AdFRENCHures in Paris (Sorry. I am so sorry for that title).

When my friend Katrina -- currently working as an Au Pair in Paris -- messaged me asking what I was doing for Christmas, and if I would like to come visit her, I was mildly relieved. Okay, I was very relieved.

For a while, it had felt a bit like everyone I knew was going home to visit family -- something I decided was not the most financially wise idea for myself at the time. I had visions of spending the whole holiday season alone in Bristol, bingeing on Oreos, wine and Netflix. Luckily, I was not alone in deciding to stick around for the holidays, and I eagerly booked my flight to spend Christmas in Paris with my friend from uni.

Except somehow, I accidentally booked my flight out of Cardiff not Bristol and only realized this two days before flying out. I had a brief window of panic time before realizing EVERYTHING IS SUPER CLOSE IN THE UK. ITS GOING TO BE FINE. Booking a flight out of the wrong country is not as devastating an error as it would have been back home, since Wales is only an hour's train ride out of Bristol.

My time spent in Cardiff was very short, but I managed to find a vegetarian cafe to grab a coffee and lunch, and learned that the Welsh language is not super keen on vowels.

Like this sign for instance. I am sure that Welsh is a beautiful language but to my untrained eye, it looks like someone started typing up the sign, but then their cat walked across the keyboard and hit "send to print" by accident. Much respect if you can understand this language. (Also if you ever watch a documentary about Cardiff Airport and see a girl that looks like me, looking bored and eating a granola bar, ITS ME, HI).

When I arrived in Paris, my first order of business was the same as usual: Find food. I had a few hours before Katrina got back from her own travels, so I decided to walk in the direction of her train station and scope out some dinner on the way. Easy enough, right? WRONG. For a few reasons:

1. I am mostly vegan. France is mostly not. 
2. It's France. Everything is in French. All of my hard earned menu-scanning-for-veggie-option skills are useless here.
3. It's dark. 
4. My bag is really heavy and I am getting hangry, which is essentially turning me into an irritable she-Hulk. Hanger is real. Do not trust anyone who tells you otherwise.

Everything was going terribly. My back hurt. I couldn't find anywhere to eat. I tried to press the pedestrian crossing button only to realize those don't exist here and I had just been awkwardly patting a very low traffic light.

Finally, I find a restaurant near the station that seems vaguely "American Themed" and there is a veggie burger on the menu. The host says something. What did he just say? Is he talking to me? I am pretty sure he is talking to me but it's in French and my reaction time is off and now it's too late to reply without sounding weird so I am just going to pretend like I didn't hear him. "Bon soir..?" He repeats again, clearly not convinced by my strategy. "Bon soir" I mumble back. Good! I have successfully said words! But why isn't he saying more words? Is it still my turn? Oh god, what do I say now? "Juste pour moi" I manage, and soon I am seated at a table by the window. Success!

                                                Fries, not chips! At least some things are familiar here.                                                

I order a veggie burger and fries and it tastes amazing, though I ate it pretty quickly and still have time to kill. "Un cafe, s'il vous plait!" I ask the waitress, thinking that I can at least slowly and leisurely enjoy a coffee while waiting for Katrina's train. Wrong again. When the waitress returns with my coffee, all I can think is "What is this... A coffee for ANTS???" It was not a coffee for ants. The default coffee beverage in France is just espresso. By the end of my dinner, I had several other mini-crises such as "do I tip here??" (no) and "How do I ask for the bill??" (L'addition s'il vous plait) but all in all it went okay and I was soon able to meet up with Katrina at the station.

At that point, it had gotten quite late, so we chat a bit before heading to bed. The next day, I am awoken by the most beautiful words one can hear early in the morning: "I'm going to go pick us up something for breakfast!" When Katrina returns carrying a brown paper bag, she excitedly tells me: "This never happens! When I went to the bakery and asked for croissants, they were just coming out of the oven... they're still warm!"

All the squishy, oily grocery store croissants I've ever had at home pale in comparison to this piece of beauty. It was warm and perfectly flaky and crumbly. I probably could have gone home satisfied with my trip at this point, but we had a full day of sightseeing ahead of us -- so I brushed the crumbs off of

my clothes and got ready to go.

We went to the Arc du Triomphe, and I got to go up it for free as a UK resident... which was amazing because I wasn't even aware that it was something that you could go up. A long spiralling staircase rewarded us with the most amazing panoramic view of the city.

Next, we walked the Champs D'Elysee -- the street shown in the black and white photo with the big ferris wheel at the end. This street was extremely busy, filled with extravagant and expensive shops, as well as about a million different movie theatres. There was also a Christmas Market going on at the end which was nice, but a bit busy. Christmas markets are really a thing here in Europe -- I assume it started in Germany as they are all vaguely German themed.

Tiny santa in pursuit of tiny dog. 

Chocolate pears.. Also known as CUTEST THING EVER

Can they chocolate it?? Yes they can.

Hot Christmas orange juice anyone?

Beauty in it's purest form.

Wow.. a shop where I can buy Floppy... 

AND Flooppy! All in the same place! What a world we live in.

At the end of the market, we found ourselves in front of a very large ferris wheel. I had to google "Big ferris wheel in Paris" just now to figure out the real name, which incidentally is "Le Grand Roue de Paris"... so basically, the Big Wheel of Paris. I suppose that's accurate at least, it is big, a wheel, and in Paris.

The wheel looking old-timey.

Place de Concorde

Place where you can sit and chill and watch seagulls doing seagull things

We went to "Jeu de Paumes", a photography museum which was super cool -- especially the exhibition on Philippe Halsmann and Salvador Dali... dudes made some crazy photos without using Photoshop. We also somehow sat down and accidentally watched almost an hour of some artsy film because it was so weird that we needed to find out what was going on. An hour later all we had was "Something...about war.. maybe?"

Jumping for joy at the photography museum?

That night, we went out to a pub (British themed, I felt right at home) and I successfully spoke French to some French people (for about 5 minutes before they took pity and switched to English). I was still really proud of my efforts.

The next day we were up bright and early. By bright I mean, "woah, there's actually sun here in the winter unlike England". We went to see Notre Dame and were met there with a long line that Katrina assured me is actually short compared to usual. Here, and at basically any tourist attraction we went to, the entry process was slowed considerably because everyone had to open their coats and purses for security. Katrina noted that this was not the case when she first arrived -- a sobering reminder that we were in a city that had been the target of terrorist attacks just a month ago. 

We climbed up the stairs (SO MANY), saw gargoyles, bells, and a beautiful view of the city. Apparently Notre Dame is so well  restored today largely because of Victor Hugo's novel The Hunchback of Notre Dame -- his writing essentially convinced people that it was worth preserving and saved the church from demolition. How badass is that? 

Sometimes in life, you see a bell and have to touch it.

Notre Daaaamn that's a nice view.

My quest for a good old Americano coffee continued and I figured McDonalds was about as Americano as it gets. On the menu I saw "Cafe Grand" and I thought "Good! A big coffee! This is exactly what I want." Unfortunately, it was not exactly what I wanted...

In what world is this "un grand cafe"??

We stopped by Shakespeare and Company -- an amazingly cute and quaint bookstore with a little reading nook. The inside was covered with scribbles, doodles and photos from people who had passed through the store.

The pun was not lost on me.

Later that day, we went to the Centre Pompidou -- the outside of the building was cool enough, but the inside was full of amazingly weird and wacky modern art. Some examples of which are below:

Interactive chalk walled room!

Perfectly size-ordered spheres!!

Houses made of candles!!

Pages and receipts from artists daily life, painted white!!

...this guy!!!

Once we had explored enough of the Centre de Pompidou, we journeyed to our next destination... Veg Art, a vegan pizza place! (What?? Vegan? In Paris?). I was extremely excited and for good reason. The pizza was delicious -- especially the one with roasted chestnuts, potato and mushroom.

Yessss

The metro stop near the restaurant happened to be right in the Place de la Republique -- the square where many gathered in solidarity after the attacks. What we saw there was solemn, yet striking: The monument in the centre of the square had been decorated in posters, flags, photographs, flickering candles -- they were still being lit --, and other symbols of solidarity, resilience and peace in the wake of the tragic attacks just a month before. I took a single photo, wanting to remember the sight, but not wanting to be a tourist in someone else's tragedy.

                                                          

                                                               

We had a quiet night in after dinner, tired out from walking around and doing all of the stairs. But more stairs awaited us the next day as we made our way through the Montmartre neighbourhood to see Sacre Coeur and the various other sights around the neighbourhood.

In the morning, something wonderful happened.... I FINALLY found my coffee. Pictured: Red Starbucks cup, Moulin Rouge in the background. It's like, I don't even care that they called me Courtney. I willingly accept my new identity if it means I can get a proper morning coffee that is not for ants.

On the way to Montmartre, we also saw this beautiful Metro display based entirely around potatoes. This was something I felt I could really get behind, because potatoes are a very important part of my life.

Behold the glory of the potato

So wonderful, so delicious, so pure.

Potato displays aside, Montmartre was quite an interesting area, and we made our way past the Moulin Rouge and various "risque" shops and theatres, up cobblestone streets to Sacre Coeur.

The Moulin Rouge

Van Gogh lived here!

Another very old 'moulin'

Montmartre is just the cutest.

Sacre Coeur.. cropped just so that you can't see the 5000 tourists.

If Sacre Coeur weren't beautiful enough, directly in front of it was (wait for it...) ANOTHER amazing view! Paris is full of those. It helps that most of the buildings are very short so you can see almost all of the major landmarks from any given high point. There are some skyscrapers, but they're all in one area. It's like the city decided "Okay fine, you can build your skyscrapers.... just put them...right over...there..." *Points to tiny corner where all the other skyscrapers are huddled*.

Yep, right over there with the rest of them.

After that, we made our way to the Eiffel Tower -- I had seen it a few times since being here, as Katrina lives right within view of it. You can look out her bathroom window and see the top. But we hadn't really gone up close -- so we did. We braved the hordes of pigeons, other tourists and selfie-stick vendors and managed to get some lovely photos.

Always get someone holding a nice camera to take your photo. They know the angles.

We also grabbed some roasted chestnuts at the nearby Christmas Market (yes, another one) for part of our Christmas Day dinner. One of Katrina's Au Pair friends was also staying in town, so the three of us had a nice home-cooked meal.

These are dangerously addictive.

Sweet potato risotto. Meat stuff for meat eaters. Wine. More wine. Etc.

In the morning, it was time to say goodbye to Katrina and the lovely city she called home. 

I was glad to arrive back -- my camera filled with photos and my backpack filled with French cookies. Travelling is a humbling experience in a way. Nothing makes you feel like an idiot faster than fumbling your way through that first little while in an unfamiliar place. I think back to when I first arrived in England: starting a new job, finding a place to live, trying to be an adult, figuring out all the little details that made this place different from home. But you adjust and adapt. Given some time, almost anywhere can become home. Sometimes you need to be thrown off balance a little. Sometimes, you need to feel like an idiot. And sometimes, you need to eat French cookies -- and now is that time. Au revoir for now, friends!



C.