The terrible thought occurs to you: you don’t belong here. And on some level, you deeply realize this. But then, you remember. Paris.
I wander down a street where a gypsy woman in black sings a cante jondo, tremulous and pulsating, from a terraza draped in laundry three flights up.
When you travel as a family through Europe, it's almost impossible to find big rooms with a separate living area. Many times what they offer are "quadruple rooms," which is basically two double beds smushed together in one small room. I hate to be a whiny, priviledged American girl, but this won't fly with my family-- when you're traveling together for 18 days straight, you need your space. So, all of the rooms I booked either had connecting rooms, a separate bedroom area or, we simply rented two rooms.
If you see one city in Europe in your lifetime, let it be Paris. It's one of those places that you can continue to discover and rediscover for years. Ten days, two weeks, a month is often not enough. But, if you only have 24 hours for the City of Lights the below itinerary might be just enough to give you a decent feel for what Paris has to offer.
I read a lot of Henry Miller, got laid, dropped out of my French classes at the Alliance Francaise and existed in such a state of poverty that my friend Karen and I would steal food from her stepdad's house during the day, and then at night, we'd flirt with rich exchange students at the Violon Dingue trying to get them to buy us free drinks.
I cried this morning. No. I sobbed.
Pernille sent me an ordinary email this morning regarding D and I being picked up at the airport upon our arrival in Amsterdam. Within the email it listed the ways in which the others in our group would be coming into the city. We would be coming in from Philadelphia. C would be flying in from London. And E would be taking the train in from Germany, I believe, and didn't need any help getting to the hotel. It was this last bit that reminded me of trains.