The Weekend I Fell in Love With Paris (Again)

Paris. Some call it the city of lights, some call it the city of love. Me? I like to refer to it as the daydream that consumed most of my childhood.

For me, Paris was always like that high school crush that you could never get out of your head. You know, that person who you who were so infatuated with, it seemed like everyone knew except the object of infatuation themself. Thoughts of this person crept into your head so much that you couldn’t help but hope that they were thinking of you too. You spent way too much of your time imagining the possibilities of a relationship with said person, and you dreamt of the day that the world realized you’re meant to be together.

Notre Dame de Paris = gothic perfection.

Personally, I think Paris and I were meant for each other (my luck with guys isn’t so great, so I figure falling in love with a city is my next best bet). Ever since the day I attempted to scribble an Eiffel tower into my second grade writer’s journal, I knew that I would do whatever it took to be together one day.

That dream came true during the remarkable Christmas of 2005 when I opened a box full of Parisian memorabilia and was told our flight was leaving that June.

My grandma and my mom gave me the best present I could have ever asked for; the complete Paris experience. We explored countless gothic cathedrals, strolled down cobblestone streets lined with wrought-iron balconies and contemplated the surprisingly miniature nature of the Mona Lisa. Almost no site when unvisited, and I had absolutely no regrets. Paris was everything I imagined it would be.

But it wasn’t enough. Paris isn’t a one-time experience, at least not for me. Paris is the special kind of place with a million nooks and crannies that are just begging to be discovered. Every corner brings something new and exciting and beautiful, and going back a second time was even better than the first.

This time, I wasn’t a little middle schooler being lead around this magical city. Instead, I was acting as a pseudo guide for a group of friends who had yet to experience the wonder of Paris. I became “Dad” and Josephine became “Mom,” maneuvering the twists and turns of the metro like the dysfunctional but lovable family that we are.

The start of our day was tense, probably due to the fact that we were up way too late the night before at a club that was incredibly far from the comfort of our beloved beds. After corralling everyone into cabs, I packed my backpack and got two hours of sleep before my alarm reminded me that I had a 7:43 am train to catch.

Nothing like traveling with these hooligans. Here's our future album cover.  Paul, Mary, Josephine and I literally ran to the station and made our train just in time, but Kenzie and Julia were still in bed. After the four of us had already spent the morning gawking at the architecture of Notre Dame, strolling across the lock bridge and savoring an authentic Parisian brunch, the two of them showed up at Gare de L’Est and we met them at the station to help guide them through the maze that is the metro.

But the Mizzou-Reims crew doesn’t let petty things like a late start get in their way. We got ourselves together and headed to our adorable hostel (I highly recommend it-3 Ducks Hostel in the 15th arrondissement) before attempting to find the Eiffel tower. Someone had said it was only a 15-minute walk away but that was definitely false information because after 25 minutes of walking in the wrong direction, we realized that the metro was definitely our best bet.

Three transfers later, we walked into the sunlight (which is incredibly notable for France at this time of year) and saw her in all her shining glory. La Tour Eiffel: the world’s only all-iron structure worth taking a selfie with. About a thousand and two pictures and a few creepy strangers offering free candy later (that actually happened), we headed northeast towards Les Invalides. On the way, we came across a group of adorable Boy Scout look-alikes walking side-by-side, Madeline style, and singing some ridiculously charming French song. Naturally, we thought it would be a good idea if I pretended to be one of them and jump in line. What started off as a funny idea for a photobomb became possibly the world’s most epic Facebook cover photo.

I will never ever regret taking this photo.

After I was done creeping out young boys and we realized Les Invalides was closed, we had an awesome meal at Canon des Invalides, a nearby brasserie that we dubbed “our place.” My croque was to die for, but the apple crepe and chocolate mousse that we all shared afterwards was the real crowd pleaser.

I’m sad to say that until this moment, I had never seen Paris at night. Sure, I spent nearly a week there over ten years ago, but it was summer and I was young and we were too committed to our sleep patterns to stay out past the already late sunset. As semi-embarrassing as this is to admit, I’m actually happy that my first glimpse of Paris at night didn’t happen until recently because I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.

When we got back to the hostel that night, we sat and decompressed for a solid two hours before deciding that our state of sleep deprivation wasn’t serious enough to pass up a trip to the hostel bar. I enjoyed a pint of lefe rouge and some conversation with an enthusiastic Frenchman with poor English skills before turning into my claustrophobic yet unbelievably comfortable bottom bunk.We decided that the trek down the Champs-Élysées towards L’Arc de Triomphe would be a good way to end our first day, and I’ll never forget turning the corner onto the Pont Alexandre III bridge and seeing the blocks of extravagant buildings before us. Unfortunately, one of those buildings happened to be potentially the world’s most over-the-top Abercrombie & Fitch store, and I’m not proud to say that we paid it a visit. At least it generated some laughs...Kenzie got told to get off the grass and Julia and Mary took a picture with a model with very impressive abs.

Verhlac's tombstone, completely covered in flowers.

Most of the next morning was devoted to Pere Lachaise cemetery, where we climbed a great deal of stairs to get to the lipstick-stained tomb of Oscar Wilde. I gawked at the beautiful tombs, took way too many photos and almost got lost in this literal city of the dead before heading back down to see Jim Morrison’s humble yet fenced-off plot. The burial sites of these celebrities had little effect on me, however, compared to how it felt to see the gravesite of Charlie Hebdo shooting victim Bernard Verhlac. The 57-year-old’s tomb was entirely covered in fresh flowers, and the small crowd surrounding it all spoke in hushed tones out of respect.

After a nice and cheap lunch at Quick, the French equivalent of Burger King or McDonald’s (although they have both of those as well), I met up with an old friend from high school while the rest of the gang went to Musee d’Orsay for a few hours. I sipped on a wonderful chocolat chaude and nibbled on an even more wonderful banana and nutella crepe at a quaint table outside a cafe on rue cler while pretending to be a real Parisian. It was great.

I said my goodbyes to Ashley and enjoyed a beautiful stroll along the Seine to meet the others outside the museum. I was proud of myself for finding my way alone, despite the distractingly beautiful sunset that was yearning to be photographed.

Our makeshift family ended the day with a walk past the Louvre, through Le Jardin des Tuileries and ending at Place de la Concorde, where Kenzie finally got to take her much-anticipated Devil Wears Prada picture. We made our way towards the metro to find a cheaper cafe away from the pricey touristy areas and hopped on the TGV to go back home.

Just as I know it’ll flash through my head as I lay down for bed in a few minutes, the memory of the first time I saw the Eiffel tower sparkle will be forever imprinted on the walls of my brain, just as the rest of this quick but memorable weekend trip will be.