The Paris Traveler

 The fleur-de-lys, translated as the “flower of the lily”, is a legendary symbol of France. Initially,  it served as a decorative element and can be found as far back as Mesopotamia.  Over time, it came to to represent royalty (not specific to France) signifying perfection, light and life.  It appears in heraldry (coats of arms), as well as architecture, art, decorative objects and jewelry.  I, in my infinite craziness have taken this symbol one step further.

When getting ready to leave France after my year of personal indulgence, I thought, “What can I take home with me that I would have forever as a reminder of the year? A cute, little French gendarme came to mind (the real kind) but I didn’t think my husband would be on board with that.   Oh, la la they are cute–their uniforms and French accents….(I look mostly strictly on behalf of my daughters.  A mom has got to do what a mom has got to do).  Then I thought, maybe a tiny, yippy, well-coiffed dog.  But I had a big lumbering, messy lovable one, so didn’t need the extra work.   If I polled all of you, my guess is, your answer would be way different than what I came up with.   I will give you a moment to close your eyes and think of what you might do……….. Ok, open your eyes.  If you thought, “I would go home with a tattoo of a fleur-de-lys on my ankle”,  you and I would be fast friends. 

Yes, on a not very significant Wednesday, two of my daughters and I found ourselves in a tattoo parlor on rue Ponthieu in the 8th. My oldest daughter had just finished her sophmore year in Angers and came to Paris to spend her last 10 days with her sister and I.  When she arrived at our apartment, I sensed something was different about her but couldn’t put my finger on it.  Later that evening, over dinner, the light-bulb went off–she had a beautiful diamond in the side of her nose.  My somewhat conservative daughter had pierced her nose and it was magnificent. So unexpected from her and yet it totally suited her and now I can’t imagine her without it.  That’s when the wheels started spinning. 

I had always wanted a tattoo but guess I never got “silly” enough during college to actually go to a tattoo parlor and get my school mascot or current boyfriend’s name written on my skin.  Thank goodness.  The silly part might have happened but didn’t result in a tattoo….;-) So, now my younger daughter and I start scheming as to what we should do to symbolize the year that we just spent in Paris.  What else do mothers and daughters do at the end of a year abroad but get tattoos together

 The shop we found should really be referred to as a “salon” since it looked  very much like a funky hair salon. There were cutting stations but no stylists.  Odd, but we went with it.   The young girl that greeted us was adorable:  no significant piercings or multi-colored hair that you might connect with tattoo parlor employees.  The gentleman doing the work (the artist, if you will) was impeccably dressed and I actually had to ask if, indeed, he had any tattoos as none were visible.  I was assured, that yes he did and he got to work. 

I went first as I can be a bit of a baby and if I saw my daughter for one second wince in pain, I would back out.  There were some very elaborate sanitary precautions that he went through which I was most grateful for and once all was ready,  he fired up his little buzzing ink pen and let his artistry flow.  He worked free-hand which made me a bit nervous, not knowing exactly what it was going to look like but the guy had obviously done this before.  I would be lying if I said it didn’t hurt, however, I have been through labor, so let’s say it hurt less than giving birth.  And like child birth, I would do it again…get a tattoo that is.

 Here is the finished product.  It sits on the inside of my right ankle and I just love it.  I tried to strategically place it somewhere that wouldn’t get all saggy–when I am 85 and flaunting my ink at the retirement home, I still want my fleur-de-lys to be all pert and perky.  Other parts may go but I figured there was no way my skinny, little ankle was going to droop.  My daughter’s is on her ankle as well–a tiny, stylized RF which stands for République Française.  It’s so cute and small enough that so far she hasn’t been issued a detention for having it.  She’s a good girl–I think the fashion police at school like her.  

 So forget the Louis Vuitton purse or belt by Hermès and come home with something just a little bit different.  It’s your turn.    

Additional information:  Studio Titane

Photos:  Wikipedia, Dreamstime, Studio Titane 

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