A Love of Two Cities

From Paris to Mexico City and Back Again

Every year, over 30 million tourists visit the City of Lights, seeking their magical Parisian moment. For some, it’s a lifelong dream to witness the Eiffel Tower sparkle at nightfall or catch a glimpse of Mona Lisa’s smirk behind the crowd of iPhones that will inevitably block the view. For others, Paris is a yearly destination; they just can’t seem to get enough.

I was one of those people. The city captivated me on my first visit in 2004, and for several years, every time I boarded a plane, it was headed to Paris. I immersed myself in all things French back in St. Louis–studying the language, listening to the music, watching French films. I even had a cat named Jean Pierre. 

I found my journal writings from that initial trip to Paris, my first out of the US:

It was a trip of firsts. And with firsts, everything has a sense of awe cloaked over it. The streets are more charming, the cathedrals more majestic, the language sexier. I was quickly under Paris' spell–the sun dancing across the Seine, the bells of Notre Dame reminding us of the city's history with every toll, the Eiffel Tower towering above…

“If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.”

— Ernest Hemingway, American author

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In a similar fashion, the first moment I stepped onto the tree-lined sidewalks of Mexico City, I was hooked. 

I loved the city’s energy and its eclectic mix of architecture, punctuated by the occasional two-story cactus. The weather, the food, the people–all warm in the best way possible. I loved the impromptu mariachi band performances, the street art, and, of course, the mezcal.

After that initial visit in 2018, I traveled to the city five more times in the following two years. I couldn’t get enough. I brought Emma and Oliver, and I began taking Spanish lessons at a local community college. Eventually, I sold all my personal belongings and left the U.S. with the intent to move to Mexico.

“I went to Mexico City to visit, and I fell in love with the city. I went to my house to pick up my stuff. It was the craziest, most impulsive move I’ve ever done. I just felt like I had to stay there.”

— Julieta Venegas, Mexican-American singer/songwriter

I left the U.S. with such certainty–I would spend a month in Guatemala learning Spanish, the spring in France for a writing residency, and then return to Mexico City to get an apartment.

But as it happened, I extended my time in Guatemala, and my three months in Europe confused me enough to know that I couldn’t yet commit to an apartment in Mexico City, even after I obtained residency. The whole world was open to me, and I booked extended stays in France, Portugal, Spain, Greece, Colombia, and Guatemala to see how each place felt. Could I live in Porto? Athens?

I created charts in my journal, carefully weighing cost of living, weather, culture, and other factors. This was futile; I rarely make decisions based on numbers. For me, it’s more about a feeling. Places (and people) either feel right, or they don’t. I ultimately concluded that if I didn’t live in Mexico City, I’d want to be in Paris and vice versa.

It seems my friends and family knew where my search would end up long before I did. My friend Natasha said she was surprised that I had been thinking about other countries “when you love Paris so much.” Then she added, “Okay, Paris and Mexico City.” Acknowledging that he’d always felt it would be between the two cities, my friend Joe said, “You seem to be hitting your stride south of the border, but Paris was your first international love.”

“Paris just suits you,” another friend said.

“You belong in Mexico,” a friend in Mexico City shared after I signed my lease.

And just this week, a friend wrote, “Paris feels like your place.”

These comments humor me. I think each city appeals to different parts of my personality, and my friends see this. When I finally did get a place in Mexico City earlier this year, they asked, “What happened to Paris?”

“Paris didn’t go anywhere,” I told them. “I just decided to be here right now.”

When I found my apartment, I chose it for its small size and its great architectural details–exposed brick and volcano rock walls and ceilings with ornate crown molding. (I had a date with a Frenchman a couple of months ago, and he told me I managed to find a very Parisian, but very Mexican apartment. It sounds about right.) I bought enough furniture to make the space functional, though it still isn’t as homey as I’d like.

When I explained to a friend that I bought the necessities and was waiting to buy things like wall decor and throw pillows for the couch until I knew for certain that being here was a longtime move and not a short-term one, she asked, “Isn’t the fact that you don’t have throw pillows the answer in itself?”

“I suppose you’re right,” I agreed.

So, I’m embracing my time in Mexico, but I’m also studying French. I envision that, at some point in the near future, I’ll be able to say that I’ve lived in both of these incredible cities. (Here’s hoping that, at some point, I’ll also be able to say I speak both languages.)

No matter where I am, I think I’ll forever be the person looking for mezcal and tacos in Paris and comté and a red French wine in Mexico City.