In case you’ve had a look at the photo above this blog post before you started reading, you may have noticed something. Contrary to almost all of my other photos, this one was not shot in Italy, but in the French capital. It has been exactly one year since I was in Paris. The reason I spent the last days of September in this beautiful city was firstly to visit my dear friend and regular travel buddy Lucas in his hometown and secondly, but secretly even more important, to gather courage to really go ahead with my intended move to Rome. That it was going to happen was something very certain to me, but actually booking a plane ticket (and suddenly having a date that comes closer every day) and searching a place to stay (how and where did I even start?) turned out to be quite a thing.
And while I was walking in an autumnal Paris under the orange-coloured trees, I thought of one person in particular. Someone whose dream I was realising in that same moment. Where I had jumped on a plane to Paris without thinking about it for too long, that seemingly unsignificant act was something for which she had been gathering courage for over thirty years
This was not going to be my first foreign adventure however. In the previous five years I had lived in Brussels, Frankfurt and Rome and also had I just returned from two beautiful months in Naples. But this time it felt completely different. This time nobody was waiting for me, no job, no study and not even a small picturesque language school. And even more important, this time there was no end date to my adventure. Although this was sometimes difficult to understand for some people around me (“What do you mean, you don’t know when you’re coming back?”), it felt like the greatest luxury to me. Finally, I could practice a long-term view and I would no longer be forced to say goodbye to people I grew very fond of in a short time. In Paris, one of my favourite cities that always stimulates this sense of beauty, freedom and adventure, Lucas and I strolled endlessly through the streets, fantasizing about my new Italian life. To get in the mood, we went out for dinner at the same Italian place for two nights where I almost felt off my chair when I saw the prize for a Neapolitan pizza. I had only come back from Naples three weeks earlier, where paying more than five euros for a pizza is considered a true insult to the Neapolitan culture: good food is a basic right for everyone. And while I was walking in an autumnal Paris under the orange-coloured trees, I thought of one person in particular. Someone whose dream I was realising in that same moment. Where I had jumped on a plane to Paris without thinking about it for too long, that seemingly unsignificant act was something for which she had been gathering courage for over thirty years.
It was on the very first day that she entrusted me with her big dream. It was more than a dream, call it a life mission, that gave her perspective on the days when the grief for her deceased parents overwhelmed her
Her name was Lia – Amelia in full, but she thought that sounded much too old-fashioned – and with her sandals with thick platform soles she still didn’t reach a length of one metre sixty. As the daughter of a famous Neapolitan folk singer who died far too early, she had always lived with her mother in her parental home, located on the first floor of a palazzo situated at the oldest market in Naples. By now she was forty-four and although there had been men in her life, she confided to me that every Sunday in church she prayed for a man who was not already married for a change. After her mother had died a few years earlier, she remained all by herself in the house. Her girl’s room with the bright blue curtains, the paintings she created as a teenager and the vase with plastic flowers was still exactly as it was twenty-five years ago, and to earn a little extra money she now rented it out to international students at the language school. And that’s how this girls’ room of a Neapolitan teenager became my temporary home last summer. Lia’s life was completely set in Naples, and despite the extreme heat and the absent fan (let alone air conditioning) she spent most of her days behind the television, watching dramatic soap operas all day long. The Mediterranean Sea was, to my great joy, within walking distance of her house but still, she only went there once a week at most. She mused about the times when her father was still alive and he performed all over southern Italy. On a very special day, when she was still a young girl, he had taken her to Rome. Lia hung on my lips when I told her stories about all the places I had visited in Europe, and even more when I told her about exotic places like Thailand and Vietnam. It was on the very first day that she entrusted me with her big dream. It was more than a dream, call it a life mission, that gave her perspective on the days when the grief for her deceased parents overwhelmed her. Because at some point in her life, the day would come that she would go to Paris.
Of course, I immediately bombarded her with the question why on earth she wouldn’t immediately book a weekend to the city of love for herself, but I could tell from her facial expression, which revealed a combination of fright and melancholy, that it wasn’t that simple
She could already feel the luxurious fabric of a Chanel suit sliding through her fingers, as she could already taste the sweetness of a freshly baked, crumbly croissant on her tongue as she imagined herself sitting at such a chic, small, round table with golden details, so typical of Paris. Of course, I immediately bombarded her with the question why on earth she wouldn’t immediately book a weekend to the city of love for herself, but I could tell from her facial expression, which revealed a combination of fright and melancholy, that it wasn’t that simple. The cost of such a trip was not the problem, she could easily save for it. But she had a hundred and one excuses not to do it. She was on her own, and being a woman, she considered herself far too vulnerable. Moreover, she did not speak French, even though she had become quite adept at pronouncing Bonjour mademoiselle and Ça va?, in which I could hardly detect her heavy Neapolitan accent any more. But then she would probably get lost, people could take advantage of her or even pickpocket her, and on top of that, she did not understand how the metro works. Taxis were very expensive in Paris, as she had been told by a friend. Plus, it would probably rain all the time when she was going to be there, because that bad luck would undoubtedly hit her, and then she would catch a serious cold. And the more excuses Lia brought up, which she constantly alternated with statements that she would definitely go to Paris one day, the more I realised that her dream of Paris was actually much more valuable than an actual visit.
And as we crossed the streets of Paris, me on the back of Lucas’ scooter, while the lights of the Eiffel Tower were dimmed out of respect for former President Jacques Chirac who died that day, I wondered whether my idea of Rome should remain a dream too. Wasn’t the idea of living in the Eternal City even more valuable than reality?
It was the idea of Paris, shaped so richly in her mind, that helped her through difficult days. It was the photos of the fashionable Françaises she saw in the fashion magazines (Lia didn’t have an internet connection, which I was slightly shocked about when I found out) that inspired her during her numerous shopping sessions in Naples. What would happen if she actually went to Paris? What could she still cling on to after her return? And as we crossed the streets of Paris, me on the back of Lucas’ scooter, while the lights of the Eiffel Tower were dimmed out of respect for former President Jacques Chirac who died that day, I wondered whether my idea of Rome should remain a dream too. Wasn’t the idea of living in the Eternal City even more valuable than reality? However, I soon realised that Lia and I were very different. After all, the reason I wanted to go back to Rome was because I had already lived there for a year. Rome was not a fantasy for me. I could have never imagined the feeling that Rome gave me beforehand in the Netherlands. In fact, my dream only really started when I was already there. I had been living my dream. And no matter how fantastic that sounds, I realised that my reality was no better than that of Lia. She found her true happiness in her endless daydreams about Paris which she deeply cherished. I was the restless soul who would actually take on the adventure.
And Lia? After a dramatic farewell, I never heard from her again. But I cherish her and the unique life lessons she gave me forever
Once back home, I booked my plane ticket with Lia in the back of my head. Twenty-four October 2019, on the day my dear grandmother would have turned a hundred years old, I was going to get on a plane to Italy. A day that was approaching rapidly, but strangely enough only gave me a sense of tranquillity. And Lia? After a dramatic farewell, I never heard from her again. But I cherish her and the unique life lessons she gave me forever, like a fond memory of an autumn day in Paris.