To see Paris again

The first time I saw Paris, it was July 2013, and I had just turned 20 a few months earlier. I was still very much an impressionable college student. Barely customed to going through customs. You ain't been nowhere, huh? 

Since then, whenever anyone asked me about my time abroad, the same phrase would come to mind. C'était comme un rêve. It was like a dream. 

Like a dream, maybe I couldn't exactly recall everything. Because when I got back to France this time around, it seemed as though I didn't remember how special Paris was to me. I knew it was there. I would get to it. Eventually. 

My first few days in France, I didn't set foot in Paris, even though I was so close. 

Those days had been taxing. I had tunnel vision. Find housing, contact my schools, clean, clean, clean that dank and dusty basement house. Try not to get hypothermia.

That first night, I was not shaking with excitement like I initially thought. I was cold. So, so, so, so cold. I recalled one of the few science facts I know: warm air rises. I was in a basement. 

The next few nights, I slept with two socks on. I didn't have a thick blanket, yet. The pillow that was already at the house looked so gross I balled up my clothing to try to use as a pillow instead. The pillow lobby will be glad to know that doesn't work. Buy pillows. 

The days had drained me: Getting lost in the woods. Scrubbing unidentified brown sludge off a toilet. Using a vacuum to emancipate a kitchen cabinet from its giant spider overlords. 

If I really was going through a tunnel that first week, perhaps a trip to Paris was the light at the end of it. That Thursday, my roommate and I made the journey there. We took the bus,*** then the train, then transferred to another train, and soon we were at Châtelet — Les Halles.

It was my sixth day in France — five years after my first visit — and I was back. 

To see Paris again. 

So, we arrived at Châtelet — Les Halles. There's basically like an underground mall in the train station called Forum des Halles. Shop after shop after shop. Bright fluorescent lights. It was not what I remembered about the city. 

Then we got above ground and started doing one of the best things there is to do in Paris: take a walk. We went past the cafés, down streets in the First Arrondissement. Some quaint. Most touristy. 

We took pictures outside the Louvre. I silently judged tourists attempting the "I'm-touching-the-top-of-the-pyramid illusion." I opted for the only slightly less touristy open arms pose. 

 

            I technically have resident status, but taking pictures outside the Louvre is not helping my resident street cred. 




We stood on the Pont du Carousel and I passively glimpsed the Eiffel Tower in the distance. It's an icon, but other scenes in the city always tend to catch my eye, instead. This time, it was a boat going down the Seine. 

Soon, we were walking on the Passerelle Léopold-Sédar-Senghor footbridge — one of the ones with the love padlocks. I was excited. For one, I thought all the locks had been taken off recently. But no, this was a bridge that still had them. 

I knew I had to recreate a picture from five years ago. I don't know which bridge I was on in 2013, but I'd like to think it's the same one. 

                       2013                                                                              2018
 
Walking down the streets of Paris, some stereotypes are true. They are quite fashionable. 

Striped shirts, of course. Someone wearing boots, a long pea coat and a beret. A short girl pulling off a long trench coat.

Soon, we were looking for food. We were hungry and on a budget, so we found a small stand where we got a "hot dog" and a beer. 

I put hot dog in quotation marks because it was the Frenchest hot dog I've ever seen. It was in a huge baguette, so long I struggled to include the whole thing in a photo. The mustard was strong, so strong it reminded me of wasabi but without the spice. 

The beer, a German lager called Kanterbrau, was as nice as the weather was that day. Sun out. Hardly a cloud. We sat down in chairs overlooking the Jardin des Tuileries. 

We ended the day with a walk to the Arc de Triomphe. I posed as a big tour bus that said Best of Paris in 2 Hours drove past. 

Funny thing is, that's kind of what we did.

That day, it all came back to me. I remembered how Paris had grabbed hold of me the first time. 

The city had charmed me once more, five years later. It's an enchanting place, if nothing else. 

And the spell never quite wears off. 











*** On the way to Paris, I came across this written at a bus stop...

It's calling for the resignation of French president Emmanuel Macron.



Reminded me of home.