One of my favorite things about our apartment in Paris is the bistro across the street. Not just because they make delicious food, but mostly because every time I come out to my balcony to smoke one of my Galoises Blondes Blancs I get a show.

I sat here this afternoon watching a beautiful interaction between a little girl and her daddy whilst they had a delicious lunch (every meal at La Garçonniere is delicious). She was an adorable little ginger, hair in a ponytail speaking as much with her hands as her mouth while dad sat there, gorgeous crop of hair atop his distinguished head, scarf dangling loosely off his neck. They were sat inside so I couldn’t hear them. Not that my French is so good I would have understood them anyway.

Dad laughed and answered with the same animation as his progeny and she sat there sometimes laughing and interjecting. At one point he leaned forward, chin in hand, elbows firmly in place on the table, smiling.

These are the little snippets I live for. Even now as I am sitting outside having one last smoke before bed there is a group of women sitting outside sipping on wine. One of them just got up and ran a circle around her friends and collapsed into her chair laughing her ass off.

Always there are people living.

On match night we get massive crowds there pregaming before a Paris Saint Germaine match, or an UEFA International match.

We actually were there one night after a match between France and Ireland. A somewhat intoxicated French fan asked if we were American and I answered in the French affirmative. He chuckled because, yes, even my oui sounds American AF. He tried to engage in conversation, but between his slurred French and my butchered Frenglish, he finally gave up. He seemed annoyed, honestly.

Until we were leaving I tapped him on his shoulder, pointed to his flag and shouted vive la France! That’s all it took and he hit me with the biggest smile and repeated with far more enthusiasm, VIVE LA FRANCE!

I threw my fist in the air and gave it back to him one last time before my wife and I crossed the street and headed back to our apartment.

If you ever find yourself in the 16th arrondissement you should head over to La Garçonnierre and have a croque monsieur and look up. It’s the perfect comfort food and I might wave hello. (And no, I do not get paid for saying any of that. I just genuinely love the place.)

We needed stuff for our airbnb - some cheese, some toiletries, some wine. Obviously.

Let’s go meander.

OkayI

So we headed two blocks east to the Seine and walked along site of the Eiffel Tower. It did not suck. Along the way, we crossed a blissful and beautiful couple in wedding gear. I snapped a quick shot as the walked past us and up the stairs to cross to the Seine.

We were starving so we hit a tourist trap and overpaid for okayish food. But the view was great and, well, we’re in fucking Paris!

After lunch it was time to adult. So we hit Monprix and got what we needed, including a bag to carry it all home. Of course, the Mexican set off the alarm on the way out because self-checkout doesn’t allow for the removal of theft deterrent devices upon purchase. I walked back in wondering how to say, I’m a dumbass in French.

Je suis un imbécile.

After we dropped the victuals back at the apartment we... smoked. And did nothing. And checked in on the news back in the States. But I promised no more politics, so I won’t write about Congressman Owen Fourteen McCarthy.

Let’s head west this time.

Okay.

So we walked along some French sounding streets that had less tourists and more happy hours. Cheese and wine was consumed, which is all The Gorgeous Blonde has ever wanted.

So, some people on the internet have asked ‘why the 16th’ and I only know that it was an arrondissement you were interested in.

It’s safe, it’s up and coming, and it’s posh. Mostly the posh thing.

So there you have it. I may or may not have embellished her answer a little.

We meandered about some more after our meal. The moon was out and glorious.

Honestly, the bulk of the night was spent holding hands, looking at real estate listings, and laughing. A lot.

The jetlag is fading and we have things we want to see and do here in the 16th. Mostly, we want to settle in for awhile to get a real feel for what it is to live here. I am hoping that today will be less touristy and more nitty-gritty and getting into the real Paris.

This article is from the original Chicano in Paris recently moved here to its new home.

The One In Which I Try To Answer the Obvious Questions.

The first question we usually get is, why Paris? The Gorgeous Blonde (my wife) usually responds with a quick, why not? Most people laugh, but eventually they come back around and give us a, no, but really, why Paris?

There really is no one reason. TGB and I came to the same conclusion - Paris - via very different routes. I grew up loving Hemingway and Audrey Hepburn. Both of those roads lead inevitably to Paris. Before joining the Air Force I considered going to work for the Big Mouse at Eurodisney. I still have the packet of paperwork in a box in California.

TGB went away on a school trip in High School. I am loathe to tell anyone else’s story, so I will leave it at - that trip seemed to plant a seed.

Fast forward to 2019 and a trip to Paris together and something big took hold of us. Long talks about the wonder of this city. Longer talks about love of country and service and the seeming demise of that same country at the hands of an orange troglodyte and, voila! The question we were faced with was, why are we staying in the States?

It may seem silly to inject politics into a conversation about a magical city like Paris, but it was a big part of the process for us - for me. This city wrapped it’s arms around black US Servicemen in WWI and WWII while our country treated them as second class citizens. This country has enshrined bodily autonomy for women into their constitution while ours, well, you know. And then there’s Florida.

You know Ron DeSantis is probably gonna be POTUS.

Ugh, yeah, fuck that guy.

You bet your ass politics played a role.

So we came up with a plan to move in the future. It was vague and mostly a romanticized ideal that I wasn’t sure was serious. Until TGB came home one day and said, let’s do it.

Okay. So we started our research and came up with an honest to goodness five year plan. Bought a five year calendar and everything. Nerds, we.

In January of ‘22 I started my own little tech company and got to work. Year one of Five Year Plan under way!

Then in February she asked the most innocuous seeming question: why are we waiting?

Because... five year plan.

...

Because... yeah, that’s all I got.

And then my beautiful bride laid out her reasons for leaving sooner rather than later. In short, politics (see above). We have absolutely nothing tying us to FloRiDuH - no family or obligations. We are still young and vibrant enough to really lean in and enjoy Paris. And, well, IT’S FUCKING PARIS!

So the five year plan was turned into an as soon as we sell the house for an obscene profit plan.

Paris is a magical city. It is huge and diverse, it is romantic and idealized to a fault, it is amazing fucking food and inexpensive wine, it is art and grit, it is noisy as it sexy, and she is our home now.

So, I promise to tell you all about this adventure in the coming weeks with none of the politics and a lot more of the hyperbole.

I don’t know how long we will be in Paris. Maybe a year, maybe three, maybe forever. I am fairly confident that France will be home for the duration of this sweet life of ours though.

Now I am going to take my third coffee outside, light up and delicious cancer stick, and enjoy watching and listening to this gorgeous dame wake up this morning.