Paris is a woman

“Cities have sexes: London is a man, Paris a woman, and New York a well-adjusted transsexual.” – Angela Carter

I started this blog to document those shenanigans and relatively eventful days but totally skipped posting something about my first ever solo trip in Paris last November. That was supposedly a monumental event worthy of several hundred swoon words and amazing pictures so I am not allowing myself now to get away with not writing about it when I can quite afford the luxury of time.

Paris. Everybody wants to go there. I was that kid, too, wasting my idle moments away daydreaming about France and all the wonderful things it’s cut up to be. Notebooks with “I love Paris” covers flock our bookstores back in Manila, and one couldn’t help but wonder why Paris attracts so much attention. I get it, the Eiffel Tower is lovely (although almost overrated) and there’s just something magical about the French language and its heavily nasal enunciations. But beauty is not something that’s meant to be understood in the intellectual sense. You can never say something is beautiful because it fits a standard, or that it satisfies all the conditions in a checklist. Beauty has to be lived, caressed, and taken in with a deep, steady breath. I have to be there to make that claim for myself.

Several years later, I found myself in London (an equally amazing city, by the way) with mainland Europe a RyanAir/EasyJet flight away. Also fortunately, I had to fly to Bilbao for a consortium-sponsored three-day seminar on the 20th of November as part of the masters program I am doing. I was given a 10-day single-entry Schengen visa for this and figured I might as well spend the remaining seven days to explore one of the nearby cities. Paris was an easy choice since it was so close to Brussels where I’ll be taking a connecting flight. 170 miles comes nowhere near how much distance one has to travel to Europe from the Philippines. Taking things in perspective, Paris then is as closest as it could get. However, inasmuch as I’d like to believe that anything is possible for a man who wills it, it was also a fact that I’m living on student means. Paris is crazy expensive, so they say (I’ve been living in London for a couple of months so you can tell me all about it). So after ranting to my flatmates just how badly I wanted (and needed) to go, Nato told me about Couchsurfing. I was quite apprehensive to try it out, God forbid I’d have a serial killer for a host (or maybe I just watch too much Crime and Investigation TV). With a little push, I eventually ended up logging in, polishing up my profile, and sending a couch surfing request good enough to sound legit. I would like to believe I’m not at all a pushy person (to a fault) as I am terribly timid about asking favors especially from complete strangers. It was also a long shot, I know. But a day later I received a notification that this lovely Rita from Paris agreed to host me for a couple of nights. It was the only couch surfing request I sent and bingo, I got it! Eventually, I would find out that it’s not too easy to find people to host you and I’ve just been extremely lucky. That being said, this should also not deter anyone from trying the site out. Just plan ahead and remember that patience is a virtue.

As I am gaga over itineraries and giggling like crazy over Google searches about Paris, this madness tided me over weeks of anticipation. On the 22nd of November, I didn’t get on my connecting flight to London and stayed in Brussels instead to ride a Eurolines bus from Gare du Nord to Gallieni in Paris. The journey took 4 hours with one stopover at some far-flung gas station, which I surprisingly enjoyed. The solitude and uncertainty didn’t feel alienating at all: not the least bit. It was soothing in a weird way, knowing that I am off to an adventure with nobody slowing me down or leading me to do anything I didn’t want. Ah, the perks of going solo (although later I shall say something about the downside of traveling alone). 😉

My itinerary…

And well, as with all other things, not everything goes according to plan and you just have to tweak things and be a little bit more flexible — this is what ACTUALLY happened.

Day 1: Hyperactivity kicked in

After having a restful sleep at Rita’s, I bought a bundle of 10 metro tickets (you get them at a discounted rate) and braved Paris’s public transportation system. The subway doesn’t cover as much surface area as London, but going from one place to another can bore you out of your wits. Thankfully, I found a great way to keep myself amused by repeating how each of the stops’ names are pronounced. We all know them French and their habit of keeping most of the letters silent (Barbès Rochechouart, Barbès Rochechouart!).

This newfound form of entertainment proved to be as crazy as my tourist frenzy that day. Overall, I must say I lived up to what a tourist ought to be– with flying colors — as I successfully went from Sacré-Cœur de Montmartre, to Champs Élysées, Arc de Triomphe, Eiffel Tower, the Louvre (the glass pyramid, not the museum haha!), and to the night Christmas Market all in one day.

Sacré-Cœur de Montmartre

The alley leading up to Sacré-Cœur

Crêpe stand! ❤ I got myself the good ol’ crêpe jambon, fromage et oeuf (ham, cheese and egg)

Champs Élysées with a view of Arc de Triomphe

The Louvre (didn’t actually get in but the view from outside wasn’t so bad, either) 🙂

McDonald’s macarons didn’t disappoint.

It’s not rare to find newly-wed couples strolling along the streets in their wedding gowns to celebrate wild, young love.

Me against a backdrop of Arc de Triomphe and some tourists busy with their iPads.

Day 2: Slow and easy, like Sunday morning

Because of the mad schedule I took on the previous day, I decided to take it slow for my second and last whole day in Paris. As dictated by my itinerary, there was nothing touristy left to do but Notre Dame — so off I went. The sun was out and it was a pleasant and cool morning. I started out with a good French breakfast at La Boulangerie de Papa along Rue St. Michel.

Pastry goodness.

After a hearty breakfast, I went to see the Cathedral of Notre Dame, the famous setting of Victor Hugo’s novel “The Hunchback of Notre Dame.” Of course, Asian tourists like me NEED to take pictures and have their pictures taken. And now here comes the downside of traveling alone: you’d have to ask some random person to take your picture and manage to get over a few things:

(1) scout for a harmless-looking, sweet-faced person in your immediate environment

(2) make sure he/she is not busy tending to a crying kid, taking a selfie, or being all intimate with a partner and end up ruining their moment for a seemingly mundane request

(3) approach the person and code-switch, when necessary — speak in English when they look like they come from an Anglo-Saxon country, muster some Spanish when you’ve overheard them a while ago arguing in their native language, and revert back to English when uncertain to err on the side of caution

(4) hope for the best and count on humankind’s natural ability to keep a steady hand on the camera, figure out where the center is, know how to find the camera button instead of the record button for the video, and agree that a decent picture might actually include the rest of your face

(5) screw them photo bombers

But I know they try their best. In the picture below, a Spanish woman was kind enough to agree to take it. However, judging by the end result, you will sense her prior internal struggle. Shall I take the church and a bit of her head? Or put a decent portion of her in the frame but cut the view? I shall not argue that any person having her picture taken can be any more important than the spot itself. At least she left my head in there, pores and all.

Later on, I would suggest that she take a few steps back and the result was slightly more encouraging. =)

Anyway, after that picture was taken I know I’ve reached my Asian selfie threshold. I decided to stop bothering other people anymore and just take pictures without me on them. It was liberating!!!

I queued to go up the Notre Dame to get a bird’s eye view of the city. I might as well have physically prepared for the trip because the climb wasn’t easy, but I know I just have to do it because it’s going to be totally worth it. And it was. The intricate and gothic charm of Notre Dame’s architecture was breathtaking.

Chimera, noun: depiction of a monster or mythical being. Ornamental sculpture not to be confused with gargoyles, which are protruding features designed to drain rainwater. (taken from the Notre Dame leaflet)

The view of the River Seine from the Notre Dame Cathedral.

The streets around town was brimming with life, too. There was a long stretch of booths selling old and new books, graphic art prints, and Paris trinkets. Art lived there. I don’t remember having walked so much in my life until then and actually enjoying the experience. Every place I went to didn’t feel empty nor vestigial at all: everything had soul.

 

Lovers would hook a pair of locks and throw the keys to the river — romantic but not exactly environment-friendly 😀

After several hours of walking and just taking in sheer beauty, I decided to cap off the trip with a River Seine cruise by Vedettes du Pont Neuf.

A lit-up Eiffel Tower, photo taken while on the cruise

I had to leave early the next day to catch my Eurostar train back to London (Trivia: this train goes under the English channel through a 32-mile tunnel :)). Looking back, I think I deserve a pat in the back for:

(1) Having my first ever Couchsurfing experience that went really well (merci beaucoup to my host, Rita)

(2) Going around the city without getting lost, considering my terrible problem with directions (When lost, look around and follow the Eiffel tower — it’s the Parisian version of the Northern Star)

(3) Spending a little under 100 euros for a 3-night 2-day stay

(4) Figuring out a scheme to get my photos taken while traveling alone

(5) Being able to say a few train stop names with proper French accent

(6) Enjoying solitude and spontaneity, and being okay with broken itinerary promises

Je t’adore, Paris. Je t’aime. Sont des mots qui vont tres bien ensemble, très bien ensemble. Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir.