In summer 2016, I arrived in Paris for the first time, greeting this sprawling, winding, beautifully complex maze with more than a hint of excitement-turned-apprehension. The clouds hung a heavy and sullen for the better part of my first month, doing little to ease the culture shock (as I spoke no French) and general grayness (the architecture, the asphalt). Though I was not attending a Columbia-affiliated summer program at Reid Hall, I found myself gradually spending nearly every day with friends who studied amongst Reid Hall's airy oasis of a courtyard, with its robust blooms and buzzing insects, munching on baguettes and camembert at its tables.
The singular generosity and hospitality of those who make Reid Hall so special - Joelle, Jean-Pierre, Brune, Séverine, professors, friends - shaped my Paris experience into the most memorable three months of my life. Every wave hello, or laugh shared, or hour spent under (by July, thankfully) a blazing sun, made Reid Hall one of the places I most readily called "home" in Paris, a leviathan metropolis that is often misconceived as apathetic or cold. When I returned for a recital in November 2017, that warm glow I came to know so keenly two summer ago infused the audience, transforming the Grand Salle into a space where one could communally share and participate in music. As a musician, there is virtually nothing as important as the community music cultivates, and I'm grateful that I have had the immense honor and privilege of seeing that firsthand at Reid Hall.