Learning Paris, Part four

 This is the fourth installment of a series, Learning Paris. You should start at the beginning.

Part one here Where I was ignorant and terrified

 Part two, here   Where I had a much more local experience

Part three, here The first time I chaperoned students in Paris  

This summer I went to Paris for the fourth time, and I fell deeply in love- the kind of love that made me want to go home, sell all of my belongings, and move there.  I dream about Paris when I sleep- the sounds of French laughter, the smells of freshly baked bread, the terrifying beauty that slams you against the pavement like a rough lover. I know that my future is tangled up with Paris. I will live there, someday. 

I feel very spoiled when I say I have been to Paris four times. So many people never get to leave the country at all, and yet I have been given this opportunity to travel the world. I’m aware of how fortunate I am. I often feel like I have to be careful talking about my travels. People think I am bragging, they don't really care about the things that you have seen. It isn't bragging, it is obsession. I'm like a moth, and Paris is my light.

 This most recent trip again involved EF Tours and students. This time I had 10 teenagers and one mother. When we got to Paris, we were winding down from a long crazy adventure that took us through Venice, Florence, Pisa, Monaco, and Nice in 10 furiously frenetic days. I have already written about Venice here and here. This was a whirlwind trip- arrive in a city, walk walk walk, feast on architecture and history, pack up, then move on. By the time the kids boarded the plane in Paris to go back to Arkansas, I thought my body was broken.

            We departed from Nice early in the morning and boarded a TGF train to Paris. There were teenagers in varying positions of sleep on the train. Legs over arms in a pile, headphones on to drown out the noise- they slept every time we traveled between destinations, exhausted from the sun and adventures.  I couldn’t sleep, though. I was too busy updating my journal and watching the beautiful countryside zoom by.
I'm no good at sleeping when there is beauty outside of my window and words to be written down.

After five hours on the train, we stumbled onto the platform of the Gare du Nord, which was how I had entered the city the first time. The air was cool and refreshing. Every city we had been to so far had been saturated in a brutal heat; in comparison, Paris felt like a new Spring.

            We loaded onto our bus and went to our hotel, The Kyriad Puteaux, in La Defense. This was an area I had never seen, except from my first and only trip up the Eiffel Tower. It looks like an American city with tall skyscrapers instead of Parisian buildings. I respect the French for building La Defense on the outskirts, because it doesn’t fit. Our hotel was super weird and modern. They had strung together several buildings into one so you had to go through winding corridors to find the rooms. It was a perfect scene for a horror movie. We just dumped our stuff and got back on the bus to head into the city center. We stopped for a photo at the Eiffel Tower, and then headed into the Latin Quarter. 

We walked and walked and walked. When we got to Notre Dame, we split into small groups for an hour and a half of free time. Since I had been in this exact location four times, I decided to stalk people instead of buildings with my camera.

            After dinner in the Latin Quarter, we headed back to the hotel for rest. We took the metro to get there. One of my favorite things about Paris is the public transportation. I love the fact that you don't have to drive. People watching is definitely a hobby of mine, and the Metro is an eyeball feast for a sociologist. With students, Metro travel brings the group together. You have to work together to accomplish your goal of getting everyone on and off of the train. Every group creates an "us" versus "them" situation. When on the bus, these roles are filled with students and teachers, but on the metro it is your group versus all the French people who give you dirty looks. The kids are loud and excited, and they grate on the French ear. One man rolled his eyes at us, "Blah, blah, blah," he said. I'm sure the Parisians get tired of loud kids with orange backpacks, but it makes me want to shake them and chastise them for being so judgy. These kids are madly in love with this experience, and they are kids. They aren't always classy and subtle like you, and who cares?

The ride to the hotel was long, we had to go to the end of the line. The most unfortunate thing about our hotel in was its location. It was a 30 minute walk from the Metro, and after 10 days of walking, we were all sore with aching backs and swollen feet. The walk felt like hours in the deserted, out of place super streets with skyscrapers all around.

We slept.

On the students last day in Paris, we took another bus tour. Weirdly enough, we had the exact same tour guide that we had two years previously. He was a Swede with an excellent sense of humor and a brain bursting with knowledge about Paris. We sat and talked about the odds of seeing each other again over a coffee when the bus driver took a break.
After the bus tour, we all split up.
Dylan and I  headed to the Centre Pompidou, as it was a museum we had never visited before.

Two years prior, we had been to one wing of the Louvre, which is an overwhelming museum.  I read somewhere that if you looked at every object in the Louvre for 60 seconds it would take 25 days of 24 hours each to see it all. That same year we went to the Musee d'Orsay- which might be one of my favorite museums in the world. I'm a little leery of modern art. Sometimes I love it, other times I find it pretentious.
 Visiting the Pompidou made for an interesting afternoon.  My favorite part was the special exhibit of Gerhard Richter- paintings that blur the line between photography and painting, two dimensions and three, and explore the effect of textures. There was no photography allowed.
The worst part was the physical pain from being so active for 10 days. My bones ached, my back hated me, my feet were rebellious. I had to sit down in every room with a chair, the exhaustion of the trip was catching up with me.
A thunderstorm raged outside, and Paris was bathed in dark clouds and dripping water. From the glass walls of the Pompidou, we watched the city in the shower.Afterwards, we met the group, went to dinner, and then took the kids to Montmartre as the sun blew away the stormy clouds.


 There was a raging party at the Sacre-Coeur. A DJ was pumping out rave music while a pack of thirteen-year-olds slam danced in front of the church. Once you get past the North Africans trying to tie bracelets to your arm and then demanding cash, you have to repeatedly deny the Indians who sell a much more useful product- beer. Like mosquitos they keep coming back no matter how much you say no- it is almost easier to buy a Heineken so they will leave you alone, but sometimes they will try to sell you one while you are opening your first.
It is such a lovely feeling to sit on the steps and look at Paris sprawled out before you like a beautiful lover in bed.
Several of the kids had their portraits made by the local artists at the top of the hill.

While they were doing that, the rest of us played on the Merry-go-round until the sun went down.

The next morning the students left, and Dylan and I had Paris all to ourselves.
To be continued...
For more photos from this trip, click here.