Paris.... one Starbucks at a time....

That’s right everyone, there are numerous Starbucks establishments in Paris…many of which I frequented during my stay.

Ok, judge me all you want, but when you see something from home that you haven’t seen for nearly two months, with a menu that, like it or not, you recognize, you would be happy too….ESPECIALLY after walking for hours on end and passing many a wonderful smelling and pricey food establishment along the way. I’ll enjoy a maple syrup scone and over-priced cappuccino if I want, thank you very much.

It’s really hard writing about the trip to Paris because it honestly felt like a trip composed of many small highlights rather than one continuous experience. Here’s why: Paris is huge, it’s monumental, and it has layers of history and culture that an outsider can’t begin to comprehend simply by going up in the Eiffel Tower, visiting Notre Dame or riding the Metro. You’d think that being from New York (well, not the center of the city, but at least being well versed in what it is like to be there) Paris would be just another big city and therefore, another big challenge. There were, however, many times where I found myself just walking around trying to take it all in…it’s that overwhelming.

It did, however, snow one morning. That was nice. Having the luxury of seeing the magic the city has to offer (as an outsider and a person obsessed with the movie, Amélie) was nice. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have my head in the sand with regard to the hell of finding an apartment, the social problems, and the often stressful existence in the city. I recognize this luxury that I had but also celebrate it. To really get a sense for the city, you have to really appreciate the small things: the smell of a fromagerie, the monumental architecture, people running errands in often chaotic sidewalks. That is Paris.

Aside from being overwhelming, Paris was incredibly fun.

The blessing of traveling with friends who enjoy having fun is something I’ll definitely take away from this trip. I often take myself seriously when traveling, making sure that I take the right photo and above all else, trying NOT to look like a tourist. Every now and then however, you need to have a sense of humor about who and where you are. Thanks to you know who you are, for helping me realize that.

The best way to sum up this whole trip is probably in my last day there. The previous days we (Elena, Paola and I) had: visited the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, Montmartre, the Champs Élysées, the Quartier Latin, Sorbonne, the Pantheon, Rue de Rivoli (which earned mad props for the abundance of beautiful food shops which were all horribly out of the price range of a poor university student) Place des Vosges, La Défense…insert important Parisian landmark here. We had dined at a restaurant named Le Petit Prince where the host, upon seeing Elena and Arnaud show… signs of affection toward one another…pointed out that this kind of behavior, within the context of this establishment…would only be permitted between Arnaud and I…get the picture? Needless to say we had seen and done it all before the last day.

Ok, so anyway. Last day à la Parisienne. Get up, check out of our hotel (that advertised but did not provide free breakfast (shit) and that the day before actually owed Paola five Euro because they didn’t have sufficient change, prompting a multilingual and cultural throw down between Paola and the little old cleaning lady of the hotel who had to verify via phone with someone other than the man who had made this clandestine transaction that we were in fact owed this money… it’s the principal! Talk about differences between France and Italy.) Starbucks, for a very, very long time with some of Elena’s friends from exchange at Berkeley (this was, without fail, also a very random and incredibly international bunch…I was in heaven as I got to play the part of polyglot many of the evenings). Wandering toward Notre Dame from the Quartier Latin. More wandering toward the Pompidou Centre. Lunch with Sam, a friend of mine who studies on exchange in Paris and his friend from the University of Bologna who is also on exchange there (Again, so much fun…thanks guys. Imagine this conversation: two Americans one of which speaks French, the other speaks Italian and French and an Italian who speaks French. I was exhausted, you should be too just thinking about it.) Coffee at a REAL Parisian café. Exercising my geographic mind with Sam as we analyzed the urban planning stupidness that is the train station at Montparnasse (ok, we’ve written enough papers on this stuff now that we earned the right to call a place stupid and understand why.) Just lots of wandering.

Here’s the finale and the thing that I think best describes and sums up Paris as a place. On our way out I stopped at Rue Mouffetard (near Elena’s boyfriend’s apartment) to get some cheese. Ok. I like cheese a lot and definitely ODed a couple of times at meals in restaurants. That being said, I dropped ten Euros on two really good cheeses (and made sure they were vacuum sealed they wouldn’t smell on the plane.) After a trip to the airport of Beauvais that consisted of a very long subway ride and a very long bus ride, we made it. I had one carry on bag, the girls both checked what they had. In my bag I, amongst other things, had the cheese, a razor, two deodorants and a toothpaste. This list, although seemingly awkward, becomes relevant when put in the context of today’s security standards when flying. Elena passed security with flying colors with a bag of stinky cheese; I was worried about my razor.

Beep. Fuck, there’s the metal detector. Check. Clear.

“Can I open your bag?”
“Sure.”

Security guard moves my t-shirt, exposes my clandestine cheese (while not catching the toothpaste, deodorant, or…um….bonjour, my fucking razor.

CONFISCATED. No creamy substances allowed. Punto. Basta. Fine.

“But, it’s cheese, not cream”.

Done… the French security agents have a snack for later.

That’s the thing, Paris is like a big slap in the face that, unfortunately like my cheese, you can only enjoy while you’re there. The photos you take, the memories you have, the peoples whose company you enjoy, the words your write, never really capture what it’s like to be there. Enjoy it for what it is, while you there, and let it be. It’s big, it works, it’s monumental. In the end, Paris is like French cheese (my cheese in particular that is still waiting for me at Beauvais): it’s the product of centuries of delicate fermentation that have changed it’s flavor and made it slightly different and intricate from everywhere else in Europe of in the world, it smells (as a city should), it’s flavor is the subject of much controversy (you love it or you hate it) and you can only really enjoy it in it’s proper context, while you are there.