I want to dance on tables in Paris for suited men who smoke ciggys and sip merlot

I suppose my visions of Paris began to form somewhere between making crepes in my high school French club and reading about the adventures of a group of homosexual men in James Baldwin?s Giovanni's Room. For many years, I believed I would be a cigarette-wielding poet living in the south of France, free and beautiful, taking in multi-cultural lovers to alternately discuss politics and the nature of seduction. A kind of glammed up Circe. But now I'm really here. I arrived at the end of September to work as an English assistant in a local lycee (high school) and to study and research. One of the teachers at the high school, Jean-Claude picked me up from the airport and took me straight to the administration building where the various secretaries greeted me and handed over the keys to my new apartment which the school provides for the language assistants.

I think for the first week I was literally stumbling through these bare, necessary exchanges; the metro, the cafe, the grocery, the bank- they all presented unique challenges, the greatest being the language. Why come to Paris if you?re not fluent in the language? Good question for a regular person. Bad question for an ambitious dreamer like me. Because I just wanted to (and hey I?ll get better when I get there, right?) Around the second week my stumbling paid off when I wound up in the Jardin du Luxembourg. The new age philosophers talk about the awareness of being alive, and that's one of the best things about living abroad, especially in those initial weeks. Here, I?m aware of every word I say, aware of every step I take, but also taking in as much as I can, stopping for a panoramic view of a fabulous garden marked by its stillness.

I spend a fair amount of time trying to write, reading, drinking tea or otherwise indulging all of my "hobbies." Its the first time in my life I haven?t been in school (finished my masters in May) so I have lots of ?projects? that I?ve been thinking about and now have the time to work on. I?ve made some fruitful connections with people here either for clubbing/coffee/conversation (in the best of cases all three in one night); the girl I met in the visa office back home, my literature professor in graduate school, a writer I contacted over email, the teachers in the lycee, my flatmates who all come from different countries. I?m here for the year and penning this column about being a twenty-something living in Paris, I suppose its like being a 20-something anywhere, not quite sure of anything but with a lot of dreams, ambition and energy to live, love, learn and ?suck the marrow out of life,? but perhaps the added layer is living in an international capital, thrown into a new language and experience, exposed to different cultures, ideas and trends all the while ?figuring things out.?

By the beginning of October I was officially enrolled at La Sorbonne, it was the first administrative thing I'd "finished" in France (a feat not to be underestimated) so I strolled through the academic and beautiful 5th arrondisement. Again Ms. Dazed and Confused was rewarded. Along the Seine are little book kiosks and there I spotted my favorite novel: The God of Small Things (the French Version). I took it as a sign that I was exactly where I was supposed to be; 24 years old, embraced by my favorite words and standing in a pool of sunlight near the Seine. And the title itself was so apt. When I was 17, I wrote a list, a poem, a manifesto of all the things I wanted to do or at least metaphorically "feel" at some point in my life, and living in Paris quite literally topped the list.

So in my quest to live my manifesto I moved to Paris to see the world and myself anew. Its been almost two months and what can I say? I am utterly in love with the architecture, the language and the food, often dismayed by the pace and always, always delighted by yet another exchange of ideas over coffee with well dressed, clever people in a tiny cafe just beyond the curve of the rue. Not exactly dancing on tables, but its my kind of freedom, decidedly the only kind that matters.

Ariana Austin is a freelancer writer currently based in Paris where she writes on arts and culture and foreign affairs. Her work has appeared in Trace magazine,the Foreign Service Journal and the Washington Post. She is happy to bring you a 20-something view of living, loving and learning in Paris. You can reach her at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it with any comments, questions or ideas.

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