Same Time, Next Year?

There’s something unbeatable about living in Paris, even if for a month. The food is better, the weather is kinder, the fashion is trendier, the guys are cuter… This same time last year was when I studied abroad in Paris for fashion with UD; a break from my usual holiday traditions with the family and friends in Delray Beach, Florida. And, in all honesty, I don’t know which one I miss most.

On one hand, we have the warm, sunny weather with endless clear skies just for a modest week. This is a significantly appreciated break from the hermitting cold up north.

The glistening pool and hot tub available 24/7, the soft swooshing of palm trees above our relaxed, sunscreened heads, and the sound of joyous laughter and engaging small talk with residents, family, and friends abound. The staff at our leisure, serving up food freshly charred from the grille or exclusive menu dishes from inside the ballroom. The golf courses and tennis courts host numerous events and tournaments for us to participate in, bet on, and win prizes. The holidays in Gleneagles is a familiar bliss spent with the right people from childhood.

Comparatively, there is this whole other world on the other side of the world. Although told to pack “light but warm,” Parisians would’ve all but ignored the element of “warm,” trading comfort for aesthetics instead. The quiet, aromatic streets were filled with fast walking, authoritative, yet utterly chic residents sneering down at the bundle of two-layers-of-sweaters-plus-a-puffer jacket tourist that I was and instructed to wear.

Peacoats, wool tailored jackets, slim and form fitting, nothing short of high quality and expensive flocked around me in a haze. The beautifully designed historic buildings, hand crafted free smells from boulangeries, and musical foreign speaking citizens watching us as they smoked cigarettes outside were routinely abundant. This was a newfound haven that I never knew I needed. It held an air of elegance, chic excitement, eye catching inspiration feeding my amateur, outsider heart with content.

Yet, one can’t put a price tag on the familiarity and love of friends and family. My longtime friend from home also happens to make annual trips down to the club, and we spare no time in catching up, gossiping about the cute boys who conveniently traveled at the same time as us, and lounge around, doing whatever we please. We call it our “winter tradition” and it was all but broken until last year for the both of us.

Nonetheless, the past years served us well with funny, nostalgic, innocent memories soon-turned-to giddy inside jokes. Our annual excitement spared no expense. A week in the world of our own and living in the here and now. Hot tube gossip, big pool guy watching, and ping pong tables for idle competitive chatter.

When family time inevitably rolled around, our families- grandmas, grandpas, and my mother- packed together to go out to eat, watch a movie during Christmas, and sometimes treated my friend and me to a shopping spree. It was a pleasant vacation for my mom, too, spending much needed time with her mother, plagued with Parkinsons and a bunch of other diagnoses that sometimes come amongst old age. It’s a bittersweet moment back at the Rothenberg house, but we make the most of it, because we never know when it will be our last.

Paris was uncharted territory, but one easily amiable after a day or two adjusting to the foreign language and my lack thereof. Parisians work to live, whereas Americans live to work. This sense of leisure presented itself whenever my lunch break coincided with theirs. Parisians took their time whereas I speedily ate my meal and was off to my next destination. My lifestyle transformed into constantly walking everywhere, dressing nice for any and every occasion, and shamelessly eating to my heart’s content (as an inevitable walk usually followed in suit, anyway). 

Amidst participating in exclusive fashion shows for Paris Fashion Week, I was able to meet some of the locals in my free time. The men knew all the right broken English words to say to a foreigner and their habitual French words were music to my ears. I’m talking about lending me their chiffon scarf when it got cold (yes, the men wore scarves!), or knowing the best hidden gems around town, or even cooking for me. J’adore. They were nothing short of charming, classy, and complete gentlemen (something I will never forget and hold to the highest of standards as I journeyed back to America and viewed our men with a new pair of eyes). 

Oh, and of course, Paris Fashion Week was a once in a lifetime experience, too, and one that I feel immensely lucky to have taken part of (not modeling, but dressing the models- Bella Hadid, anyone?). During both men’s and women’s fashion week, I experienced the ins and outs of what goes on behind the glamorous shows we all idolize. It’s nowhere quite as glamorous backstage, but it was a low and behold moment that was surreal and very quickly humbling the minute you stepped in to help. Fashion really sobers you up for the real world, as the real world could never prepare you for what’s in store in the realm of fashion.

The walks along the Seine River at sunset, striding from the Latin Quarter to the glistening Eiffel Tower by night, the joy in adventure came with surprises and discovery. Shopping, too, was a treasure trove. Everything came in my petite sizing, where I splurged all of my Euros on size 5 of the cutest shoes. Paris wasn’t a familiar haven, but it became my desire to consider it my second world that I would one day like to come back to with a sense of nostalgia but also a zest for further exploration (and potentially finding my future husband). 

However, walking along empty golf courses at sunset, ping pong past dusk, staying up until sunrise, and an all expenses paid shopping spree is just as unbeatable. I guess, in the end, familiarity is just as good as the unknown, and I am so fortunate to have experienced both during my holiday excursions that I would seriously consider asking either, “same time, next year?”