New York Conquers All

Guest Post: City of Lights, City of Love by Cyrena Lee

New York felt strange the first time I walked in the streets after spending a semester abroad in Paris. It wasn’t the same as I had left it; the buildings and sidewalks seemed to be at least three times bigger than what they were in my memory. I thought about New York often, and talked about it. I certainly missed the city that never sleeps.

Through the cold first winter months I missed the twenty-four hour, non-stop service subway. By the end of March I missed my best friends; Nicole and Natalie, who had visited mid-month and jetted back to America. In April I was already sick of the novelty of boulangeries and patisseries, and even though by the next month I had snagged a French teenage quasi-film star (of Zac Efron proportions post the first musical, without the fame that came along with number 2 and 3, but in my opinion his cheekbones are sharper) I was ready to leave Paris. I’d tell my French friends how fun New York summers were, how I never slept, stayed up until 6am drinking champagne [in Murray Hill] (with the mastermind of this blog), and how everyone, everywhere was outside and awake all the time. Hours before my flight back to New York, I stayed up until 5am drinking champagne and crying over the eminent loss of my Paris summer nights. When I boarded the 10am train from Gare du Nord to London, I clung onto my French ELLE magazine and kept slipping out “pardons” over “excuse me-s”.

I won’t lie, I really missed Paris. I missed the small winding streets, I missed the lazy Sundays where nothing is open except the bakeries, I missed toggle jackets and knowing when the metro was arriving. I missed my friends, I missed the way French people sing in English, I missed the gardens and parks. I was Paris-sick, and I didn’t think anything could have cured me. For the first time, I thought I could have lived in a city other than New York.

But then I slowly re-adjusted to the ‘subway’ and not the metro, I re-discovered Columbia’s campus, fresh coconut water, and Angelica Kitchen. Then I discovered Westville East. The French may be stuck-up assholes, but the one thing it seems to be agreed upon is that their food reigns supreme. Every French person I’ve talked to tells me about how the food in New York is terrible. I think their tongues are too coated in butter and oil and bread to know any better.

No matter how much I love Paris; the lights are prettier at night from the view at The Corinthian, and the love is stronger than a teen heart throb crush. Who could ever leave New York, or the Galperns?! I couldn’t. Unless one is leaving for Paris. No other exceptions.

Cyrena Lee is currently a Senior at Barnard College at Columbia University majoring in Anthropology. She is also a well respected intern at Daily Candy. Expect more posts from Cyrena as she aspires to become a regular NewYorkConquersAll.com blogist.