident?

We don’t have as many architectured parks and public gardens in Iloilo. We only have the beach. When I say “only” I want to emphasize that we undervalue it. There was some talk on the local radio (before I had a family) about a grand plan for a long boardwalk from the district of Calumpang to Villa. I can imagine how beautiful it would look. A long public beach in the city where Ilonggos can lounge on the sand, feel the sea breeze and watch the sun set behind the mountains of Guimaras Island. I hope it will happen in our lifetime.

There is no beach here. The city center is pierced by a grand river, The Seine. I am very glad that I’m still close to a body of water.  The Seine makes me feel at ease because back home there is also a river. I told the children that the Iloilo River, like The Seine, is our hometown’s main artery and it gave us our identity. From the sky, this river is shaped like a nose. Hence our city was named, Ilong-Ilong or nose-like.

I felt the presence of The Seine when we saw The Notre Dame cathedral for the first time. My first vision of The Notre Dame was from the riverbank. She was broken with her skeletons exposed. Her windows were shattered. Her walls stained with no trace of grandeur. At that moment, I understood how Neo felt when he first met The Oracle in The Matrix. “You’re the Oracle?” he asked in confusion. The source of great wisdom, The Oracle, is this old black woman in an apron cooking in her tiny kitchen. He was disillusioned but also, enlightened.

I thought of home while gazing at The Seine, at the frail Notre Dame with no roof, and up to the blue Parisian summer sky. I prayed to Lola Salud to find me here and pass on to me her strength. I am the same age as she was when she lost her husband to a fatal car accident and she had to raise 8 children by herself. Here I am, halfway across the world, compelled to reestablish myself. I hope when she finds me here, she will still recognize me.

With all my heart,

Karla