Metz: A Place I Almost Lived

Metz came into my life early, on my second trip to France, when everything still felt new and full of possibility. We drove there, curious to see a city that seemed to balance history with a youthful pulse. From the moment I arrived, I felt something familiar in it. Metz had the kind of energy that lives quietly between the old and the new. Its streets were alive with students from the art college, and there was a creative rhythm in the air that made me want to stay longer.

The cathedral was what captured me first. Its stained glass felt alive, each panel telling its own story in color and light. I remember standing there, completely still, trying to take in the scale of it. The city itself held that same duality, deeply rooted in history yet forward-looking, with both French and German influences woven into its walls.

Metz seemed like the perfect balance. Not too big, not too small. Close to nature, full of art, and connected to the world through its high speed trains and nearby borders. It was the kind of place where I thought I could be inspired, where the idea of staying didn’t feel impossible. Even now, the thought of the markets smelling of Mirabelle in late summer makes me smile. We all know how much I love Mirabelle.

I spent only one day there during that first visit, but I remember it for one reason more than any other: laughter. I had never laughed so hard in my life. It was just one afternoon, but it stayed with me. There was something about the people there, the lightness they carried, that made me think Metz could easily become home.

When I returned recently, this time for a few days, I saw a different side of the city. Beyond its heart, the countryside unfolded in warm autumn colors. I wandered through places that carried the weight of war history, and I began to see how Metz shares many qualities with Strasbourg — the mix of beauty and resilience, the deep sense of place, the pull between cultures.

If I ever left Strasbourg, I could see myself there. Metz still feels like a quiet possibility, a place that continues to wait patiently in my memory, glowing softly like stained glass when the sun hits it just right.

A chapter I never wrote, but still return to in thought.