Never mind the dissenters, Paris is the most consistently beautiful city I’ve ever visited. Back around the second weekend in April I managed to swing a weekend trip with three friends. Several people on the program made Paris pit stops, but not all of the reactions were glowing. I’ve heard complaints that Paris seems blandly indistinguishable from any other European city and the people are universally snobbish. These generalizations are downright untrue. Throughout the entire weekend I never once found myself questioning where I was, unlike other European cities (ahem, Hamburg), I was in Paris. All of the architecture is immaculate: a palette of creamy neutrals decorated in an ornate—but tasteful, this is Paris-- fashion. Paris looks like a giant wedding cake, elaborate and romantic. The concept of living in Paris seems like a whimsical daydream, because I’m honestly not sure if I could take it; I think I’d hit an aesthetic overload it’s so pretty. Despite its beauty, Paris does in fact have some relatively unfriendly people, and we had two particularly nasty Parisian encounters. But for every Parisian who lives up to the stereotype, there’s another who breaks it. Besides, mean people live everywhere, not just Paris. Plus, in a city like this, maybe they have a right to be a little snotty, because Parisians really know how to live.
Our trip to Paris fortuitously coincided with Adrienne’s twenty-first birthday. Back in the States a twenty-first is a raucous rite of passage that’s usually a bit more associated to keg stands and massive hangovers than refined culture and class. However, there’s an added anticlimactic difficulty of celebrating a twenty-first birthday in a country with a lower legal drinking age. Yet, regardless of disparities in drinking laws, ASE students have celebrated a number of twenty-first birthdays in the customary blow out American-style. According to one British student, eighteenth birthdays aren’t observed in the same fashion as American bacchanals. This is not to say, however, that the British don’t drink that much. To the contrary, British people appear to drink rather copiously. Pub crawls and pub golf are frequent practices, and it’s hardly unusual to see people drinking at pubs in the middle of the day. Now that the weather’s gotten milder, the pub down the street from my house regularly hosts a slew of young men who hang outside and drink away a good portion of the afternoon. England allows open containers in public, which further encourages the social aspect of drinking. Recently, I went out to dinner with several British students. We arrived at a pub for drinks before dinner, had a couple bottles of wine at dinner, and then followed that with an after-dinner trip to another pub and finished with some clubbing. Don’t be fooled by that stodgy stereotype, the British might start younger, but they doesn’t necessarily mean they drink any more maturely than Americans. They’re just less tense about it here.
But, anyway, back to Paris.
Adrienne specifically insisted that she wasn’t interested in getting completely hammered on her birthday. Instead, she wanted to enjoy Paris and soak up its sophisticated atmosphere. Not a typical hallmark of the American twenty-first. But a weekend in Paris with temperatures in the high 60s and plenty of sunshine hardly is the usual twenty-first birthday locale. In an attempt to cut costs we spent an uncomfortable night at London Luton airport rather than booking a hostel since our flight departed at six a.m. anyway. We arrived the day before Adrienne’s birthday and ignored our throbbing exhaustion in favor of exploring the Latin quarter, where we accidentally discovered a street market overflowing with sweets, fresh and dried fruit, homemade honey and jams, a dazzling rainbow of scented soaps, jewelry, clothing, you name it. Eventually we worked our way over to Notre Dame where we sat in awe of the jeweled stained-glass splendor and towering size for a good hour mostly because we were stunned, but also kind of sleepy. After that, we cut through the pristinely manicured Jardin du Luxembourg; envying stylish Parisians casually slouched in lawn chairs and savoring ice cream cones (I have to say that Banana and Rum-Raisin is an exceptional combination) before collapsing for a good twelve-hour night’s sleep.
We started the next day off right with pastries and coffee from a nearby patisserie. My lemon tart was sublimely delicious and so was the help. In fact, the counter boy was so extraordinarily attractive that we returned the next morning to flirt with, excuse me, I mean see, him again. Sadly, he was not there, but the pastries did not disappoint*. Then we trekked over to the Eiffel Tower, and being the cheapskate students that we are, opted to walk to the second platform rather pay double the price for the elevator. I’ll admit it, hiking up the Eiffel tower was quite dizzying, still climbing up the thousands of stairs imparts this incredible cocooning sensation of scaling the tower that an easy elevator ride lacks. Plus, all along the way we paused and took note of our growing distance. Unfortunately, the very top of the tower was temporarily closed for repairs, but the views from the second platform were astounding—you can actually see the whole city from each angle. Once safely back on solid ground we recharged with some Nutella, banana and whipped cream crepes and sat by the Seine as boats ambled through the water, couples kissed affectionately and tourists snapped endless photos. All of Paris looks and feels like a post card.
Keeping with that picture perfect image, we headed to the Champs-Élysées, where the theatrically styled shop windows mimic the glossy pages of Vogue. My wallet wept woefully as I gawked at inexplicably high priced clothing. Really the worst part about Paris is the painful expensiveness. Everything is wonderful, and it costs an according fortune. Luckily, we stumbled upon Ladurée, which I could kind of (just barely) afford. Laudrée is universally renowned for its immaculately styled desserts. Their pastries resemble the mad fairy tale fantasies of wannabe princesses, and their pristine perfection makes them almost too pretty to eat. Almost. Recently they catered all the desserts for Sofia Coppola’s visually sumptuous Marie Antoinette, whose centerpiece was a jaw-dropping montage of shopping and sweets set to Bow Wow Wow’s "I Want Candy". If you haven’t seen that segment, you should, it’s an aesthetic revelation, mostly thanks to Ladurée. But Ladurée is perhaps best known for their macarons. They look simple, but they feature a variety of flashy flavors. Adrienne, for instance, selected rose petal while I opted for blackcurrant-violet. The macarons are worth every euro and they balance a delightful airy crunch with intensely flavored filling.
After a birthday macaron feast, we eventually reached the Arc de Triomphe. Colossal in scale, the Arc towers on its roundabout island as traffic perilously whips around at breakneck speeds. Consequently, to access the Arc you have to walk through an underground passageway. Also, curiously enough, sightseers can walk on top of the Arc. Daunted by the chaotically long line, we took a few photos and decided to head back and take a nap before dinner instead. In honor of Adrienne’s birthday we ate outside of a French café. I ordered the most elaborate salad I’ve ever seen—skewers of marinated chicken propped up in baked tortilla shell filled with lusciously tender greens, green beans, tomatoes, carrots and lightly doused with a vinaigrette & an unidentifiable fuchsia garnish-- while the birthday girl enjoyed salmon and a single glass of white wine. At that moment we hadn’t yet noticed the severe farmer’s tans developing from two days of merciless sun exposure. Living in England makes you forget about those things… With our final day reserved for the Louvre, we went on a nighttime stroll past the Eiffel Tower for an elegant conclusion to a sophisticated birthday, and smiled in surprise as the tower glittered wildly on the hour, dazzling the whole city and searing an ideal image into our memories. You stay classy, Paris.
*Whoever invented the Religieuse is a freaking genius. Essentially, it’s a double-stacked cream puff normally filled with either coffee or chocolate flavored cream.
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