Paris, je t'aime, mais au revoir

There are many ways to experience Paris, but I'm guessing there's only one way to "do it right," and since it's the Most Romantic City In The Entire World, you can probably guess what that is. But since Cristina had missed two weeks of school (due to that whole Pneumonia episode) and couldn't possibly accompany me, I was forced to feel her absence in every dimly-lit, cobble-stone ally and rain-soaked garden that we came across. And we came across a *lot* of those. Not to mention that every one of those postcard-worthy scenes were predictably full of rosy-cheeked young couples nestling together like birds on a wire against the insanely frigid cold of the city. Speaking of which, Magalee had warned me of Paris' bone-chilling nature in the winter time, but still, underneath four sweaters and a cozy leather jacket, I was taken by surprise. It only reminded me further of the warm comfort I missed so deeply back in Barcelona in the form of my suffering Cristina, and made me look forward even more to the trip to Berlin we're planning together to make up for the lost opportunity for romance.



But as I joked to her when I got back, I certainly have enough photos to show Cristina more or less exactly what I did the entire weekend. As is a common occurrence with the crew of fellow-Americans I was traveling with, we saw a handful of rather touristy sights and documented them meticulously with photos. The group included Alex (or Blond Alex as I've come to call him; too many Alex's in my life) Ashley (who was in Mexico with me), her roommate and BFF Sophie, and Suzie - who I previously referred to as Out-Of-Control-Asian-Girl (embarrassingly enough, it turns out she's Mexican...). In short, this means I have a bazillion pictures of the Notre Damn and Arc de Triomphe but couldn't really tell you what Parisian people are like. But despite our complete seclusion from any non-touristy section of the city (which are certainly lovely, but also criminally-expensive), my travel-mates became completely enamored with the city and promptly revealed to me their rather childish bitterness towards Barcelona in contrast. Thus, my appreciation of Paris was almost ruined because every feather in its cap immediately became, for them, a black eye on our city of residence.



It wouldn't have bothered me so much if their complaints about Barcelona had actually had merit, but trying to compare two cities after having only spent a weekend in the most tourist-friendly spots of one of them doesn't really hold water in my book. Paris is a city well-known for its frigid, unfriendly citizens, and aside from the waiters and shop attendants (you know, the people who have a financial interest in being nice) we only met one: a drunk guy who talked to us for a while outside of a bar. Apparently this has never happened to the girls in Barcelona, which makes me wonder if they've ever ventured outside their rooms at any hour of the day there, or anywhere else, because it's certainly an experience unique to one (admittedly beautiful) French city. Their complaining reminded me of how petty and immature they can be sometimes, but it also made me realize how quickly I've come to develop a home-town pride in the city I've only lived in for about two-and-a-half months. Anyone who knows me and my virile distrust of any kind of regional or national pride should recognize this sense of belong as significant. Barcelona may not be as large, clean, fashionable, or bourgeoi as Paris, but it has a soul, I tell you, and hearing someone tear it down lit a protective spark in me that I didn't know was there. It may sound crazy, but I now know that Barcelona is my home, and after a weekend of rain, French, and over-priced... everything, I was more than ready to go back.