How to make a home in Pigalle

On Tuesday, with clothing at last in the armoire, I felt prepared to take the métro to rue du Bac, where I walked along bustling Blvd Saint Germain to the imposing Assemblée nationale. Everything seemed monumental, fast and exposed. Squares extended into rotaries jammed with vehicles weaving throughout traffic and careening around corners. Horns echoed in competition with sirens and deafening mopeds. I found myself at pont de la Concorde, a wide bridge that leads to the massive square where tens of thousands of executions took place during the Revolution. Crossing northward, I caught a fabulous view of several bateaux mouches heading for Île de la Cité to the right, the horizon punctuated by the iconic belltowers of Notre-Dame. This was the Paris I remembered from eight years ago. After almost four days in Pigalle, I felt like I was in a different city.

On Pont de la Concorde

Before FINALLY receiving my luggage, it certainly crossed my mind that I was losing serious Parisian vacation time waiting in my neighborhood. But that’s just the thing: By the time I ventured into the fabulous, iconic Paris I last saw at 16, I realized I had already gotten so used to the streets, sounds, and feel of Pigalle, that I had successfully claimed by own little area of the city. It seemed so foreign upon arrival, so indifferent to my presence…so isolating. Yet in my desperation over not having my own things about me – thousands of miles from home, feeling so unprepared to just be here – it took me in and comforted me. I got to know the faces coming in and out of the gate to my little immeuble. Every time I returned at the end of the day, I looked about my familiar bedroom, out the window at my charming rooftop view, and found I had a home in Pigalle.

For four days, I traded my luggage for the most intimate and coddling of Parisian neighborhoods.