Islands of small and peaceful

There are two kinds of people: those that are born, live and die in big cities and those who could skip on all the fatigue, pollution and melodrama associated of living in the big apple, big london or even the not-so-big paris. I have always been of firm conviction that I belong to that first type who cannot spend more than a weekend in the country side, and even that, on the condition that there is wi fi access. It is not a question of being obsessed with connectivity, of a blackberry happily blinking along, with being virtually at the office - god no! It's really a question of lights, action, camera; of speed of action; of being a part of something larger (and not just a little bit larger). And I am not speaking from a position of ignorance here - I have lived in a small town! A small student town in the Netherlands, of which, as small towns go, virtually no one has even heard of or ever will. The only good news about this place, which proudly featured in its center - as indeed most European small towns do - a church, a pub, and a bank - was that I could pronounce its name which is not the same I can say of anything else in Dutch. (not to self: Dutch was clearly not my special talent in the language department).

After that experience, I resolved to myself to that I would never again live in a small town. And I have not. While my travel itinerary has been diverse, from Ukraine to Canada to UK and finally to France, I have exclusively lived in big cities. I think my quantitative threshold lies somewhere near 2 million inhabitants. Though it has never been explicitly set, every significant other, friend or relative in my life had at some point understood that for me, no city can be considered to deserve this status if it does not feature museums (note the plural here is no accident), restaurants, night life, theatre, think tanks, universities, and of course, a synagogue - in case I ever have an urgent need to enter into direct dialogue with god. So far it has never happened, but in case such need ever arises, it ought to be urgently satisfied. Besides, a city with no synagogue is not a good sign if I ever want to start eating kosher. Again, it is not likely to happen, but since I am already a vegetarian, who knows what the next weird thing I will do?

So, here I am, in probably what is the best compromise between big city living without big city distances - Paris. A city which I can cross in its entirety (without of course the suburbs, in which no self- respecting parisian goes for one and quite convincing reason: fear) for 20 euros, which is comparable to about 3 subway stops in London. A city which at the same time as being small is incredibly diverse, with little self-contained villages with almost distinct accents, dress-codes and dog sizes. On this last point, you might think I exaggerate, but I assure you not. For instance, in the sixteenth, a dog is an accessory, it must fit in the second smallest longchamp bag, otherwise, it's too slow to walk. In the eighteenth on the other hand, a dog is an instrument of protection and therefore it does not fit in any bag - not even the largest longchamp.

And yet in this compromise, I can't help but think that people like me, who love cities for their action and tireless movement, can only be happy in this whirlwind if they find their oasis of small and peaceful, a sort of a microcosm of reality. In Toronto, it was Queen Street West. In Paris, it can vary from the neighbourhood cafe, which during off peak hours features only two types of creatures - the waiters and the owner's Dalmatian whom I quite got used to, to a yoga studio which does not smell like a mixture of indian food and your neighbours feet (yes, sorry, but it's true), to Luxembourg garden on a sunny day, before everyone else gets there and takes all the chairs (one for the ass, one for the bag, and one per leg of course!). I seems like after years of being treated like an american tourist and being confused myself what my oasis or oases of paradise in this city are, I have finally found them. I have gotten to know all the key characters: the Dalmatian, the yoga instructor, the guy who serves a great brunch near by (and who is open on Sunday!). There is only one wrinkle in the storyline. Since I have discovered them, all these places have become famous: now my facial place requires two months to book an appointment, the brunch place features a line which is becoming less and less reasonable, and today, as a last straw, the yoga class was too full to accept me! "But I discovered it before all these people" I almost screamed in the face of the receptionist who politely offered me to unfold my mat outside the studio. Instead, I just limited myself to a resolute "non".

So, all this drama in my life begs the following question: what does one do when their islands of small and peaceful become invaded? Does one flee to another city or try to find other bubbles of peace? Any advice on this dilemma is welcome. Of course, I could find another brunch place or a smell-less yoga studio, but that would be on the other side of paris, and I would have to take the metro there, which is most definitely not smell-less, particularly on the weekends. In case you didn't know, on the weekends, Parisian men suddenly forget they have toilets at home and start to use the streets as their personal toilets. This may be funny for those of you who don't live in the sixth arrondissement in Paris, but for me, that creates another dilemma: as I decide to have a run around the neighbourhood following being turned away from yoga, I have to treat it as some sort of an obstacle course between (hmm...how shall I say it, number one and number two). The latter usually belongs to dogs, but does not make it any more pleasant for my white adidas running shoes or my nose for that matter. Part of the problem is that I run though the fabulous gallery district and of course I want to be looking around not down! And that brings me to my last thought of the day: Paris maybe the best compromise in the city category, but now it looks like I am going to have to compromise on my bubbles of small and peaceful, sharing them with the invaders, who probably like me, have realised that even here, they need to escape.