Paris: Day 1

I was exhausted after I got off the plane. You wouldn't think that 13 hours sitting down would make you tired, but for some reason, it does. My first impression of Paris was from the airport, but that impression would hold true of the whole city: it looked dirty. Notice I say "looked" dirty. It actually wasn't that dirty, but for some reason almost all of Paris gives the impression of dirt. What makes it even weirder is that most of Paris smells quite nice. The smell is a little like laundry soap. Dirty looks, nice smell. Paris is weird.

My second impression of Paris was how different it was from both America and Asia. It was old, but it wasn't old the same way that Busan, Kyoto, or Beijing is old. It's got a whole different kind of old to it. But the old stands out even more because there's so many modern things blended right into the old in Paris. It's not unusual to see huge modern architecture next to hundred year old apartments. That's Paris.

One odd thing about Paris was thrust in my face right in the elevator of the airport: I was a foreigner here, sure, but unlike in Asia, I blended right in. I got on the elevator, tried to press a button that didn't work, and a guy looked right at me and started yammering away in French. I was so shocked by this for some reason that all I could get out was "la la la gare" (the the the train station) at which point he pressed the button for me and I was on my way. I found stuff like this happened a lot in Paris: I was mistaken for a local. Locals tried to chat with me, tourists asked directions, people spoke in fast French at restaurants. It was the exact opposite of Korea, where I stand out and everyone makes not of that when they interact with me: talking in English, talking slowly, or simply not talking at all (assuming I can't speak Korean). I was used to NOT being expected to be able to speak the language, so someone expecting me to caught me really off guard. I shrugged it off and promised myself I'd do better next time. I'd be ready.

I was surprised again when I bought my train ticket from the airport to the city itself. I was ready this time, and I asked for the ticket in French. My accent must have been a giveaway, though, because after the first exchange, he switched over into English. My accent must have improved during the trip, though, because this happened less and less as the days went on.

When I got on the train, though, I got off in my own little world. Another guy came up to me and asked a question. Again, I was caught off guard. I did even worse this time. Whereas before at least I got out one word in French, this time I just mumbled something, said "uuuuuuuummmmm," and then said "I can't speak French" in English. I wasn't really ready for people jumping out of nowhere and speaking French to me. The fact that the guy looked like a villian from an old black and white movie probably didn't help. I wouldn't have expected him to be riding the train as much as I'd guess he'd be tying a damsel to the train tracks. He had the prodruding chin, the mustache, the beady eyes. Other than the fact that he was wearing flip-flops, he had the look down.

But actually, that wasn't the most surprising thing that happened on the train into Paris. The train made another stop before heading into Paris. When it did, a couple got on. The sat right in front of me, and proceeded to kiss. I'm not talking pecks, I'm talking make out. I knew this was something that happens in Paris, but it was a little shocking to see right in front of you, especially since I've been living in Korea for two years now, a place where kissing in public AT ALL is out of the questions and holding hands in public is barely okay. This, of course, wasn't the last time I saw couples making out in front of me (and not just men and women, women and women, and men and men as well), so I had plenty of time to get used to it while I was in Paris.

After a lot of lugging my baggage through the subway and trying to make sense of the maze of tunnels and exchanges beneath the city, I finally made it to my hotel. It was about 5 at night by that point, but I was so excited to be in Paris, I couldn't sit still. I showered up and headed out.

The first place I went was Sacre Ceour (Sacred Heart) not because I had a particular interest in the place but because it was close to my hotel, and I knew from the planning had a vegetarian restaurant right nearby. Usually on a place like this, I'd let the pictures do the talking, but not today. I couldn't take many pictures inside, and the one I did was blurry (it was against the rules to take pictures, so I had to take it fast). It looked big from the outside, but it felt absolutely huge inside. When you walked in, there was a huge painting of Jesus at the opposite end of the amphtheater. The paintint was placed such that when you enter the doors, it almost feels like he's walking out of the sky to come and and say "hi." I'm long since un-catholic, but even I was moved. This coupled with the amazing stained glass windows around the outside of the church made for a great first sight to see. I knew I was in Paris already, but being inside the church was the first time I really felt the power of being in Paris.

I went looking for the vegetarian restaurant I mentioned, but it wasn't just gone, it was long gone. The sign was worn and only half there. The front was boarded up. So I had to continue on, looking for someplace new. I found an Indian place, and I ordered in bad (and quiet) French. I wasn't very confident in my ordering skills yet and the fact that a young French couple was at the next table didn't help me feel any less self-conscious about my language skills.

On the walk back to my hotel, I really felt like I was in Paris. I watched the old houses go by, meandered down the brick alleyways, watched people kiss each other on both cheeks and carry about long loaves of bread. Yes, I was in Paris.