Paris: The Re-Up

I have loved Paris since I was a kid. It was the one place I always wanted to visit and (ideally) live in. The first time I went to Europe, of the cities I stopped in, Paris was my last stop and one of my longest stays. In the days leading up to it, I began growing concerned that I wasn’t going to enjoy it. I encountered multiple people at my various hostels that said they had all these high expectations of Paris but it was the most disappointing city they’ve been to. And let me tell ya… my expectations were very high. I originally had two hostels booked for my 9 days there. One in the heart of the city for 2 days and another out in the suburbs for the rest of my time. But during Veronica and Derek’s wedding (the original purpose of my time in Europe) I met Jerry and David who live in Paris but were going to be in their country home during my stay. They ended up offering me their apartment to stay in so that I wouldn’t have to share a room anymore or commute in and out of the city every day. I literally cried. To be given given the opportunity to live out my dream of living in Paris? Shook. So the stakes were high for Paris. I can still remember the train ride into Paris from London. My time there was a mixed bag and overall not the greatest, so again, high stakes. I was in a back facing seat so I had to turn completely around and press my face against the window to see the view ahead. I knew we were getting close, the landscape had become very urban and built up. I happened to turn around around at the right moment there it was in the distance: the Eiffel Tower. The pure amount of excitement I had was overwhelming. I cried. Again. The next nine days were some of the best of my life. I went to the Louvre, toured Notre Dame, saw the last laps of the Tour de France, and kissed Oscar Wilde’s grave. I had no money but it didn’t matter. The happiness I was feeling was so… pure. It stormed my first night there and then the my first full day was a rainy, dreary Sunday that I spent strolling along the Seine. It was my ideal Paris day. At one point, I still don’t know where it came from, maybe I hallucinated it, Springsteen started playing. I took all of that (the storm, the rainy Sunday, the Springsteen) as a sign that it was all meant to be.

When I decided to take on this adventure, one of my first thoughts was “ooh. I can go back to Paris.” Sure enough, within a couple weeks of being in Ireland I booked my flight and hotel for a 6 day stay in the city. One great thing about Europe is that because everything is relatively close, flights are super cheap. It was $100 for a round trip to Paris. One night in my Dublin hotel was more than that. I did a lot of planning this time around. I had money so I could finally do stuff. I booked dinner reservations for every night. Bought a ticket for Versailles and one for the Eiffel Tower (which I ended up skipping). I even bought a ticket to the opera to see Carmen. I also made an appointment to get a tattoo but I ended up canceling that as I started to second guess it and became unsure of it. Not to mention that it stressed me out having to plan around my 3pm appointment for absolutely no reason. Planning actually stressed me out a lot. My first full day in Paris was actually Labor Day. A fact I was unaware of until I went to buy my ticket to see Versailles for that day and found out it was closed. I had to rearrange my entire schedule because everything was closed on Labor Day. My anxiety sky rocketed and I freaked out. Then I couldn’t find places to eat on certain days and I freaked out even more to the point that I pretty much shut down for a day. It all worked out in the end of course and it was all unnecessary stress I put on myself but try telling yourself that in the moment.

The flight to Paris from Dublin is a quick one. Hour and a half I think. The guy seated next to me spent most of it plucking his eyebrows. It was nice seeing France from a different perspective than the last time. You know you’re going through fields and whatnot when you’re on the train but when you fly you get to see how the layout of all the fields and far they stretched. It looks like a patchwork quilt made up of abstract shapes of various yellows and greens (some so dark they look black) with roads running through them like a seam. You could easily say that’s I’m just describing the Midwest but there’s something unique about that makes you very aware that it’s not. Maybe it’s the fact that none of the roads are straight or that all the fields are oddly shaped and not perfect rectangles. Or maybe it was the giant chateaus in the middle of nowhere set way back from the road and surrounded by ornately designed gardens and occasionally some sort of moat.

Not the staircase mentioned. Just one of many many staircases in Montmartre.

My train ride into the city from the airport wasn’t quite as majestic as the last time but I did get a bit giddy as Sacre Coeur came into view. After spending two months in Ireland with it’s 50 degree, partly cloudy weather I wasn’t quite prepared for bright sunny skies and temps in the low 70’s. I began sweating the second I stepped outside. Add 3 bags strapped to my body and an uphill walk to my hotel and you’ve got a recipe for one hell of a sweaty man. My hotel (no free apartment this time around) was at the top of Montmartre, as well as at the top of a very long set of stairs leading from one street to the other. A staircase which, as I learned later, is used by athletically inclined people to work out on. I was smart enough to take the route that didn’t involve going up those stairs, nor did I ever take them the entire time I was there. Didn’t really matter though as everything in Paris involves going up stairs or some kind of hill. If my glutes weren’t great after hiking through a bog, they certainly are now after repeatedly doing the five minute stair climb up from the nearest subway station.

After a shower and a brief nap, I ventured out to explore the neighborhood a bit and to see my favorite view of the city from Sacre Coeur. It was about 6pm by this point so the cafes had all filled up and people were heading to Sacre Coeur to watch the sunset. I wasn’t able to stay for the sunset as I accidentally set my dinner reservations for 8:30 and not 9:30 because even after 2+ months I still wasn’t used to the 24 hour clock. Anyways, to set the scene, in case you don’t know Sacre Coeur is a catholic basilica that stands at the top of Montmartre, the highest point in the city, and it’s pure white with 3 large domes. You’ve probably seen a million photos of it. As you approach the church from the Place du Tertre, a public square full of artists selling their work and doing portraits of tourists, you can either go off to the left and go right up to the church or follow the road which goes around the church. The road turns and cuts in front of the church, dividing up the steps where everybody hangs out to watch the sunset. That turn is my favorite spot.

I remember the first time I saw it. I had a hell of a time getting to the top. I was trying to get to the top to see the sunset but had gotten lost along the way and had told myself that I was going to turn back around and try again the next day if I didn’t find my way. I just happened to turn to my right and see the road basically went up. You do need to go up if you’re trying to get to the top of a hill. I got up the hill, climbed one of the giant staircases (almost had a heart attack doing so) and headed towards the church which I could just see the tip of over the buildings. As I approached I noticed the turn in the road and the rooftops just behind it and thought “oh that’d be a nice photo.” The Eiffel Tower didn’t even come into view until I was right up against the fence. When I saw it, it was one of those gasp inducing, teary eyed moments. I just stared in a sort of disbelief of what I was seeing and that I was even there. I couldn’t believe it. Everything kind of melted away. The best part of it all is that there’s hardly ever anyone there. It feels like a special kind of place that nobody knows of, my own little special place in my favorite city. I could spend hours there staring at the view or watching the people walk by and only taking note of the view because they notice me taking it in. Revisiting this spot brought back all those feelings and memories from the first time.

I’m not always one to believe in signs and “meant to be.” I usually roll my eyes when somebody starts mentioning them. As I mentioned earlier though, I felt like I had one of those moments the last time I was in Paris. Then this time around, I had another one. While I was standing at my favorite spot, snapping away and taking it all in, a car drove by blasting “Dancing in the Dark” by Springsteen. To go from hearing one of my favorite artists while having what I feel is one of the perfect Parisian days on the first day I’m in the city I’ve always wanted to see to hearing him again while at my favorite spot in the city that I wanted to revisit since I left all felt a little overwhelming and very much like “This is a sign. I was meant to be here.”

I walked back to my hotel on a bit of a cloud, dropped my camera off, grabbed my notebook, and headed to dinner. I booked a reservation at a small cafe just down the street from my hotel. I gave my best attempt at French and said I had a reservation for one to which they responded in English and I breathed a sigh of relief. Originally I had wanted to eat outside but as the sun set it got increasingly chilly so I was glad to sit inside. Dinner consisted of an appetizer of mini ravioli in the heaviest cream sauce I ever had, the best veal I ever had with fresh pasta in a blue cheese sauce, and a glass of chardonnay (which I feel I was immediately judged for when I ordered it.) I was sat next to a woman named Beth (at least I hope. Apologies if you’re reading this and I’m wrong) and her daughter Grace. Beth asked if I was American to which I responded with a resigned yes (they’re American too so I think they go it) and we started talking. Turns out, not only were they staying in the same hotel as I was, but Grace had been studying in Ireland since January. I believe it was also their second time in Paris. It was a great bunch of coincidences and they were lovely to talk to. It was nice not just having someone to have a conversation with in a foreign country but also having a conversation in a foreign country about shared experiences in another foreign country. After they left, I stayed to live out my Parisian writer fantasy of siting in a small cafe while I drank wine and wrote. A large birthday party took over most of the cafe and I sat there and watched them whenever I took a break from writing. They ranged in age from probably 30 to mid 50’s and ordered bottle after bottle of wine. They laughed and shouted. Couples carried on their own whispered conversations. A woman that looked a bit like Juliette Binoche in a blue and white striped shirt sucked on a vape pen in between sips of white wine and just stared at her friends and (I’m assuming) family with a smile. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. She just seemed so.. content and happy. It radiated from her so much that it became what I was feeling. I was sitting in a cafe in Paris, drinking wine, happy and content.

It was another perfect first day in Paris.