Weekend escape to take our minds off of the mess of this past week? Bien sûr. If you were wondering whether there are still good people in the world, the answer is yes: a Spanish teacher I’ve never spoken to before recognized me in the train station and asked if I was okay. After I confessed to her that I’d cried, we had a sober conversation about Brexit, you-know-who, and Marine Le Pen. She kindly kept me company on the train to Paris, where I met up with C, who then got to witness me struggle to speak Mandarin to a restaurant owner because my brain kept trying to fill the gaps of my vocabulary with French. At the hostel, we had the pleasant surprise of rooming with two poor American souls from Indiana who’re studying in England.
I stuffed a fresh-out-of-the-oven pain au chocolat into my mouth before we hiked up to Sacré-Cœur, where I had a moment over the incredible view of Paris. On the way down, hawkers (all men, of course—do you see why I don’t trust men and can count on one hand the number of men I trust in my life?) started calling C and me nice/beautiful girls and then Lady Gaga, which made us burst into laughter. That’s a new one.
Next stop: Versailles, where my French major heart got super emotional over finally getting to see the palace for the first time. (Did I shed a few tears? Um, no, definitely not.) Thanks to our long stay visas, C and I got in for free, and I basically spent two and a half hours fangirling over the ornate castle and expansive gardens.
We finally left because, despite the sunlight, we were trying not to turn into human Popsicles, and then we witnessed an unwelcome anti-immigrant gathering that actually appeared on HuffPost: http://m.huffingtonpost.fr/2016/11/11/les-conseils-des-anti-migrants-a-ceux-qui-veulent-fuir-la-dictat/?ncid=fcbklnkfrhpmg00000001
Moving on to happier things: we lost ourselves in Shakespeare and Company for nearly an hour, perfectly content to be surrounded by books and peaceful piano music.
We wandered Paris at night and dined on freshly-cooked crêpes that were so delicious, I already want another one. The day ended with me jabbing a man with my elbow and uncharacteristically loudly saying, “NO” because he’d grabbed my waist while trying to sell me cigarettes. (I am not an object and especially after Tuesday, I am tired of being expected to be silent. I will unleash my anger.) I regret nothing except for the fact that I didn’t stomp on his foot—I may not weigh 100 pounds, but my heeled boot still would have inflicted a good amount of pain.
I found my way to a Leader Price because I was craving an apple, and had intense Nice flashbacks because 99% of my grocery shopping happened in Leader Price. Next, I did some thrift store shopping for warmer clothes at Guerrisol—or at least, I tried to, AKA everything was too big because apparently I’m too smol for this world.
Because I don’t trust myself with the Metro, I decided to walk to the Musée d’Orsay, and then predictably got lost (thanks, Google Maps.) But I happened to stumble across the Marché de Noël, where the air was infused with the scent of warm spiced wine, so I’m not complaining.
After that distraction, and a very long wait for Musée d’Orsay, C casually skipped the entire line to where I was standing, and we went inside to the Impressionist section of the museum so that I could fangirl over the Monet art for Madeline.
Because it was so cold, we huddled inside the Shakespeare and Co café, where I had the most incredible chai latté of my life.
Now, our final night in Paris is coming to a draw with me Skyping my two wives Iszi and Madeline.