Katie Swalm: Paris

On Saturday morning at 5:30am, our Paris adventure began with a two-hour train ride. A mere thirty-six hours passed when we visited the City of Light – not enough time to fully appreciate it, but enough time to dine on croissants, crepes, and cups of coffee. When we stepped off the train, the city spread out before us like bright wings. We picked up a map of the city and soon figured out the Metro. Paris seemed utterly familiar and utterly foreign, the language flowery and poetic but unintelligible by me. For some, it is a city of nostalgia; we traveled to visit a fountain that had appeared in one of our group’s childhood memories. The Stravinsky fountain is an abstract creation: a moving metal arm winds slowly back and forth, tossing water; a giant pair of lips slowly rotates in front of a backdrop of street art; a painted woman lounges in the deep. Nearby, a group of street performers had amassed a crowd and danced with a child who had wandered into the center. We were searching for a familiar face – my mother, who had flown to Paris to visit only the day before. We staked a lookout at one of the tables surrounding the fountain and ordered a cup of café chocolat. After wandering around through the crowd, I had given up when I heard someone cry out my name, and there she was in the crowd! Later, we walked along the river back to our hostel. The Seine meanders through Paris as a guide, showing off bridges and the famous architecture. As the sun went down the lights on the bridges illuminated the water, sending streams of light across the waves. Skateboarders and artists woke up as well, carving their way under the bridge. Light rain streamed down, not unpleasant, but cleansing. I pulled my scarf up over my head to keep out the drizzle.

We saw all the things we had to: Notre Dame, the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre. Each one of these sights rose up like a beacon of familiarity and excitement, as it was my first time to visit them. To be in the proximity of such inspirations, such monuments to human achievement and culture, was breathtaking. Couples walked along the river, highlighting with clarity the state of my singleness. But I looked around at friends and family and realized that there was nothing I was really missing.

That weekend, we didn’t sleep much, we ate purely sugar and coffee, and walked what felt like the whole city, and so Paris felt like a dream. And like any good dream, I did not want it to end. For one weekend we put away homework and lived the city. In a time of a whirling schedule of classes, plays, papers, journals, and bus rides, time to walk and eat and live together is vital and refreshing. And what better place to do so than in Paris, France?