Bonjour! C’est moi! The most latent writer in the land. In July, (yes, you read that correctly… JULY) I said that I would be back with my impressions of Paris. Here I am ready to make good on that promise. Look, I never said how long it would take me to return… just that I would (eventually).

My loves, the last we spoke I was about to take the train out of Avignon into Paris. I was excited for this spell of train travel to be with my companions Dan and Jane. I truly enjoy traveling alone, but there is nothing quite like the fun of exchanging glances and dissolving into laughter from unspoken jokes.

When we arrived in Paris, the train station was overwhelming because there were so many people and part of me is still a tiny bashful child and my initial reaction was to shrink back. However, I had my very well-traveled companions with me and I absorbed all of the knowledge that I could for my future adventures.

We took the metro to Gare du Nord in Montmartre where we would be in staying in the cutest Parisian apartment. Our apartment was on the top floor above a yarn shop and next to the Sacré-Cœur, which we had a beautiful view of from our bathroom window.

Montmartre

There are a couple of things to know about this beautiful neighborhood in the 18th arrondissement of Paris. First, in my mind it is famous for being a large part of the French film Amélie. Second, it is where many artists of the late 19th Century and early 20th Century came to chill and work, but mostly chill. You may know them: Amedeo Modigliani, Claude Monet, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Edgar Degas, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, Suzanne Valadon, Piet Mondrian, Pablo Picasso, Camille Pissarro, and Vincent van Gogh.

Jane definitely schooled me on the artist knowledge. Jane is an amazing artist in her own right, you can see more of her work on her website and on Instagram. She’s also a fabulous person and friend.

We didn’t have much time that first evening in Paris, but we got to work straight away on my list of cliché American things to see. Hopping on the metro we zipped over to the Arc de Triomphe, then to the Eiffel Tower and we hoofed it around a bit until we settled on a delightfully touristy restaurant for dinner.

Side note: When I travel, I like to experience as many slices of life as possible. For the most part I am not a touristy person. However, as a student I read about these places in history class and in literature and I can’t stand the idea of not glimpsing them at least once. Even if it means being there with the unwashed masses of tourists who are wearing running shoes and buying tchotchkes. I’m not trying to be offensive or a snob (I may be both those things), but that is not usually my travel style.

The next day, Dan and Jane humored me with my Cliche Tourist Hit Parade as we set out for Père Lachaise Cemetery. Yes, to see Jim Morrison’s faux grave. I know his grave was moved years ago due to excessive visitors with a penchant for vandalism, but the social anthropologist in me HAD to see this relic. We saw it and it was great (?) I suppose you could say. I wouldn’t have skipped seeing it, but the true fun came along a little later.

As luck would have it, we came upon delightful French graveyard ghost who was more than willing to show everyone around. I knew that he was working for tips as he ushered people off to Oscar Wilde’s resting place. But I couldn’t resist following him around as he shouted at me with the exuberance of all the ghosts of that beautiful graveyard.

We attempted to see Notre Dame but it was an absolute mob scene as it was the day before Easter. There was mass being held in the courtyard and a line to get into the church about a million miles long.

No matter, we still stopped into Shakespeare’s books, ate some crepes, saw all the judges on strike during their lunch hour and wandered through the flower market before heading back to explore Montmartre.

We had coffee at the cafe that Amélie worked at and Dan and I got the stink eye for sampling too many free chocolates in the chocolate shop. I mean, we purchased a substantial amount of chocolate, didn’t that entitle us to as many samples as we pleased? Apparently not, because the shopkeeper put them away until we left the store.

We had a little quiet dinner in our perfect Parisian apartment and I got ready to leave in the morning.

Dan and Jane walked me to the metro station bright and early and I set about making my way back home to San Diego!

Mon Dieu! Finally, I have finished writing about France. At least I got it all done before a year had passed me by.