On my last night in Paris, I climbed the steps up to Sacre Coeur, a huge church on a hill. The top of the hill that the church sits on offers the best free view of Paris. I stood on a grassy patch and looked out at the seemingly endless expanse of white six-story buildings and yellow lights. A man walked across the grass and sat near me. He had a motorcycle helmet in his hand. A woman sat with him. They exchanged words in French as they enjoyed their drinks while looking over the city. In that moment, he seemed like the coolest man in the world.
I wasn't too far off from radating that degree of coolness, though. The girl I've been dating was in London last week, and she took the Eurostar to Paris with her friend to see the city for a day. The three of us went on a grand tour of Paris before winding up at the Eiffel Tower, sitting on the Champs de Mars and taking pictures and laughing as the sun cast long shadows on the grass. There was something sort of surreal about hanging out on the grass that evening with someone I'd only met two months prior. Some couples wait their whole lives to see Paris, famed for its romance, together. My parents didn't come together until they were in their 40s. And yet here I was, and it felt pretty normal. Both of us have traveled quite a bit, which might put a damper on how much of a crazy, big deal this should be. I didn't have a motorcycle, though.
That said, Paris should not be famed for its romance. The city is loud, dirty, and I saw at least two homeless people peeing in the streets. I feel like I'm supposed to, but I just don't like French food. I might be too American to enjoy those small portions and limited restaurant menu choices.
Laurel met us in Paris, since at this point in the trip I was still with my parents and grandparents. She flew from Spain. The six of us did have a good time walking the wide boulevards and going out to dinner, but Paris will never be my favorite city.
On the last night in Paris, after I was done looking over the city from Sacre Coeur, I wandered behind the church and noticed that I heard live music. I looked into one of the restaurants, where every seat was full and every single person in the restaurant was singing along in French with the guy playing his acoustic guitar. It looked tremendously fun, but I was on the outside looking in. That's how I feel about Paris, though. Sometimes it feels like everyone loves France, wants to go to France, thinks it's the dream trip destination. By the time my train left yesterday, it was starting to grow on me a bit, but I still don't think Paris is for lovers.
I wasn't too far off from radating that degree of coolness, though. The girl I've been dating was in London last week, and she took the Eurostar to Paris with her friend to see the city for a day. The three of us went on a grand tour of Paris before winding up at the Eiffel Tower, sitting on the Champs de Mars and taking pictures and laughing as the sun cast long shadows on the grass. There was something sort of surreal about hanging out on the grass that evening with someone I'd only met two months prior. Some couples wait their whole lives to see Paris, famed for its romance, together. My parents didn't come together until they were in their 40s. And yet here I was, and it felt pretty normal. Both of us have traveled quite a bit, which might put a damper on how much of a crazy, big deal this should be. I didn't have a motorcycle, though.
That said, Paris should not be famed for its romance. The city is loud, dirty, and I saw at least two homeless people peeing in the streets. I feel like I'm supposed to, but I just don't like French food. I might be too American to enjoy those small portions and limited restaurant menu choices.
Laurel met us in Paris, since at this point in the trip I was still with my parents and grandparents. She flew from Spain. The six of us did have a good time walking the wide boulevards and going out to dinner, but Paris will never be my favorite city.
On the last night in Paris, after I was done looking over the city from Sacre Coeur, I wandered behind the church and noticed that I heard live music. I looked into one of the restaurants, where every seat was full and every single person in the restaurant was singing along in French with the guy playing his acoustic guitar. It looked tremendously fun, but I was on the outside looking in. That's how I feel about Paris, though. Sometimes it feels like everyone loves France, wants to go to France, thinks it's the dream trip destination. By the time my train left yesterday, it was starting to grow on me a bit, but I still don't think Paris is for lovers.
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