There are certain moments in life when all is right in the world. You can’t help but smile and an irresistible urge to do a little happy dance overtakes you. Seeing a best friend after many months apart. Having a conversation about life under the stars with your father. Waking up in your own bed after a long time of being on the road. Your mother’s warmth. Christmas morning. A first kiss. Impromptu dance party with your sister. Cuddling with your dog. Watching the sunrise while the rest of the world is still asleep. Stepping off an airplane (or train, or boat, or bus) and into a new place for the very first time. As I wrote almost one year ago after a solo trip to Ireland:
“There are times while traveling when everything comes together and nothing else matters except that particular moment and place. You wouldn't rather be anywhere else in world. It's about the people you meet and the character of the place. I felt such happiness in Dingle town, Ireland.” (April 22, 2013)
I had been to Paris three times in my life prior to last weekend. The first was 11 years ago, and was also the first time I had traveled without my family (although not the first time I traveled internationally). I did a summer exchange program to Tours, France with one of my best friends after our sophomore year of high school. I lived with a host family, communicating largely through charades and my broken French (they spoke no English); took language and culture classes; visited grand historical sites and châteaus around the Loire Valley, where the program was based; made friends with other program participants from Spain, Mexico, Columbia, Japan, Belgium and Russia; and was exposed to a life of (semi) independence in a world much larger than the one I had known previously.
The program ended with four days in Paris. I was 16 years old at the time and that month I spent in France (July 2003) was an important catalyst for leading me into the life that I am living now: the life of a traveler. I remember walking a lot and having a fun time in Paris; it was wonderful to experience the city with so many new friends from around the world, as well as one of my oldest friends from home. But I also remember thinking it was “just another big city”—and I’m not particularly a “city” girl.
“There are times while traveling when everything comes together and nothing else matters except that particular moment and place. You wouldn't rather be anywhere else in world. It's about the people you meet and the character of the place. I felt such happiness in Dingle town, Ireland.” (April 22, 2013)
I had been to Paris three times in my life prior to last weekend. The first was 11 years ago, and was also the first time I had traveled without my family (although not the first time I traveled internationally). I did a summer exchange program to Tours, France with one of my best friends after our sophomore year of high school. I lived with a host family, communicating largely through charades and my broken French (they spoke no English); took language and culture classes; visited grand historical sites and châteaus around the Loire Valley, where the program was based; made friends with other program participants from Spain, Mexico, Columbia, Japan, Belgium and Russia; and was exposed to a life of (semi) independence in a world much larger than the one I had known previously.
The program ended with four days in Paris. I was 16 years old at the time and that month I spent in France (July 2003) was an important catalyst for leading me into the life that I am living now: the life of a traveler. I remember walking a lot and having a fun time in Paris; it was wonderful to experience the city with so many new friends from around the world, as well as one of my oldest friends from home. But I also remember thinking it was “just another big city”—and I’m not particularly a “city” girl.
My second time in Paris was when I was studying abroad in Prague for a semester during my junior year of college (Fall 2007). I visited for only one night and mainly went to go to EuroDisney, so I didn’t see much of the city at all (nothing to write home about). The third time was in June 2008, when Paris was sandwiched in between two other significant return journeys, one to Moscow and one to Ghana. Even though I was with two of my best friends (one also happened to be an ex-boyfriend), that third time in Paris was overshadowed by two highly emotional destinations: one where I came this close to adopting a little boy (who I still think about often) and one where I had to get closure after four years with a different ex-boyfriend… first love never dies.
So, last weekend, I “had” to go to Paris for work for a fourth time. Harlaxton College offers trips around the UK, and to Paris and Italy, each semester for students (I will be in Italy in three weeks from today. #bestjobever). Each trip requires at least one member of staff to go along in case of an emergency and to offer general support and guidance. I was looking forward to a nice long weekend away, but I wasn’t overly excited about Paris in particular. However, the “City of Light” took me by surprise and, eventually, that irrepressible smile and happy dance overtook me once more.
Maybe it was the sunny, warm weather. Or the fabulous mochas I now drink, allowing me to fully appreciate the café culture and people-watching. Or maybe it’s because I’m no longer on a student’s budget so could indulge in a couple of nice meals and stroll leisurely around a number of different museums. I saw a good friend again for the first time in almost two years, a young French woman I met in Morocco who lived in the same city as me and was a profound positive influence at that point in my life (probably unbeknownst to her). Whatever the reason, I felt like I was seeing Paris for the first time and finally fell in love with it, four times later. It was a time while traveling when everything came together and nothing else mattered except that particular moment and place. When I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else in the world. It’s about the people you meet and the character of the place.
So, last weekend, I “had” to go to Paris for work for a fourth time. Harlaxton College offers trips around the UK, and to Paris and Italy, each semester for students (I will be in Italy in three weeks from today. #bestjobever). Each trip requires at least one member of staff to go along in case of an emergency and to offer general support and guidance. I was looking forward to a nice long weekend away, but I wasn’t overly excited about Paris in particular. However, the “City of Light” took me by surprise and, eventually, that irrepressible smile and happy dance overtook me once more.
Maybe it was the sunny, warm weather. Or the fabulous mochas I now drink, allowing me to fully appreciate the café culture and people-watching. Or maybe it’s because I’m no longer on a student’s budget so could indulge in a couple of nice meals and stroll leisurely around a number of different museums. I saw a good friend again for the first time in almost two years, a young French woman I met in Morocco who lived in the same city as me and was a profound positive influence at that point in my life (probably unbeknownst to her). Whatever the reason, I felt like I was seeing Paris for the first time and finally fell in love with it, four times later. It was a time while traveling when everything came together and nothing else mattered except that particular moment and place. When I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else in the world. It’s about the people you meet and the character of the place.