An American in Paris

meI had come to realize that Barcelona had run its course and it was now time to move on. So I said my goodbyes (do they ever get easier?) and off I went. Destination: Paris. I realized that I chose not such an ideal time of year to visit the city of lights, where I envisioned myself snacking on wine and cheese while people watching along a charming little outdoor sidewalk café. I had also hoped to take advantage of the city’s brilliant bike rental system and bicycle my way around the districts getting wonderfully lost along the way and, perhaps, in a moment of temporary distress, a dashing Frenchman would notice my dilemma and stop to offer his assistance, which I thank him for, and he then takes me to a romantic dinner after watching the light show at the Eiffel tower… but I’m getting ahead of myself. Where was I? Ah, Paris in the fall. As soon as I arrived, I knew that I had, in fact, chosen the perfect time of year to visit Paris. Though, yes, it was a bit chilly. Too bad I left most of my warm clothes at Andreas’ flat in London. Too bad Andreas from London turned out to be a sociopath. Yet, once again, I digress. My first day in Paris, I checked into the St. Christopher’s Inn, where I met up with Patty, one of my fellow volunteers from Pueblo Ingles II who was at the beginning of her year long trip around the world. After checking in, Patty and I stopped at a market where we grabbed a bottle of cheap red wine, a couple of Baguettes and some cheese and had a little picnic besides what Patty had believed to be the Seine River. It turned out that it was not, in fact, the Seine, but rather a small, man-made quay, but the picnic was lovely all the same.  The next day, exhausted after being kept up all night by several teenagers dancing in the disco along with hostel’s very own DJ, we both happily agreed to check out and move to a nice little hotel on the other side of town.  Near the real Seine incidentally.  So we once again packed our backpacks and off we went. As we emerged from the metro, we looked up and standing proudly before us was the majestic Arc de Triumph which, pardon the pun, trumped the one in Barcelona. Now I felt like I was in Paris! Since this was Patty’s fourth or fifth time visiting Paris, and my first, I decided to leave the map reading and tour guiding in her capable hands.  After checking into our hotel, we decided to take a stroll along Champs Elysees, every now and then stopping and marveling at the sights before us. At one point, we came up to a large, impressive building that Patty informed me was the Louvre. I grabbed my camera and began madly snapping away, taking in the beauty of what stood before us, until Patty, after re-examining the map, realized that the Louvre was actually on the other side of the (real) Seine, and that the building standing before us was actually… well, we’re still not sure.  Later on, we finally came upon the real Louvre, which was even more majestic and impressive than the fake one. The next day, Patty, my capable tour guide, had to leave Paris to continue her trip around the world, and I was once again on my own. But not for long. I decided to go check out a local improv troupe which I had heard about. The two hour show was completely in French, and, being that I don’t speak French, I understood nothing.  But I did manage to meet an adorable Frenchman named Cedric whose English was as good as my French. After the show was over Cedric began to speak to me in French. I replied, “I have no idea what you’re saying but it sounds lovely.” When he looked at me blankly, my friends reminded him that I did not speak a word of French and, therefore, did not understand what he was saying. He then managed to ask me out in English. I said ‘oui’. We planned to meet the following afternoon. The next morning, before meeting with my new French friend, I ventured over to the Oops Hostel where my friend Angela, who was flying in from NY, was staying. As usual it was nice to see a familiar face and to be brought up to date on all that’s been happening in my home city. “So, what’s been going on? How is New York? What’s new there?” , I bombarded her, feeling like an ex-girlfriend checking up on her ex, secretly hoping to hear some good dirt. I suppose like any hung up ex, I was hoping to hear how much NY misses me and how it’s not the same without me. But, to my dismay, as if finding out that your long lost soul mate just became engaged to someone else, I learned that the heart of the city, in fact, beats on without me.

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