And how it nurtured my inner artist and connected me with my family.
Inside a cozy cafe nestled into the side of bustling Rue de Rennes sat several onlookers enjoying their late lunches. They watched as a very lost, rain-soaked girl towed her suitcase up and down the street. It was a hilarious sight to behold. It was me. I had just stepped off a taxi after my very first international solo flight. Running on 20 hours without sleep and slowly coming off of a heavy concoction of Dramamine and melatonin gummies, I found it harder to function than usual. Therefore, I became the early afternoon entertainment of any Parisians nearby. This would be the first of many valuable lessons learned on my trip to France this past June.
My first day in Paris I visited the Dior museum. I had no preconceptions about the brand, so being immersed in the history of its creation was exciting. The museum was relatively extensive. It did a great job of detailing the life of Christian Dior, and how he crafted his empire. I was drawn in. The brand was all around me. In the earliest collections displayed; in the theories of feminist fashion. I learned a lot about marketing and brand execution during this experience. After completing the tour, visitors have the option to go shop in the Dior storefront next door. I cannot imagine how effective that was for generating sales.
I had the opportunity to visit the Musée de l'Orangerie and walk through the exhibits there. I have been a lover of Claude Monet for about a decade, and I was so excited that they had an entire exhibit dedicated to the works he painted in his Giverny gardens. They are even more beautiful in real life. The Louvre, my next endeavor, was brimming with the work of artists from centuries back. This trip was immersive for my inner artist.
My journey to France also connected me with my family. My mother, Solange, flew out to meet me the end of my stay in Paris. She was born in Troyes, France in 1960. She moved to the United States as a child, but there is no mistaking her strong French nose and proud stature. She had not been back to Troyes in decades. I encouraged her to join me on my trip. My mom is my best friend, and I longed to see where the woman I most admired had first come to be. Troyes was about an hour outside of Paris by train in the champagne region of France. With about 60,000 inhabitants, the town was a sprawl of 16th century half-timbered houses. Many of them were leaning against each other from deterioration.
My mom and I followed our GPS through cobblestone alleyways and Gothic churchyards until we reached the little red pin that would mark my mother's childhood home. It was dilapidated, with boards nailed over the entryway and windows. It looked like it had not been touched since the 1960s. We peered up at the dusted beams holding up what had once held part of our family. It was a surreal moment. Eventually it came time to move on, but I wanted to take this relic with me. Who knew what would become of the building my mother was born in. I tore off a piece of the wooden sill next to what would have been the front door. It felt right. It was also probably vandalism. I wanted to preserve this piece of my mother's history. The piece of pale wood now rests in my parents' home. Mostly because I wouldn't let them use it as firewood.
My stay in France was both eye-opening to a new culture as well as introspective. I spent a lot of time alone in the city. My small hotel room in the city center became a place of reflection after each adventurous day in Paris. I strived to make friends despite language barriers. I found that being alone in a country 4,260 miles away from my home was sometimes lonely, but it grew to be refreshing. The goals I set for enjoying my trip and discovering new cultures were overshadowed by the success I had in getting to know myself and enjoying my own company. The very lost American girl towing her suitcase up and down the street ended up finding herself.
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