Funny – the Missus and I just saw the eminently watchable Midnight in Paris, which as usual triggered the Big Town vs. the City of Light Service debate.
Now comes this letter from Charmaine Teodoro in Monday’s New York Times Metropolitan Diary:
For New York, From Paris, With Love
New York, in a month from now, I’m coming back to you, because I realized, after a brief affair with Paris, that you are my true love:
Because while a fresh pain au chocolat is oh so delicious, there’s something about those Dunkin’ Donuts breakfast sandwiches that just hits the spot.
Because even if your subway stinks, and there are rats the size of cats down there, the trains rarely break down and the workers hardly ever go on strike.
Because I prefer my overpriced latte/peppermint mocha to go, so I can stroll along and pop in and browse in stores, versus sitting at a cafe for hours nursing a cup of overpriced coffee while pretending to write in my journal.
Because people-watching on any street in New York is infinitely more interesting than people-watching on any street in Paris, and while the Empire State Building may not sparkle like the Eiffel Tower, it changes colors for all the important holidays, and even the non-holidays, including my faves, Halloween and St. Patrick’s Day.
Because a rude New Yorker has nothing on a rude Parisian, and because the reality is, despite how cynical or jaded New Yorkers can be, they still have more heart and more joie de vivre than I’ve seen in the three and a half years I’ve lived here in Paris.
Because even at your worst, New York, you’re still the best.
A Prodigal Resident
The hardworking staff will now be consulting the Missus about our next move.
Sorry, I see a typical ugly American at work.
I always marvel at those how move to a new place and insist that the new emulate the old as quickly as possible. What did they expect?
As for New York? Well, when you realize that it is nothing more than a bunch of ten-block square communities all gathered around each other, NY becomes an enjoyable and welcoming place.
Seriously, though, I doubt if the bagels in Paris or Albuquerque can hold a bagel hole to those in the City.
Sounds like A Prodigal Resident never found A Prodigal Mistress.