Location: Paris
Mode of Transport: Leap of faith, French people, Metro line
I had told myself that even if this flight to Hamburg, Germany on a vacation to visit my Aunt, crashes and lands on a deserted island I’d be happy. Anything as long as it’s a change of environment and the stranger the people the better. Sometimes, an unknown place with an alien language and strangers can give you an inexplicable sense of peace. It’s like a clean page. Fresh. You can write or draw anything you want with it. A credited break was long due. Or escape I’d call it. So going on this trip to Paris is like a nice French croissant with hot choco.
“Who doesn’t like travelling? Everyone loves travelling”, I remember a friend saying in a conversation. My instantaneous reply was that yes people may like it but not all really appreciate nuances of travelling. I can never go to a place, take a few perfunctory posed-shots and leave. I’ve named it Touch-and-Go travelling. It should be like tasting wine, you have to do it the right way, no? To really taste its authenticity? And I also hate tour guides. Finding your way around, coming to something unexpected at every turn and doing it at your own pace has its own thrill. So I couldn’t help but be a little disappointed when I planned a trip to Paris and it turned out to be just for 3 days. I wanted to soak in the French lifestyle and culture and I had thought how much of that can you really feel, not just see, in a mere 72-hour trip? But a beggar would grapple onto even a few drops of water so I wasn’t complaining. I had dreamt of travelling to Paris ever since I was younger. I had imagined the quintessential French accordion tune playing as I would rove the cobble-stoned streets of Paris and hear people chirping “Bonjour” everywhere, skinny French women and charmingly French-speaking men to whom I’d just nod away to (without getting a word), mesmerized. But then again I’ve always believed that nothing can ever be truly typical. And I also wanted to know why the Eiffel Tower was built.
First stop in Paris was the Sacre Coeur (i.e. Sacred Heart), a famous church. Asi
de from the fact that it was planted on the highest summit of the city, I didn’t really get its significance so I looked around for locals to explain to me its grand stature and why exactly it was a must-see spot. But the thing about France is that it’s so hard to actually find French people. Everyone’s a tourist. “Excuse moi, are you guys local?” I had approached two guys when I was convinced they must be French since they were the only ones not aggressively clicking away on their cameras. They were Argentinians. And cute ones at that. I brought up Maradona and we had a brief conversation. And no they didn’t know why the Sacre Coeur was so special.
But if I were to be honest, more than the church I enjoyed the view of the city from that height.
Speaking of views, you’d never believe what was in front of my hotel window. In the story Life of Pi, the character Pi had gotten his name from this building called Piscine in France. And voila…
On Day 1 I took the metro (train) to Hotel-de-Ville station which was central Paris. The Notre-Dame was surprisingly overwhelming as the tale of The Hunchback of Notre-Dame had followed my childhood and to be standing in front of it required self-pinching. Its detailed craft on each of the four sides couldn’t let me keep my eyes away. I asked a local (yes I managed to find one and took every opportunity to use the phrase “Excuse moi” to attempt to blend in with the French) what the figurines represented. He told me they were three extracted scenes from the Bible.
I told you the accordion tune was around the corner.
