Avenue de Versailles
I spent more time than I used to openly admit living in the 16th arrondissement of Paris.
I used to think I didn't like living there, because I found myself reluctant to own up to it. But then I realized what actually bothered me was the look people gave when I said I lived in the 16th.
The 16th was not considered cool. It was not Le Marais. It was very Right Bank. It was known for wealth and being boring - two things I am not known for and yet it still felt like home.
Full disclosure: I actually loved living in the 16th. There, I finally said it.
To me it was a haven, quiet and safe. The 16th was a contrast compared to my first apartment in Paris - in the 17th where it was loud, bustling, and it was more normal than not for me to pass sex workers on the street at night. Ok actually, I loved the 17th too.
One of the many things I loved about the 16eme was Avenue de Versailles. Because of the location of the two different apartments I inhabited during my time in the neighborhood, I passed quite a bit of time on this street.
One of my favorite spots was the glorious Avenue de Versailles street market. It featured pretty much all things delectable, along with beautiful flowers, and random housewares. I'm not sure what the deal with that was, but it's true after a while you started to feel slighted if your market didn’t have a random vegetable-shaper-appliance stall.
The Avenue de Versailles market was not something to be trifled with before coffee. It was crowded and people were pushy. The vegetable stand (ok there were multiple but you know THE stand was the one with the long line) was a battle zone. After I finally maneuvered to be seen, then I had to be heard. Which meant shouting out my order as loudly and quickly as possible in French. Because of this I would often end up with a ridiculous quantity of something, green beans for example. Not only because of my bad French but because of the damn metric system. In any language, I don't know how many kilos I need of anything.
Anyway, it was all part of the experience.
I spent many hours on Avenue de Versailles between midnight and seven a.m. Don't judge me. I was a single twenty-something during these years.
In my first 16th apartment, I would often go southwest down Avenue de Versailles to get home. In my second apartment in the 16th I went the other way, northeast up Avenue de Versailles to get home. It became part of my safe zone ... an extension of my apartment that felt like home. It was special to me purely because it was familiar. I spent years traversing the street, way past my bedtime and way before the time I’d usually arise in those days.
I danced my way home down Avenue de Versailles, both ways. I cried. I thought about my future. I made important decisions. During my last weeks living in Paris I often consciously wondered if it was my last walk down Avenue de Versailles. Until finally, one night before the daily Delta 0045 flight to Cincinnati, it really was.