The Paris Plan
Ever since I can remember, Isabel May, my paternal grandmother would say two things:
1. Marry a Frenchman
2. France is the greatest country in the world
She wasn’t French. A mixed-race Spanish and Native American from a tiny village in El Salvador, my grandmother fell hard for Louis André May and his native country of France.
Legend has it that she was so insanely jealous after she met him that she would come into his office in San Salvador, where he had immigrated after WWI, pointing a gun at the ceiling and making it abundantly clear to anyone in a skirt that they were not to mess with Louis or with her, or else. She was an OB – original badass.
Isabel May, showing her sassiness in Paris
They had their only son, Luis, in El Salvador, but went back to France where Luis spent his childhood and adolescence, then returned to settle permanently in Central America – at least for the purposes of this story. But grandmother made her preferences in men and in countries clear every time she could.
Fast forward to the civil war in Central America, immigrating to New Orleans with our immediate family, and me (16) dating my brother’s college roommate (24). As the college-bound piano and school prodigy my parents thought I was, they weren’t all too pleased with this development.
Voilà “The Paris Plan”
Brilliant really. As a high school graduation present, I was to go to France for 3 months. First 2 weeks with my grandfather, so he could show me “his Paris,” next 2 months at a language immersion school in Rambouillet, France to learn French, last 2 weeks with my dad so he could show me “his Paris” before I headed to college in North Carolina.
I thought ok – free trip to Paris, no threats or expectations. Why not?
My grandfather’s Paris took some getting used to as an 18-year old. We spent a full day trying to find his parents’ grave in the cemetery. I wasn’t too thrilled about that. [What I would give now to have paid more attention and understood how precious a day that was]. We visited some of his relatives and had a 3-hour meal where I understood nothing. [Again, the shortsightedness of youth got in the way of me realizing how special this was]. We walked through some really old neighborhoods. [What I wouldn’t give now to have documented and appreciated this a lot more than I did then]. But I do remember his nostalgia and pride to be there and to be able to show one of his grandchildren his roots. A little late, but I’m so grateful.
Me (left, standing), looking thrilled visiting non-English speaking relatives
The 2-month immersion was a blast. Lots of younger adults who were as eager as I was to explore the culture and the city. We made connections easily and spent the non-class hours discovering what unveiled itself as a truly beautiful country with beautiful people.
Then my dad’s Paris. Wow. The Lido, the Moulin Rouge, the Louvre, the Musée D’Orsay, La Tour D’Argent for dinner (where he let me carry out my faux pas of ordering a rum and coke instead of wine). To be fair, they were so accommodating that after what seemed to be too-long a time to get served said cocktail, we discovered one of the waiters had been sent on a scavenger hunt for a coca cola at night in early 80s Paris. I heard he had to go to several places to find an open store that actually had coke in stock.
Dad’s “Paris” included the Lido show on the Champs Elysèes
At the end of the stay, I remember walking by the Sorbonne and asking myself the question Why not stay? I came to truly love Paris. I loved this city of lights with incredible architecture. I loved its pace. I loved its anonymity that makes one feel more included instead of more alone. I could easily have stayed and enrolled. I had a dual-citizenship, my French was getting better. Why not?
Maybe inertia. The fact that I was enrolled at arguably one of the best colleges in the US. My dorm room was all set, my roommate, my classes. No disruption for anyone or anything if I stayed on plan.
I know there are people who lean towards the spontaneous, the turn on a dime, the welcoming of the unknown. People who would have taken this leap. I wasn’t that person. So, I didn’t, and it’s very seldom that I wonder what my life would have been like had I stayed because it would have been so unlike me to disrupt. Maybe a tiny part of me has wondered though.
And wonder led to longing.
The romance that originated the Paris Plan fizzled my freshman year in college, but my love for Paris and France never did. I’ve visited on business and on vacation, from a handful of days to a couple of weeks. But visiting is not knowing, and knowing would be honoring my dad and my grandfather deeper.
My initial longing to “park” in one place and immerse myself while taking short exploration day trips fell through as soon as I realized how big and diverse France is. A month, even two, wouldn’t do it justice. The reasonable radius of exploration of any one place isn’t large enough to cover all that France has to offer. So, in 70 days, I’m exploring 6 areas concluding in Paris the last week. I’m blessed that people I love will be with me for all or portions of the trip.
Come November, maybe I’ll have improved my French a little, spent spiritual time with the two men in my life that meant so very much to me, and either have satiated this longing for pilgrimage or opened the door to more opportunities later on. However it evolves, it’ll be full circle. And this, in this new chapter of my life, is my new and improved Paris Plan.
