It’s Friday evening here in Paris, and I’m about to head about for a bit of the local nightlife. Tomorrow, I check out of the hotel and head straight to the airport for an early afternoon flight, so this is pretty much it for my trip.
I didn’t get to a movie. I didn’t get to the sewers or the catacombs or lots of other places I wanted to see… and I’ve been running myself ragged all week. I don’t want to go home. The food makes me feel like I’ve never tasted food before, and the wine is cheaper than coffee, cheaper than Coke. The city is beautiful and eminently livable. Everyone I’ve met or encountered only briefly has been kind and friendly. I’ve been mistaken for local too many times to mention (I hate looking like a tourist when I travel, and I think I pulled that off here, too). It’s been an incredible trip.
I can’t wait to come back.
I’ll have more stuff to post next week, and it’ll be back to my usual routine by Monday. Au revoir.
I am so jealous! I saw Paris last summer, but I was on a crappy student tour thing, France and Italy and Malta in three weeks. I was in Paris for three days. I basically only saw enough to make me want to see more.
I am not surprised you blended right in!
Well, the minute I opened my mouth, there was no question that I was not a native — I have no doubt that my minimal, grammatically poor French made me sound like a baby — but I did make a special point not to look like the stereotypical American tourist in a running shoes and baggy jeans. Which, it appears, is a fairly accurate stereotype to a certain degree. Some American tourists are spottable a mile away.