When travelling alone, everything feels like a marvelous accomplishment. Thus, my constant congratulatory interior monologue: Wow, you got on the metro and found your way into the city alone - way to go! You said escuse moi to that girl when she bumped into you and now she surely thinks you're a native Parisian - your French is amazing! You discovered how to flush the toilet - you really are a genius, Melanie! You figured out your European dress size - what a fantastic human being!
Seriously though, not enough can be said about the beauty of Paris, no matter how cliched it sounds. Tonight, I had dinner at this quintessential Parisian bistro. I had wine, chicken provencal, and strawberries and cream for dessert. I sat at one of those little metal tables in one of those folding metal bistro chairs, under a pot of hanging geraniums, next to a 100 year old wooden door on which hung a chalkboard listing the days specials, while I listened to the bells of Notre Dame and gazed at the sun setting over the Seine. Inside was a small bar lined with tiny espresso cups and terracotta pots of orange flowers, filling slowly with flawlessly gorgeous Parisians coming to relax and drink after a day of leisurely work. A man in mustard yellow drawstring pants, a white tank top and a fedora walked by playing the tambourine for no one but himself. Oh my god, give me a break. Could this be anymore freaking perfect? When I first got into the city, I kept thinking every building must be the Louvre and every church must be Notre Dame, because every single last wall in this place is breathtaking in its ornate detail. When I finally did find both the Louvre and Notre Dame, I almost fell on the ground and started worshipping them, they were so magestic. This city's magic simply cannot be overstated. Paris is the city of love, but not because you need to be kissing someone on the street corner (a very popular passtime here). I'm in love with Paris itself. I might just marry it.
Seriously though, not enough can be said about the beauty of Paris, no matter how cliched it sounds. Tonight, I had dinner at this quintessential Parisian bistro. I had wine, chicken provencal, and strawberries and cream for dessert. I sat at one of those little metal tables in one of those folding metal bistro chairs, under a pot of hanging geraniums, next to a 100 year old wooden door on which hung a chalkboard listing the days specials, while I listened to the bells of Notre Dame and gazed at the sun setting over the Seine. Inside was a small bar lined with tiny espresso cups and terracotta pots of orange flowers, filling slowly with flawlessly gorgeous Parisians coming to relax and drink after a day of leisurely work. A man in mustard yellow drawstring pants, a white tank top and a fedora walked by playing the tambourine for no one but himself. Oh my god, give me a break. Could this be anymore freaking perfect? When I first got into the city, I kept thinking every building must be the Louvre and every church must be Notre Dame, because every single last wall in this place is breathtaking in its ornate detail. When I finally did find both the Louvre and Notre Dame, I almost fell on the ground and started worshipping them, they were so magestic. This city's magic simply cannot be overstated. Paris is the city of love, but not because you need to be kissing someone on the street corner (a very popular passtime here). I'm in love with Paris itself. I might just marry it.
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