Bonjour Paris!

Bonjour Paris! 

I've been in Paris for two days (I think—the time difference has really been messing with my mind!) and what a crazy experience it has been already!. I don't know how this blog is going to work… I'm going to have to be very selective about the stories that I choose to tell. Either that, or I'm going to have to write a large novel's worth of adventures on here. Actually, I could write a whole novel's worth of stories already, and I've been here a couple days! Imagine after 6 months! They wouldn't have room for my  blog in the whole library of congress!! 

So let's see… Where shall I begin? It's going to be confusing, but I think I will tell the story of the last couple days BACKWARDS. 

Just to stick it to the chronological man. 

August 20th: 

…My feet hurt. Very much. 

And that's because I have been exploring, getting lost, and walking kilometers and kilometers (note the metric system) in what I mistook as a comfy pair of flats, but what have  actually turned out to be tiny foot torturing devices in disguise, that not only make your feet ache, but also give you blisters and heat your feet up to ten times the outside temperature. Note to self: get some comfortable shoes! I just got back to the Caulaincourt Square Hostel from shopping on the Champs-Elysees. I didn't buy a thing; instead, I just window-shopped for a while, and then sat outside a cheap sidewalk bistro with a cappuccino and a quiche for lunch and took advantage of my prime people-watching location. The Champs-Elysees is a charming clash of people,  ranging from flawless Parisian fashionistas to fanny-pack weilding American tourists wearing "I heart Paris" t-shirts. After taking a much needed break, I got my iphone a French sim-card from "Orange" (finally). Today has been a great day so far! 

…I just had the most wonderful morning! I woke up around 7 30 and couldn't go back to sleep, so I got dressed and walked out into beautiful Montmartre just as the city was beginning to stir. I thought that I would be able to sit and have a quiet "café et croissantt", but businesses were not open. I've read that restaurants in France are not usually open for breakfast, and those that are won't be open early; well, I guess it's true. Instead, I just decided to do some essential sight-seeing before the tourists swarmed in with their cameras and backpacks and restless children—off to le basilique sacrée-coeur!  As I walked up the sloping streets to the Basilica, I hardly passed anyone—only a few joggers, dog walkers, and tourists who had ventured out to get an early start. Men were setting up the tables and chairs on the sidewalk that would later be filled with café-goers sipping espresso and chatting under the lacy shade of Rue Caulaincourt's massive trees.The air was cold, but it was warmed by the smell of fresh bread and pastries baking in the many boulangeries and pâtisseries scattered around Montmartre. I climbed higher up the hill through narrow cobble-stone streets, beneath towering sand colored buildings with bright red flowers in every window box, passing in and out of the sunlight, taking pictures here and there but mostly just talking in the peace of the moment, and I suddenly let out a laugh of  joy. This—not the tourist infested landmarks, the graffitied périphéries, or the even the boulevards lined with shops the likes of Chanel and Ferrari—was the Paris that I really wanted to see. I reached the Basilica, which I thought, despite the locals' supposed distaste for the monument, was beautiful. Maybe it was just that it was empty and quiet, for a change, with it's bone colored stones bathed in a golden light. Like most architecture in Paris, it is tastefully intricate, enough to be breathtaking, but not enough to be gaudy. Knowing where the "too much" line is, and preceding to get as close to it as possible without ever crossing it, seems to be a skill held by all things Parisian; that includes the cuisine, the fashion,and even the weather. I guess that's why we all know it as the most stylish city in the world! Anyway, from the top of  Montmartre I could see Paris sprawled out before me, the streets radiating out from various centers like spokes on a wheel. Sure, a grid would be more logical, and maybe I wouldn't get lost all the time if there was any system to the city's layout, but I guess the slight chaos of Paris' map makes it beautiful, interesting, as well as a total pain in the butt. The dicey neighborhoods, the modern skyscrapers, the iconic landmarks, and vast stretches of ivory and sandy buildings with their charcoal roofs and black wrought iron window boxes, were all thickened by a slight haze and drenched in the sunshine of the morning of August 20th as I stood outside Sacre-Couer. 

That's when it hit me that I have an amazing opportunity at this moment in my life, to see things I have never seen before. Indeed, things most people have never seen before. How did I score this deal??? 

August 19th 

…Well my first day in Paris is done. Dang. Now that I have called my parents and taken a shower to get rid of the grime of a day of travel, I feel pretty good!  It's been real though… I'm emotionally, mentally, and especially physically tired. When I got to the Caulaincourt Hostel to check-in, after Mr. Toads Wild ride in the taxi from Charles de Gaulle airport, through the Parisian suburbs, and up to the hill to Montmartre,  I was pleasantly surprised at the charming location. Classic shops and cafes line the road, which smells strongly of fresh baked bread. The man at the front desk was nice enough, although he sure didn't like me asking "parlez-vous anglais?" I think this was either because: he, of course, speaks English and how dare I insult his intelligence! Or perhaps: he would prefer me to try to speak French to him, because I'm visiting his country after all! Anyway, he silently slid my key onto the counter, muttered "twenty," and swept outside to sit on the curb and have a smoke. C'est la vie. I was prepared for that type of encounter. After settling in to the tiny but nice room 20, with the effects of jet lag surely still altering my brain-chemistry, I wandered out into bustling Paris to try to get a few things done. This was a mistake. Try to get on the metro—fail. Try to find an "Orange" mobile store—major fail. Try to buy lunch—fail. I mean, eventually I succeeded in all of these things, but not smoothly. No, not at all; I'll spare you the details. So after failing miserably, I realized that before I should do anything else, I needed to sleep. So I drudged back to by room, fell onto the bed, and instantly crashed for five hours. When I awoke in the evening, I felt refreshed and was ready to venture out again. This time, I did alright. I got on the metro, and headed down to see, of course, the Arc de Triumph and the Champs-Elysees. After the Arc, I got myself a drink on the Champs-Elysees and watched folks pass by speaking rapid French, or occasionally English with a thick British accent. Then, strolling down that famous avenue, I looked down a sidestreet and there it was, with no warning. BOOM! Eiffel Tower. My stomach lurched a bit, just like it used to when I was a kid and remembered with a start that it's christmas morning, or when I would turn a corner in Junior High and see that boy I liked standing in the hall, or just like the first time, a few summers ago, when the Eiffel Tower snuck up on me from around a corner just as it had done now. It's not all that beautiful to me, but there's just something about its iconic nature. It has that aura about it like a celebrity among buildings—the queen of icons. The whole world knows of this symbol, the WHOLE WORLD, and now it's right in front of me (at it's prettiest, might I add) glowing faintly gold with the pink and grey-blue background of twilight. I hiked up to the Trocadero to get a better view, and found that a man was serenading the tourists with French accordion music. I laughed to myself because it totally ruined the romance of the moment; now that was just TOO cliche. As I turned my back on the tour eiffel to head back, I pretended for a moment that flashes from the thousands of visitors' cameras were all pointed at me. Like the paparazzi eagerly snapping my picture at a red carpet event. But I knew deep down that the real star was the Eiffel Tower, who obviously sensed that I might steal the spotlight, and was now glittering spectacularly in the night as it does every hour; as if being a glowing golden goddess isn't good enough, it sparkles too? Personally, I think all the atttention is getting to its head... 

   Overboard on the personification there? Perhaps. ANYway. I squeezed into the metro car and headed Back to Montmartre, exhausted again as I emerged from the spiraling staircase exit of the Lamark-Caulaincourt station, just as the sun finally went down on my first day in Paris. What a journey this is going to be. 

August 18th/19th

…The voice just came on the intercom saying something in French, that perfect stewardess voice that follows the cheerful "dingggg" that always wakes me up as i'm just falling  asleep; I think it said we're going to be landing soon. Yep. She just said it in English. Landing. In France. In Paris. We're landing. Wait, really?? Of course, I knew we wouldn't be staying on the plane forever… but after around hour six, it felt like I was just going to be stuck in this 30,000 ft. limbo forever with Mr. "I'm-really-pissed-off-because-I'm-not-going-to-be-able-to-smoke-for-11-hours" sitting next to me, eternally silent, and occasionally falling asleep on my shoulder (at which times I was sure that he had enough second hand smoke in the fabric of his fancy designer coat to take a whiff and get his nicotine fix…)

Landing. Wow. I slid open my window and saw a cottony gray layer covering the earth clear to the horizon. We started the twirling decent into CDG airport, as I eagerly poured out the window for my first glimpse of Paris through the mist. We were lost in white clouds for minutes, though it could have been another ten hours as I waited. 

I had time, in the fog, to start thinking in metaphors (which I often do when I get emotional or nostalgic or just bored). This moment of waiting in the fog was like these last few months of waiting. I had taken off, and I had started my journey, but what the future had in store for me was still hidden behind an impenetrable fog. Now, as the turquoise Air Tahiti Nui Airbus broke through the clouds (literally), I felt like I was finally living the adventure that I have been anticipating for months. 

"Au revior!", the flight attended said as I stepped out of the plane and onto solid ground at last. "Goodbye!" I said.

and Bonjour Paris!