Where I Live

There's been a lot of talk this year, and well, most years, about pulling up stakes and moving somewhere else. Greener pastures, and all that. Many of you gentle readers have been witness to these geographic musings, or flights of fancy, or whatever you want to call them, and you're usually kind enough to humour me by nodding and not interrupting too much with practical questions while I go on and on about "the next great place". You seem to understand that this is just one of those quirks or tics in my otherwise flawless nature, and it's best to let the neurosis run its course. Thus you have indulged not only my preoccupation with otherwise dull articles about the housing market, but also my habit of compulsively scanning the real estate section pretty much wherever I go (the only exceptions so far have been Moscow -- because I couldn't find a real estate section, and Springfield, Massachusetts -- because I wouldn't live there if you paid me.)

Meanwhile, here I am: Paris, France. Population: about 2 million in the city proper, 10.5 million in outlying areas, too many in my neighborhood. Elevation: 27 meters (90 ft). Area 105 square km (41 sq miles). Weather: dark and gray in winter, rainy and gray in summer, with some occasional pleasant surprises (like this October). Quality of life? Well, there are "some good points, some bad points", as David Byrne would say. For whatever reason or reasons, this is where I live, and lately I've been trying very hard to simply enjoy the feeling of being in one place, putting down roots. Until I'm pulled somewhere else, that is...