It’s disheartening knowing that this past weekend was the first and only weekend I will be spending in Paris. This coming weekend I’ll be in Milan, the next in Barcelona and finally ending my month-long cultural sabbatical in Amsterdam with family. My upcoming adventures excite and terrify me, as do all new experiences, but the consciousness of the impending end of my time here is more nerve-racking. In a week I’ve been able to see everything I’ve ever dreamed of and more, but I can’t help but feeling unsatisfied.
As if my thirst for Paris has only been increased in tenfold instead of being quenched.
It’s a peculiar feeling, but one that is familiar all the same. The sensation usually occurs after eating a delectable meal where even when full, you still want more and more until your pants don’t fit you properly. Your desire, thirst, hunger, yearning, has become an endless well that seemingly nothing can fill or satisfy.
The same sentiment can be shared with Paris.
While I have essentially trekked through the city with a set purpose or accidentally wandering across its majestic beauty, everything that I’ve seen thus far has only left me hungry for more. More sightseeing, people watching, metro trips, cappuccinos, museums, wanderlust. My hunger has evolved from mere curiosity into a bottomless pit.
Hemingway was right when he described Paris as a moveable feast. The city has everything to offer and yet no time to spare. There is no waiting for the tired, the lazy, the fatigued — so go out and experience and taste everything this feast has prepared. Remember that Paris waits for no one and that appetites are only happy when full.