I went to Paris for the first time almost 2 months ago, and I still haven’t written about it here. Please forgive me - I started a new job the day after I got back, and I’ve been getting used to the hustle and bustle of London working life.
We decided to go to Paris because Zacharie’s mom and sister were visiting family friends before heading to Niger for a month. We took take the bus because it was cheaper, and we got to experience England outside of London and the green farmland of north France.
We stayed with family friends of Zach’s, three sisters who bought an old house together in the north of Paris. I can’t express to you how beautiful this place is - rustic, antiquated, open space with a type of character I’ve never experienced before. I didn’t even take pictures because I felt it would be a violation of their artistic rights. The first night there, we drank red wine, ate cheese, and I pieced together political conversations being held in French. The experience was so French it hurt, and I couldn’t help but think how much all of my friends would have enjoyed the experience. Forget that I felt like an uncultured anglophone - the experience was authentic and that’s all that mattered.
Everything in Paris is beautiful. You feel like you’re walking through history, or living in a different time. It is the most romantic place I’ve ever seen.
It was a short visit, but we did get to see the Louvres, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, and Champs D’Elysees. We saved the Mona Lisa for another time, to ensure we go back.
While I don’t think I could live in Paris because of the language barrier, I can’t wait to go back and visit more - next on my list in Versailles, le Musee D’Orseilles, and the Sorbonne.
Once we crossed the border, we immediately morphed from French to English, as you can see in this photo of us, which has been coined Modern British Gothic on Instagram.