Paris: That Monstrous Dream and Nightmare

Our weekend in Paris... both a dream and a nightmare.

How did I find myself in Paris?

It was Tuesday afternoon, at 6 PM. Tuesday are hell on earth. I have class from 8 am to 11 am. Then I have tutoring with Umbra from 2:30-4:30 PM. My day is finished back at Stranieri for one last class from 5-7PM. I was a slap happy mess. I turned to Loraine and suggested going to London to eat something besides Italian food... suddenly, we were scrolling on my phone for airfares from Rome to Poland, Czech Republic, ecc... when we see Paris... where Amanda was going for the weekend to see her friend Jordyn who is studying there.

Three hours later, we had tickets to Paris, Thursday evening to early Sunday morning.

We show up... after taking a mini metro, train, bus, plane, bus, two metro trains and walking for what felt like hours in the freezing weather... at our hostel. Whew. We were a mess. On the first bus in Paris, we were sitting in front an American girl studying in Rome. She felt rather friendly and engaged a handsome Italian man next to her in conversation.

So as this conversation went on... we realize he was a speciman indeed. He was a 30 year old doctor and really close to his family, especially his 22 year old sister. He spoke pretty decent English and of course was, let's face it, possibly more beautiful than many women I know.

Unfortunately, this American girl was the stereotype that haunts every young American woman abroad: superficial, ignorant, and oblivious. She was living in Rome... spoke no Italian. She couldn't even say Italian words correctly. She WAS of Italian descent.. but couldn't remember the name of where her family was from. No, not some great-great uncle or something. She couldn't remember where her GRANDPARENTS were from. Isn't that the second thing you pack after your passport for studying abroad in Italy? Any information of your ancestry? It was maddening to listen to. No wonder we have such an terrible international reputation. We keep letting idiots leave our country.

For the first time in a real long time, Amanda, Loraine and I start speaking Italian of our own accord. To trash talk of course. What else do you do when you are angry, tired and hungry while also spending a lot of your spare time studying another language?

It gets worse. She starts talking about her nose job.

I am not making this up.

"It was the BEST decision I've ever made. Dr. Vainandsuch was amazing. He changed my LIFE!"

Loraine, Amanda and I are horrified and start listening closer...

The poor polite doctor is listening... and comments that his baby sister wants a nose job but he thinks she's beautiful and discourages her to consider surgery. (N.B. Italians have great noses. Think sexy Marlon Brando noses. Nom nom. But they look better on men, if we are being honest. This doctor has a delicious Italian nose himself.)

But the American girl tries to change his mind: "TELL HER TO DO IT! SHE WILL NOT REGRET IT."

And that was our first hour in Paris.

Though we only went a few weeks ago, it seems months ago. I want to write an honest portrayal but not ruin my own memories by reminding myself of the trials and tribulations this trip entailed. So I'm going to gloss over the frustrating bits. The nose job story survived the reality quota sufficiently methinks.

The first full day we visited the Louvre. We were there for maybe 5 hours... felt like we failed as museum goers none the less. One of my favorite paintings:

and this also by Paul Delaroche was HUGE and in the same room:

The best part of the Louvre is the building itself. It's a stunning piece of architecture and it has some of the best views of Paris. Our feet felt thoroughly pummeled so we would sit and take it in whenever we found a bench. When we got bored of dull Flemish paintings, we stood by the wind just to take it all in.

We were freeeezing our butts once we got outside. We met up with Amanda's friend Jordyn who was studying in Paris. Together, we walked through the Tuileries Garden walking towards the carousel. It was beautiful, even without flowers. Eventually, we went out of the cold and got some hot food, courtesy of Jordyn's French.

I know people always think, "Oh, Italy! Best food in the world!" I'm sorry, misguided people. You haven't tried French onion soup. It almost brought me to tears. (THAT CHEESE! The BROTH!) Nor have you tried a Croque Monsieur, vin chaud (hot wine), escargot cooked in garlic, or fresh French bread. I ordered goat cheese by accident at a tourist trap kind of place. It was creamy and delicious. I hate goat cheese. We had very many glasses of hot wine to get through the downright miserable cold.

Our hostel didn't have hot water... I braved it and washed my hair. It took 6 freezing sprays.

Saturday was long. We saw Notre Dame, Eiffel Tour, Champs-Elysees and Arch of Triumph. (I stuck with the English names. It's easier and yes, I know better.)

My French, or should I say, my Francais came back slowly. I've realized that if you spank one Romance language, you get everything else. French and Italian are half brothers. But I finally got to the point where I could order in French, understand their question and then respond "Si!" in Italian. Fail.

The Champs-Elysees was magical. It began to snow beautiful little flakes... it was the first time I had been in snow since I was 5. I kept laughing with joy because it was framing the surroundings perfectly. I struggle to find the words to describe what I saw and how it made me feel. Joy and delight are the most appropriate words I can come up with. I felt like a child so simply delighted by the sheer prettiness  of it all.

The Eiffel Tower had a glorious introduction. It was the last thing on our list. I was openly dreading visiting it. It was after 10 PM and I was completely out of steam. On the metro to the tower, two men with accordions got on. The best part of the French transportation system is all the live music you hear. Sometimes it's dreadful and awkward. (I.e. that puppet guy with all the scars on his face.)

This time, it was insanely perfect. They begin playing, something along the lines of the Amelie soundtrack... when the train suddenly comes from the underground to above the Seine. In the car windows, the tower is HUGE and GOLDEN in the window. It was a moment to be stolen by a movie. We were speechless. Those musicians knew exactly what they were doing.

I never understood those stories or novels that would be looking back on a wild crazy love affair. "It was beautiful, passionate, miserable, downright insufferable and overwhelmingly blissful," they would write.

Paris was my crazy rollarcoaster ride. A dream and a nightmare.