Paris – Part 3: Je t’aime

Paris, France.

The City of Light.

It has been about a month since I travelled to Paris but the magic is yet to wear off. I can still sense the Parisian filter throughout my life. I look around at my Melbournian word and I miss all of the grand buildings that once stood around me. The posh and chic qualities of Paris will be missed greatly until my next return.

First of all, I had to go to all the tourist sights as they are must-see sights for a reason.

The Eiffel Tower is a crazy, monstrous tower with views of the whole city. I went all the way to the summit, even though I felt butterflies in my stomach the entire elevator ride up. The structure was a crazy accomplishment at the time and still is in my eyes. I recommend everyone to go up to the summit but if you are terrified of heights you probably shouldn’t look down.

The area of Montmartre is the most beautiful in all of Paris. The view from the Sacre Coeur is magnificent as the whole city can be seen, including the Eiffel Tower. Walking along the cobblestone streets of Montmartre takes you back to another time as the accordion plays in the background and French is spoken by most.

Throughout my time in Paris, I had an epiphany about the people.

Most tourists that travel to Paris return home with the idea that all Parisians are stuck-up, high-class individuals that hate all people except those from Paris. I realised that in fact, it is their pride and confidence has been mistranslated as swanky. In actuality, Parisians have a reason to be so confident and proud of their city. A wonderland that is full of stories from many eras as well as those to come. All in all, the Parisians that I came across were very fond of their city and were happy to engage with me if I showed my fondness.

In particular, I tried out my French speaking skills in each restaurant that I tried. I would order every meal and drink in French and hope for a bit of a conversation to show off my freshly polished skills.

One night, in a pizzeria off the beaten track, I spoke some French with the owner of the restaurant. She would have been in her late 60s ordering everyone what to do. Even her friend, of a similar age, brought some beautiful chocolate mousse and tiramisu while the owner was controlling the tables. Throughout the meal, she was very pleased with my attempts and helped me with some words that I couldn’t remember. At the end of the evening, she complimented me on my speaking and told me to continue learning.

My love for the French language stemmed from my love for Paris.

Paris, je t’aime.

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