Floating through France (actually just Paris)

The Eiffel Tower at dusk

Into the tunnel we shot at almost 200mph. Suddenly, everything was black and quiet. Our own faces stared eerily back at us from the windows, a whole other coach of ghosts riding the same train just outside. But we, the flesh and blood travelers, were bundled safely in our thick, metal train, flying hundreds of feet below the ocean’s surface on our way to Paris.

Half an hour later, we shot out the other end of the tunnel into France. The countryside surged by in great, rolling waves. Trees were a solid blur of green on either side, telephone poles barely visible flicks of shadow on the glass. Almost in the blink of an eye, we arrived in Paris. The morning was still young, and I was ready to hit the ground running. We only had four days to pack in the true Parisian experience and didn’t want to waste a second of it.

Boy, did Paris have a lot to live up to: from everything I’d read and seen my whole life I just knew this city would be the height of cuisine, music, art, and basically anything else cultured and elegant. I knew simply visiting Paris would make me cultured and elegant too. The only problem was, so did everybody else.

The streets were filled with surging hordes of tourists, the metro filled with even more. We were just a few dozen tiny dots in this ant’s nest of people frantically, desperately trying to “experience Paris” for themselves. But what did experiencing Paris even mean? Was it the food you ate? The art you saw? Could the experience be forced?

The only answer was to try it and see for ourselves. So we joined the mad rush of bodies and began cramming pastries with the best of them. Back and forth we went in the hot sun, down the metro stairs to smash ourselves into a sweaty crate and rattle under the city—then up again, snapping pictures left and right.

The Mona Lisa, I was there. Arc de Triomphe, I was there. The Love Wall. Sacre Coeur. The Eiffel Tower. See my photos? It was magical.

A bakery near our hotel

Sacre Coeur

Stairs going up the inside of the Arc de Triomphe

Winged Victory overlooks the mingling horde at the Louvre

Looks like it, right? But frankly, it all began to feel a bit thin. The monuments and grand sculptures and paintings flew by in such rapid succession that none of them were making an impact. I wondered what being a tourist was for if one came, saw, and left again without feeling a thing. It was time to slow way down.

With a new outlook in mind, we went to the Tuileries Gardens and just wandered. Their irises were in full bloom. The air was still and cool, sweetened by hundreds of flowers. I ate a salted caramel crepe really really slowly, letting the buttery topping and the gentle vanilla flavors of the batter slowly spread across my tongue. I chatted with someone nearby. We swapped tourist stories and watched pigeons hop along the walkway.

Caramel crepe in an outdoor cafe

The slower I went, the more I experienced. The city came alive, Paris lighting up between the crowds.

We visited other museums and moseyed through the displays. We read the placards if we felt like it and didn’t if we didn’t. We spent a long time just sitting and savoring. One of my favorite experiences was eating a take-out lunch down by the Seine, watching little waves lap the pillars of a bridge and waving at the big boats of tourists floating past. Another was talking with a native Parisian on the metro and hearing about her job interviews and all the languages she knew. A third was lying under some trees in Luxembourg Gardens, feeling the sun filtering through the leaves and listening to the musical rise and fall of French from café tables nearby.

Along the Seine

A muskrat in the gardens at Versailles

Flowers at Luxembourg Gardens

I came to some conclusions. As sappy as it sounds, in order to experience Paris as the city one always dreams of, one must take the time to dream. Some cities, like New York and San Francisco or even London to an extent, are cities to do. But Paris is a city to wander, to sit, to watch. Less is definitely more.

Because of the sheer number of visitors, in some ways Paris is more a city of the world that it is a city of France. The people who watch and cheer as the Eiffel Tower begins to sparkle are all guests. The people who haunt the bakeries and crowd the street performers are also more likely to be tourists than not. And that’s why it seems safe to say that an authentic Parisian experience is the tourist experience.

As I discovered, some ways of being a tourist are more enjoyable than others. So for those planning their own trip, the point is don’t be so eager to have a Paris adventure that you miss the fun in getting it. Sometimes an adventure is a climb through the catacombs, and sometimes it is simply a wonderful nap on the grass with a croissant in one hand and bunch of grapes in the other.

An almond pain au chocolate, a.k.a Joy