Paris, France: First Impressions

This is not a guide to Paris...

My red flag? I don’t plan a single thing. I’m just delusional enough to wholeheartedly believe that everything will always work exactly in my favor without any need for planning or research – and for the most part, it does. I mean don’t get me wrong, it’s not a bad delusion to have. I do believe it’s these exact core beliefs that we hang on to with every inch of our being that attracts that same magnetic energy right back to us, right? Right. So, when I set off to Paris for less than twenty-four hours – before I was Sicily-bound – without a single thought, itinerary or route planned out, I really believed it would all fall right into place, in fact, I had a deep knowing that it would all work out. Doesn’t it always…? In reality, I didn’t have nearly enough time in the city to properly appreciate all the art and history it held, but was determined to make the most of it. Of course, with it being my first time in Paris, there were the monuments I intended on seeing, but otherwise I would let the city lead the way.

The whirlwind started from the moment I landed. I headed straight to the train that was thankfully located in the airport. Not really knowing if I was headed in the right direction, because why would I have even bothered researching that beforehand, I hopped onto the train pointed out to me by one of the crew members. Luckily, I speak French and was able to ask a few people how to get to le premier arrondissement where I had booked a cheap yet hopefully? quaint hotel room for the night. Before I knew it, everyone on that train cart had chimed in over the best way for me to get to where I was going – all overly concerned about my baggage and any stairs I may confront. Grateful yet more confused than I had been before everyone began arguing, I got off at one of the two stops that had been recommended to me. When I finally made it out from the underground and onto the cobblestone streets of Paris, I realized I was actually much further from the hotel than I had anticipated and should have probably gone with the alternative option. I began the thirty minute walk completely exhausted and overdressed in the scorching summer heat lugging my excessively heavy bags. Definitely not the chic Parisian entrance I had envisioned for myself. Every taxi I tried to haul down either ignored me or refused to drive me since it wasn’t far enough. Lovely. 

Sweaty with the shakes from not having eaten in what was probably over 12 hours and from having just dragged my bags across the not-so-convenient cobblestones, I finally made it to my hotel only to be told that I had to haul my luggage up the three flights of stairs as there wasn’t an elevator in the old building. This was the last stretch... I found whatever strength was left in me and climbed the much too narrow carpeted staircase to my room through the double locked doors. Slightly sketchy and not at all quaint, but it would do for a single night. I quickly washed up, changed into a little sundress and made my way back out to the sunny streets, excited to finally see the city. 

I had no real clue of where I was or where I wanted to go, I only had an overbearing need for food. Naturally, I stopped in the first patisserie that had enough people waiting in line for me to assume it would not disappoint. Of course with how my luck had been going that day, it most definitely did disappoint. I ordered a croissant au beurre that may or may not have been any good (anything would have tasted good at that point) and a café au lait which I instantly regretted after seeing their coffee machine. One of those coffee makers you find in hospitals where the “espresso” and milk simultaneously comes pouring out at the press of a button. Well, so much for coffee. À la poubelle.

With my croissant barely sustaining me, I set off directionless. I found myself walking along the Seine canal, stopping by flower shops, appreciating the street musicians and the iconic Parisian bouquinistes. Every street, every corner, every detail felt dreamlike, as though I was floating through the city in some kind of euphoric state, partly due to sleep deprivation and partly due to the beauty of the city. To be frank, the first few hours in Paris were a blur until I had somehow taken just the right turn and was confronted by the undeniable smell of rich espresso… that sure woke me out of my daze. The chicest café I had ever seen with gold rimmed windows and a tall door that was left wide open leading me straight to the marble countertop and a gorgeous espresso machine. I ordered myself a double shot and let the caffeine make its way through my veins while I oriented myself with a map. I had somehow made it to Champs-Élysées.

For the first time that day, I felt awakened and set off with purpose under the heat of the sun after realizing how close I was to l’Arc de Triomphe. The coffee had finally hit and put a little pep in my step as I made my way down the renowned avenue des Champs-Élysées, past the many luxe stores. Average brands turned unrecognizable through their extravagant concepts reimagined for the streets of Paris. It was simultaneously chaotic and beautiful and of course I had to stop into a few stores to admire the chicness of it all. When the touristy crowds became too much for me to bear, I continued on my way down the long avenue until I was standing across l’Arc de Triomphe. All the architecture in this city was breathtaking, with each street corner having its own kind of whimsical charm. But, when I found myself looking across l'Étoile to the monumental arch, I couldn’t fight back the tears that swelled in my eyes. Despite the cars that bustled and zoomed all around, despite the frenzy of the city's tourists, despite it all, there it stood; tall, proud and grounding. A protective and triumphant structure that stands steady in the center of chaos and without a doubt the most magical site I had seen in Paris. I stood there for a long while, taking it all in – every engraving, every sculpture built on and around it, every detail…

With one bucket list monument down, I decided to make my way to the next. Back towards the canal and across the bridge, I could see hints of the icon peeking through the clouds as I walked through the streets but couldn’t believe I’d be standing right in front of it so soon. I had been eagerly waiting to see the Tour Eiffel in all its glory since I had booked my flight. The closer I got, the further away I felt from elegant and romantic Paris I had been walking through all day. The amount of street vendors in your face and trying to sell you nonsense would have almost been comical if it wasn’t so menacing. What part of Paris had I just stepped into? But I went on, making my way through the buildings until I was finally standing before it… but not quite. What I was really standing in front of was a tall barricade that wrapped around the foot of the Tour Eiffel and about a dozen men in uniform barricading the barricade itself. Seemed slightly excessive, no? I tried to brush off the reality of what standing in front of the Iron Lady was really like, only to look up and realize it was actually much worse than I thought. The unsightliness of the wrought iron structure from up close was not at all what I was expecting. I had dreamed of this moment since Mary-Kate and Ashley’s Passport to Paris (if you know, you know) and felt quite disappointed. Not nearly as beautiful as I had imagined it to be.

And with that I was off to dinner. Hungry and in dire need of an actual meal, I made my way to Le Relais De L’Entrecôte which was renowned for its steak et frites and had been suggested to me by a few people who visited Paris often. After a long walk, I finally made it only to see a line wrapping around the whole restaurant. Of course I hadn’t made reservations… Who needs a reservation for one on a random Thursday in Paris anyway? Apparently I did. I had become way too hungry and cranky to wait the line and anyhow, I didn’t have much time to spare in the city – not that I had any pressing plans. And so, I left in search of anywhere else to sit peacefully and eat. I didn’t need to walk too far before I saw a beautiful terrace with tables and chairs facing outward, filled with your typical people-watching Parisians holding their cigarettes loosely between their fingers. Some sat side-by-side, gossiping and sipping champagne just because, others sat alone with a glass of wine in hand, enjoying their own company. This is perfect, I thought to myself. Une table pour une personne s'il vous plaît. Traveling alone got me used to sitting and eating by myself. Of course sometimes it felt intimidating and lonely. But not here and especially not surrounded by the kind of people who prided themselves on their independence. Finally, for the first time that day, I sat and relaxed, melting into my chair, notebook and pen out while sipping on a glass of red wine. I took my time – eating, drinking and watching the French get together to celebrate what seemed like nothing other than another work day coming to an end. Quelle vie.

The summer heat was starting to cool with the setting of the sun and in truth, I was beyond exhausted and only surviving on a travelers high. Walking around the city in circles all day with practically no sleep other than the moments I had dozed off on the red-eye flight here, was starting to get to me. Rather than continuing to aimlessly explore, I decided I’d get myself some macarons and head back to the Tour Eiffel to watch it light up. Hopefully at night it would strike me with the beauty I’d heard so many people revel about. I had a list of a few understated and special macaron shops but after a quick search, realized they were all too far away or already closed. And although I didn’t want to be that girl, I was and settled on the ever-famous and probably overrated (although I have no other Parisian macarons to compare it to) La Durée. With a box of the famous French pastry in hand, I found myself back in front of the almost thousand foot landmark. I set up a makeshift blanket out of napkins and settled into the grass ready to close out the last bits of my trip to Paris. I sat there for a couple of hours, waiting, watching and ignoring the incessant street vendors who apparently never grew tiresome of irritatingly approaching everyone. After some time, the Tour Eiffel’s yellow lights finally came on. But it wasn’t sparkling just yet… would it even? I had no idea, but it was getting late and I knew I had a lengthy walk back.

I sat there for a little while longer, mostly just crying. The exhaustion and emotion that comes with traveling alone had gotten the best of me. Gratitude and happiness thinking about this surreal life that I get to live – one that I couldn’t have even imagined in my wildest dreams up until a little over a year ago, the awe over the courage I had found within myself to travel alone, the sadness over not having had the romantic and whimsical day in Paris that I had envisioned, complete depletion from having essentially walked around the city aimlessly in a half-dream state, anxiety over the next couple of months to come living in Sicily… all these emotions and thoughts were rushing through me and crushing my body. It was definitely time to go to bed and prepare for another flight and day of travel in a foreign country with a very present language barrier. 

And so without having seen the Tour Eiffel sparkle at all, I started my walk back to the not-at-all comforting hotel room for three hours of sleep before leaving again for the airport. In the spirit of honesty, and in the spirit of looking out for all the ladies out there, I’ll say that I’ve felt safer walking around alone in the streets of Rome at two in the morning than I did in Paris not long after sundown. I soon found that my only choice was to blend into the crowd, walking closely among strangers, after having been trailed by a suspicious car for a few minutes and after a few run-ins with invasive French men who would try to stop me in my tracks to tell me I was tres belle. Had it not been for my speaking French, and my hyperawareness, I would have likely felt a lot more vulnerable. 

Here’s the thing, I may have been in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, but that doesn’t mean it was the most beautiful experience. Don’t get me wrong, Paris is beautiful – the architecture, every turn on every street, the fashion, the people, the chicness of it all… But we build up these moments in our mind and attach to them expectations. And sometimes it lives up to it, but sometimes it doesn’t. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t romanticize it any less. The point is, if there is a point to all this really, is to find the magic in it all. The good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly. And what is the magic exactly? Well, it’s the lessons, the growth, the moments of fear, the storm of emotions, the pushing of yourself and your own self-made boundaries. It’s all of it, everything. After all, what would life be without a little magic?

As for Paris, she taught me that not everything is going to always turn out as I had hoped. Not every experience will be what dreams are made of. Not every time I decide to set off directionless will I stumble upon a path I couldn’t have planned better if I tried. Sometimes you end up walking in circles, again and again, until you learn your lesson. The truth is, there are some cities you can spontaneously explore and get lost in, and there are others that require a bit more planning. Paris was one of them and I am now determined to redeem myself in the city. I’m probably not going to get any better at making or sticking to an itinerary… but I will give myself and Paris a second chance, and next time, it will be with a bit more of a clue.

Yours,
Melody