I’m missing you, Paris. I’m really really missing you. Especially one person in Paris… cough Meg cough. I’m missing going to the Boulangerie right next to Meg’s apartment and talking about men and our dreams and our 23 year old lives.
One of my favorite parts of staying with Meg was that she’s basically the perfect Paris guide. The combination of our mutual love for beer, good food and coffee and her acute sense of all things fashionable was the best way to be introduced to the city of light.
Meg insisted that I had to try some macarons when I mentioned my love for sweets, so we walked in the rain all the way down Place de la Madeleine in pursuit of some kitschy (albeit gorgeous, delicious, lovely) french cookies.
Paris for my first few days was anything but touristy. Meg took me to all of her favorite spots that were well off the beaten path of cameras and souvenirs. We saved the corny and clinquant for the end of the trip, making sure that I would be able to say “I’ve seen Paris” by the time I left. So when we got into the 8th and on the Avenue, I felt like I was experiencing a different city altogether.
This was the Paris I’d imagined. Posh posh shopping, people dressed to the nines, perfectly polished streets and traffic; in the road and on foot. Everywhere else that we had seen felt like I was walking through my own neighborhood (except, you know, better), but this. This was Paris.
Not to say that this was necessarily my favorite part of Paris, it wasn’t even close. It was definitive though. It was the presentation of all Paris stereotypes and what an American imagines having never been there. Actually, this part of Paris reminded me of parts of every city I’ve ever been in: 16th street mall in Denver (or dare I say Cherry Creek), Broadway in Nashville, Gaslamp in San Diego, Beverly Hills in LA.
It’s something to be experienced, even if just for a few hours.
Bisous bisous for now, Paris!