Yeah. Good luck with that. Paris street map photo via Etsy. All other photos by Brittany Petersen.
I was more excited about Paris than any other city on my itinerary. I purposefully sprinted through London so that I could spend a full nine days in France -- the food, the language, the Eiffel Tower, it all called to me.
I bought a "Paris Step by Step" book in the London train station and read it cover-to-cover on the Eurostar to Paris. (Note: The chunnel is cool, but if you've ever ridden a train before, you probably won't be wowed. It's fast and dark.) I prepared myself by learning the difference between a cafe, a bistro, a brasserie, and a restaurant; the ins and outs of wine and coffee consumption; and where to find the best baguettes. (Answer: everywhere.) I studied the Paris street map, identified the location of my hostel in the 15th arrondissement, then looked up what "arrondissement" meant. I was prepared.
Or, you know, I thought I was.
On my first full day in Paris, I set off from my hostel forty minutes early to join a walking tour of the city. I took my map of Paris and a general idea of the direction I was heading, toward Place St. Michel, and set off heading northeast up Rue de Vaurigard. I made a right at Blvd Pasteur, a left back onto Rue de Vaurigard, a right onto Blvd Montparnasse...or was it a left? And at this six-way intersection, off which shoot five streets, which one is my street? The street signs are on the sides of buildings, so you need to walk across the street to read where you are. Half the streets only run for a block, and then are renamed. Also, whereas in Chicago the streets all run north-south or east-west, with a few rebellious slanted connectors, in Paris everything is laid out on some sort of ingenious circle. If by ingenious, you mean completely batshit insane. Apparently that's why so many people live in Paris; they wandered in, couldn't find their way out, and decided it was easier to stay put.
Needless to say, I got very, very lost.
I glanced at the clock; ten minutes until the tour started at 11am, and if my map was any indication, I was still 20 minutes away. I started running. I tiptoed by walkers, yelling "Pardonne!" over my shoulder as I ran by, a frantic blur of American. Others were wearing peacoats and thick sweaters, but I was soon down to my tank top, still running, and getting even more lost.
At 11:05, I came to another five- or six-way intersection (it's hard to tell), found a bus map, and regained my bearings. I'd been running in the completely wrong direction. I swore loudly in English, then in French (for good measure), turned around, and ran back the other way.
At 11:20, I gave up completely. I put my back coat on and glanced listlessly down each street as I passed it. At 11:30, I found the street I'd been looking for since I left Rue de Vaurigard. I trudged toward Place St. Michel, certain that if I'd missed the tour today, I was going to make damn sure I knew where to go the next day. With the help of bus maps and a few lucky guesses, I finally found it.
The fountain at Place St. Michel, a sight for sore eyes and winded lungs.
I'd wanted to start out my trip in one of the world's most beautiful cities with a walking tour, to learn the lay of the land. Obviously I needed that tour before I even left my hostel; all I'd done so far was run around Paris like a half-dressed maniac, and I still barely knew where I was. I'd been in Paris for 24 hours, and already I was grumpy.
I felt better once I found the Seine, Paris' main topographical landmark.
My day improved as I wandered around, found a cafe, and remembered from my "Step by Step" book that the French (often) drink wine with lunch. An hour later, I was satiated, rouge-lipped, and feeling a lot better. I made a dot on my map of where I'd had lunch, found the nearest really old churches, and proceeded to prance around the St. Germain neighborhood, taking pictures and regaining my awe for the city.
Inside the medieval Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Prés
Outside Église Saint-Sulpice
Inside Église Saint-Sulpice
This obelisk in Saint-Sulpice was accompanied by a sign: "Contrary to fanciful allegations in a recent best-selling novel, this is not a vestige of pagan temple." Dan Brown, you just got told.
That afternoon I took the Metro back to my hostel and quickly decided it was a vastly superior method of getting around Paris. I pushed my street map into my purse and bought a pack of ten transit tickets. If I couldn't make it in the streets, then fine, I'd go underground. I felt accomplished; I'd figured out Paris!
Alas, the Metro had its own cruel and unusual tortures in store.
To be continued...read Part II here
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