Paris Par Nuit

       After some last minute packing, Fleur, Frederi and I left early Saturday morning for Paris.

Fleur. Me. Frederi.

We had a five-hour drive ahead of us. The rain finally subsided just outside of the city of Amsterdam. As we merged onto the slick highway, we reluctantly drove towards masses of billowy, grey-blue rainclouds ahead.

Fleur drove as I sat in the front seat marveling at the exceptionally beautiful and flat Dutch landscape. Ancient windmills turned their arms lazily in the light breeze. Endless green pastures stretched on for miles. Clusters of trees with autumn leaves dotted the lowlands’ countryside. I was in awe.

    As we arrived in Paris, so did the torrential downpour. By the time we got there, the rain was pelting our windshield like bullets. We somehow navigated our way through both the city and dreadful weather to reach our destination: Stefan Ros’ house. Stefan is a friend whom Fleur and I met when we were traveling through Byron Bay, Australia last year. He lives with his parents and so courteously invited us to crash in his guest bedroom for our one night in Paris (no pun intended…).

Stefan

We quickly realized that Stefan’s family did not speak English, well, at all. So we were forced to communicate through wild hand gestures and facial expressions. Since the communication was limited, we were unaware of the party that was taking place that night at the Ros Residence. Pretty soon we found ourselves amidst about twenty French guests.

 Two hours and countless drinks later, Stefan’s father and his two band mates decided to give a concert and therefore we found another way to connect—through music. They started off with their rendition of Hotel California and then moved onto various Beatles covers and then finished with a classic French song to which everyone knew the words except for us. It’s so fascinating to me how music can really unify people. Even if you don’t understand what the lyrics mean you can still appreciate a song.

Night rolled around. Dinner was served—a typical French multi-course meal with lots of smelly, yet delicious cheese as well as butter and potatoes. We were pleasantly full when out came dessert: an apple tart, pie and rice pudding. Of course I had to try everything… Suddenly I felt excessively stuffed.  

Stefan had planned to take us on a tour: 'Paris par nuit', he called it. We all climbed into the car with no expectations. We were in for a ride. The roads were wet and glossy making the bright, lively city lights even livelier as they glowed and danced in their own reflections on the boulevard. We sped dangerously through the streets of Paris taking turns at a ludicrously fast pace, narrowly avoiding obstacles. I had to keep reminding myself that Stefan was a local and that he drives in such a way almost every day. Regardless, it felt like we were encountering a near death experience at least every two minutes.

We raced towards the Champs Elysees, circled it two times and headed on to our next destination: the Eiffel Tower. It glowed pale yellow against the black sky. It was taller than I’d expected. We zoomed on past the Louvre, Notre Dame, many opera houses, palaces, and fountains. The decadent, gothic architecture was like nothing I had ever seen before—you could feel the history that is built into the walls of each structure. I felt like I was on a historical roller coaster ride through a land that lived in my imagination. I had read about all of these landmarks, but never did I actually think I would see them. I felt so humbled by their story and their size.  





It made me feel small.