The shallow-deep end

by Mi Nguyen (Australia)

A leap into the unknown France

'A leap into the unknown' Cheese and ham picnics. Wine soaked evenings along the Seine. Two cheek kisses, no hugs. Mussels and fries. Rented bicycles and stolen kisses. No helmets. The City of Lights. Paris. I was twenty when I spent a semester on exchange. I had never travelled before but the worn-out pages of Le Bon Usage and Larousse made sure that I had been ready for it my whole life. Vigorously studying French art, history, and film throughout my young adult years, I consumed a culture and lifestyle from afar. I had big hopes for my exchange experience. Days before leaving, I wished that Paris would change me completely; make me confident, outgoing, attractive, interesting. I wished that overnight, I would become the person I had learned to be. On the day I left Melbourne Airport, I packed my fairytale dreams and multi-coloured berets packed into a small blue suitcase. It was light but heavy at the same time. I stayed in a hostel for a few weeks before I found an apartment. I met Nate, a fellow Melbournian who had spent the past year travelling through France. He was spending his final week abroad while I was only beginning my journey. We were two people in transit, passing through each other’s lives, only stopping to meet at the right place, at the right time. It was a romance that could only make sense in a story like this. On our first night, Nate found out that I didn’t know how to ride a bike, and convinced that it was a Parisian rite of passage, insisted on teaching me. The Paris me unreservedly agreed. Under the moonlight, strangers, in a foreign city, we found ourselves zigzagging up and down the backstreets talking about our families, hobbies and goals. It was just the two of us and the stars. Yet as any person who didn’t know how to ride a bicycle, I soon grew tired from the impromptu exercise. In compromise, he suggested that I sit in his bicycle basket. With no helmets on, we rode to see Nôtre Dame, the Louvre, Opéra and took turns deciphering Latin signs. We snuck into the closed Jardin des Tuileries and watched our shadows run among the trees. As we rode down the Champs-Élysées, he sang La Vie en Rose. Blindfolded, he took me to Trocadéro, a dark, raised platform to see the Eiffel Tower, golden and glittering in the winter night. I saw Nate for the last time at Gare du Nord. Our walk to the station was quiet but hushed with last minute wishes for a future we would never see. "Have a safe flight!" "Good luck with that test." "Hope you make it into law school." We agreed that we wouldn't keep in touch. It seemed forced and greedy to ask for another week. When I walked away from Nate, I turned around to see if he too was looking back. He was. With a final kiss, he told me that he was falling for me. The Paris me said the same. There are over a 1,000 films set in Paris, thousands of songs, books and artwork inspired by the city of love. We didn't know it at the time but our story was perfect because we made it so. I can countlessly list the scenes and conversations we mirrored in our week together. The way we took risks, made decisions, became vulnerable. Condensed into a single week, we didn’t have time to argue or do nothing at home. With no helmets on, we fully dove into the deep end knowing that it still would be shallow. Once I took off my rose coloured glasses, I truly began to see different hues, shades and colour. I learnt that many people lived in poverty in Paris and that race relations were difficult. Not everything was decadent with macarons and wine. But I also learnt that like anywhere else, people lived their lives to make a difference and a connection. I had to work hard for my relationships, but it makes sense in my new story.