After five weeks of living in London, I still hadn’t felt I had left the U.S. So much of the city echoes American culture and it’s easy to fit in when you know the native language. When I arrived in Paris, I immediately felt like a fish out of water –– the five French phrases I had practiced weren’t enough to hide the apparent banner on my forehead reading: I’m American.
Despite the occasional scoffs at my mispronunciation of various French pastries, my Parisian experience was flawless. I was joined by two of my roommates from Eugene who, thankfully, spoke more French than I did. We stayed in a hostel in the 11th arrondissement where we pretended, and failed, to fit in, ordering our morning pastries in French and sitting at the local bar glaring at people and drinking wine.
We had heard from many sources that Paris was overhyped, dirty and crowded, so we came in with expectations low and had them blown completely. As I’ve experienced with most touristy European cities, the crowds in Paris are isolated to the most touristy areas. Just a few blocks from the Eiffel Tower, the streets were practically empty and we had the city to ourselves. Gratefully, we spent our three days in Paris walking around and, as corny as it sounds, falling in love with the city.
Day One
The first prerogative was pastries, and specifically for me, a Quiche Lorraine. I have been to Paris once when I was five, and the only thing I remember vividly from my trip was tasting my first quiche. A few blocks from our hostel, sweet little Boulangerie Bo stood alone on a corner decorated in stylized tiles, awaiting our arrival with scattered outdoor seating. After successfully ordering in French for the first time, we sat down with our breakfast, savoring the buttery, flakey and cheesy pastries while remarking how America ‘could never.’
Desperate to get the lay of the land, we finished up breakfast and headed to the best, free viewpoint in the city: Sacré-Cœur Basilica. The stairs weren’t forgiving, but the view was worth the humid hike and we gaped at how far Paris sprawled around us. With not much of an agenda for the rest of the day, we wandered away from Sacré-Cœur into Montmartre and ended up on the Seine, cruising along the iconic sights of the Grand Palais, the Musée d’Orsay, the Louvre and of course, the Eiffel Tower in the distance.
Hungry from our sightseeing, we began searching for lunch. After aimlessly dragging our feet through little Tokyo, arguing about where we should eat, we stumbled upon the most perfect, hidden Parisian café: Café Dalayrac in the first arrondissement. With a bright red awning and sprawling outdoor seating with wicker chairs, it was everything one could hope for a leisurely afternoon in Paris. We ordered Aperol Spritz, steak and Croque Monsieur, with a side of people watching.
Towards the end of our lunch, the heavens unleashed and power washed the city, glittering the streets with rainbows and expressions of disbelief. Ducking in and out of storefronts to hide from the rain, we made our way to Rue Montorgueil, a hidden gem in the 2nd arrondissement. This little neighborhood of picturesque cafes and cobblestone streets grasped our attention with plenty of “oohs” and “ahs.” We stopped in a quaint little bar for some shockingly weak cocktails, convincing ourselves they underpoured after hearing our American accents. But the prospect of being scammed was not enough to put a damper on the evening, especially when right down the street, we found free baguettes at a closing bakery. Stoked on our find, we collected some wine, cheese, ham and chocolate and made our way to the Eiffel Tower.
Even the hideous display of tourism at the foot of the Eiffel Tower wasn’t enough to distract from this magnificent feat of architecture. We arrived at dark and were greeted with the 10 p.m. sparkle as we set up our picnic on the lawn. Making fun of the overly persistent wine vendors and exclaiming how fantastic our little picnic was, we had the most perfect evening. I couldn’t help being a little amazed to think of five-year-old Jess standing in that same place, no idea she would be back 15 years later with her best friends on the trip she had dreamed of all her life.
Day Two
Our second day in Paris began a bit rockier than the previous. To be vague and keep things in discretion, let’s just say each of us were suffering from different health complications. After struggling to find breakfast and settling for some underwhelming pastries, we were finding it difficult to be optimistic. The reality of traveling the way we are — on budget and without knowledge of the places we’re in — is sometimes when shit hits the fan. But it’s hard to be sad in Paris and the mood lifted the second we entered the beautiful Luxembourg Gardens.
We began at the center, watching giddy little kids tinker with mini sailboats in the pond. Walking further into the gardens, we found people lounging on sage green chairs reading, napping and chattering lazily. The path through the gardens winds through pristine lawns and bursting floral arrangements bordering white stone sculptures.
Down a few blocks from Luxembourg, the Pantheon looms in the skyline. Having neglected all the tourist activities on our first day, we decided to buy tickets to see the inside of the Pantheon. Grand and haunting, the Pantheon’s interior reminded me of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, but with less glitz and glamour and more stoic stone décor. No matter how many famous churches you visit in Europe, jaws will always drop upon entrance.
After exiting the Pantheon, we split up for the first time on our trip and I headed towards Notre Dame alone. An unfortunate series of events immediately followed: espresso spilled on my white dress and construction on the façade of Notre Dame blocked my view. It was just one of those days where things just seem to keep going wrong. In any normal place, such events would prompt me to give up and turn in for the day. But the prospect of neglecting the sights of Paris because of a little spilled coffee was unthinkable. I decided to take a long stroll two miles back to the hostel rather than retreating to the metro. With views of the Louvre, Place de Vosges and the never-ending precious and delicate streets of Paris, my walk was a success. I ended my journey home with a ham and cheese crepe: an optimistic end to a rollercoaster of a day.
Day Three
The final item on my bucket list for Paris was to see one art museum, a last-minute decision that was born from my mother’s pestering texts that I must see the Musée d’Orsay. Unfortunately, it was closed on Monday, so I settled for the Louvre — poor me. Visiting this iconic museum had not initially been on my Paris bucket list. I figured three days wouldn’t be enough to dedicate such a huge chunk of time to the arts. As it turns out, three days is the perfect time to see the major sights of Paris and have ample time for museum wandering.
After an hour of waiting in line and being rained on quite heavily, prompting a kind stranger to share her umbrella with me, I was in the Louvre. I had no plan or route for how I would tackle this massive museum, so I just picked one gallery and made my way through the rest in a jaw-dropped haze. I had expected art, but I was surprised by architecture. My eyes diverted from what hung on the walls to the walls themselves. Most spectacular, Napoleon’s apartment gave my eyes a feast of royal, gilded sitting and dining rooms shroud in chandeliers, velvet and gold.
After two hours making my way through the museum and purposefully neglecting the Mona Lisa for sake of crowds and my controversial opinion of it being overrated, I was exhausted. There is nothing quite like the fatigue and brain fog of museum-going. Before leaving the Louvre, I bought macarons from Ladurée, because did you really have the Parisian experience if you didn’t pay 10 euros for four little cookies? Expense aside, the Macarons were incredible, and I enjoyed them sitting outside a café with an espresso as rain pattered on the awning above me.
I spent my last hour in Paris at the Arc de Triomphe, feeling tiny and insignificant in the shadow of this big, beautiful hunk of cement and pinching myself trying to actualize the fact that I was in Paris. We left on the night train to Nice, sad to say goodbye to Paris but confident that we should one day return.
