Un Après-midi à Paris

Whether you’ve traveled or not, there are at least a handful of places around the world you’ve spent some time in:

the busy streets of New York, the dense jungles on Kauai, maybe even the passenger seat on the PCH with LA in the review mirror. Maybe not in person but probably on screen, in photos, or at the very least, in car commercials. Paris is certainly one of those places. It’s the epitome of romanticization, but visiting the city in particular has never been at the top of my bucket list. After awhile, all of the big cities of the world start to blend together, but after hearing the wide range of opinions on it for most of my adult life, I wanted to see for myself.

I had made plans in Lyon for the weekend. There were several different ways to get there from our corner of Southwest France, so I decided to book a layover in the City of Lights. After a rather effortless morning ride on the TGV, transferring to the Paris metro felt like stepping off of an Emirates flight onto the “Night Bus” from Harry Potter. I watched ahead as faint lights darted past in my periphery—the rail cars ahead of us jerked left and right through the void as we moved beneath the city. Just as quickly as it started, it all paused for a moment as people leapt in and out, and then the chaotic ride resumed. Every now and then, the train would surface revealing street after street of Haussmann-style buildings before returning to the tunnels again. Even the doors had an old charm: they had to be manually unlatched to open I noted before our first transfer. We shuffled up and down stairs quickly and repeated the process until we stepped off into the streets of Bastille.

I didn’t know much about the city before we arrived. There are the typical sites, but I didn’t have much interest in visiting any one in particular. I just wanted to walk the streets, take in the sights and sounds, and snap a few photos. It seems every other travel blog out there has a 24 Hours in Paris post full of tips to cram the most into your visit. But if you’re as short on time as we were, that’s my recommendation. Find a couple points on the map that look interesting and string together a route to walk. You’ll stumble on corners you didn’t expect. If you’re tired, find a café or take the metro. It’s easier to make it up as you go.

We roamed our way through Le Marais, past la Cathédrale de Notre-Dame, to the Louvre where we found a coffee and a quiet bench away from the crowds. Tourists lined up angling for the same shot while les parisiens sat indifferently anywhere with a spot of sun and a view.

As we wandered toward les Champs-Élysées, out of nowhere the sky above l’Arc de Triomphe exploded into a cloud of red, white, and blue. Just as quickly as I could spot the formation of French fighter jets, they passed overhead and were gone. The whole street stopped for a moment. What?! I exclaimed. How’d they know we were coming? Tori and I looked at each other in disbelief before I noted they would probably make another pass. We found higher ground and waited. Even the locals stopped for a moment to watch as the team turned past the Eiffel Tower and lined up on les Champs-Élysées for a second time. The roar was deafening, and the excitement in the street was tangible. At least, until it started to drizzle.

Standing exposed in the middle of a large plaza, I scanned the perimeter for a café or metro station. As we walked, the intensity increased. We ducked underground into the metro just before the bottom fell out. After a moment to reestablish our bearings, I glanced at the radar on my phone: it was just showers. I guessed that by the time we took the trains underground to the Eiffel Tower, it would be over. We decided to take a chance on it and see.

Sure enough, the clouds were beginning to break as we made our way out of the Tocadero station and across the street to a plaza. The evening colors reflected in the freshly-soaked marble, but the rain wasn’t enough to deter the other tourists and street vendors. There seemed to be some sort of event around the tower, so we made our way across the river to stroll through the park.

Nightfall was descending quickly, so we staked out a spot beneath the tower to watch the lights illuminate. As each street vendor made a pass at us with roses or wine, Tori’s no, merci started to sound more like no mercy. The lights come on for five minutes at the top of each hour after sunset, and the whole park paused to watch the nineteenth century monument burst to life.

On the way back to the metro station, I contemplated the whole scene. Paris is one of the major cites of the world and is not immune from the logistics, costs, and challenges that come with it. But, it does have an air to it. Things move quickly but people still pause to take in the best parts of the day—whether that’s lunch on a café terrace, soaking in the sun at the park with friends, or jets roaring overhead. Even on the smaller streets, there’s beauty and intention that you don’t always find elsewhere. Is it worth it? I think that still depends on who you ask.