Alone in the City of Love
When most people think of Paris, they think of the Eiffel Tower rising up and above the city, of its narrowed cobblestone streets bustling with Parisians frequenting their local cafés, and of course, the familiar image of two lovers comes to mind — a pair walking hand in hand along the banks of the Seine, so enamored with one another that they could care less that it’s raining that evening, and instead choose to bask in the yellowed glow of the softly lit street lamps, and in each other’s gaze.
At least that’s what I had imagined the day that I decided to save my dwindling relationship at the time, my best bet was to buy two plane tickets directly to the City of Love. Unfortunately, I soon found out that it’s incredibly difficult to love someone else if you struggle to love yourself most days, like I did.
On the date of departure, I found myself boarding the plane alone, and as I stashed my backpack in the overhead bin and sat down nearest the window, I looked at the empty seat to my right.
For a brief moment, I couldn’t help but wonder how different things could’ve been.
* * *
After the breakup, the last thing I wanted to do was fly to Paris alone — and I had no intention to. Instead, I decided I would try to get a refund for the tickets, especially since I needed the money as a full-time college student with a very part-time job.
But when I finally got a hold of the airline and explained my situation to a woman over the phone, she told me they only issued refunds under certain “extenuating circumstances.” Apparently, this didn’t include impulse-buying two tickets to Paris for you and your partner without knowing whether or not your relationship would last until takeoff. Go figure.
At this point, I knew I had one of two options, and truthfully neither seemed the least bit appealing: I could either lose the money I spent on the tickets and try to forget the whole thing, or I could swallow the embarrassment I felt for getting myself into this situation, and I could go.
But what do you tell your friends and family who ask you why you’re travelling to Paris all by yourself? That you had a roundtrip ticket there with your now-ex, couldn’t get a refund, and decided to go because you have nothing better to do?
Yeah, that probably wouldn’t look too good.
And then a thought came to me: What if I turned the trip into something else entirely? What if I planned out one of those “I’m-going-to-backpack-my-way-across-Europe” adventures that you hear all about, and hostel-hopped from country to country?
I may have forgotten to mention that the trip was originally planned for three weeks. Sound excessive? That’s because it was. But at the time, I thought it was one of my most brilliant ideas to date. After researching tickets to Paris, I found that you could get twice the amount of time abroad for only half the price. Logically, this seemed to make a lot of sense until I realized later on that I didn’t account for daily travel expenses, like paying for a place to stay every night and finding three square meals a day. According to some quick calculations, that added up fast.
Yet regardless, in-between arriving and heading home from Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, I would have three weeks to travel wherever I liked. Paris was only the beginning.
Recognizing that I didn’t have much to lose, I finally decided I would go. And if someone asked me why I was travelling alone? Well, I would tell them the truth of course — at least part of it: I was backpacking across Europe, and they didn’t need to know that I had a bit of a nudge to get going, right?
* * *
Initial impressions never seem to hold true. That is, when I first imagined Paris, I never thought the first person I would meet would be some heavy-set American guy in a red Tabasco shirt who had the thickest Boston accent I had ever heard.
But, once again, I was proven wrong.
After landing in Paris, I grabbed my backpack off the plane and began to make my way through the airport in an attempt to find the entrance to the metro. According to the pocket-sized guidebook I was trusting my life with, I knew that if I could figure out where it was, I could take it into the center of the city and get to the hostel that I would be staying at for the next few days.
As I walked through the airport, I couldn’t help but notice that everything felt more…sophisticated than it did back home. It seemed like everyone I passed was dressed in some kind of sharp business casual attire, and around every corner I turned, there was another bakery meticulously displaying dozens of brightly colored macaroons and other finely decorated French pastries, as well as boutiques that appeared to specialize in selling only high-end handbags.
And then there was me: a young guy with too short of a haircut in a striped tee, khaki shorts, and Chaco sandals, with an enormous backpack slung over my shoulders.
I tried to shrug off this discomfort, though, and with a bit of luck — which mostly meant aimlessly following the stream of people around me — I was able to find the ticket kiosks for the metro and buy myself a pass. Sticking with the crowds, I walked down a few flights of stairs and entered into a white-walled underground tunnel where others were already waiting for the next subway to come along.
As I looked around to find a place to stand, I noticed a few businessmen huddled together in crisply-pressed suits to my left, and to my right, I couldn’t help but to notice a young couple tucked away in a corner, taking turns whispering into one another’s ears in-between quick exchanges of kisses. Suddenly, my heart felt like it was beginning to cave in on itself, and I couldn’t stop thinking about why I was really here.
A solo-backpacking trip across Europe?
Give me a break.
You can’t even get yourself to believe that lie.
You shouldn’t even be here in the first place — why did you even come?
Oh, because you were a stupid enough to believe that you could fix your relationship with two plane tickets to Paris, it didn’t work out, and now you’re here all alone?
Well aren’t you just a walking cliché.
I had never felt more out of place than I did at that moment. But before I could trail back off into my thoughts, someone patted me hard on the shoulder and greeted me with a heavy Boston accent.
“Hey, howya doin’ kid?”
Turning around to see who it was, I was met by a hefty middle-aged man in a red Tabasco shirt, blue jeans, and a weathered West Virginia U hat, with his thumbs tucked under the straps of his backpack, and a huge grin spread across his face.
“Saw ya standing alone and thought I’d come over,” he continued, “First time in Paris? My name’s Kerry. By the looks of it, I’m guessing you’re from the States too?”
“Yeah, this is my first time in Paris,” I responded a bit hesitantly, wondering who this guy was. “How’d you know I was from the States?”
“Ahh, you’re gunna love it here — this city’s a beaut! It was those sandals, by the way, they’re a dead giveaway,” he chuckled. “That and the huge backpack you got there. You here on some kind of a big trip?”
“I’m backpacking across Europe,” I told him. I hoped I sounded more certain in myself than I felt.
“That sounds like one heckuva trip, kid! Me, I’ve been to Europe more times than I can count. I flew here from Boston as quick as I could after France beat Belgium in the semi-finals of the World Cup yesterday. Just think — we could be here when France wins it all! You follow soccer?”
“Yeah, a little bit,” I told him. The truth was, I barely followed any sports back home, but this guy seemed so excited about France playing in the World Cup that I didn’t want to let him down. And even though I was a little taken aback by him at first, I had to admit, it was kind of nice to have a friendly face among all these strangers.
Just then, I heard the rhythmic echo of the subway bumping along its tracks as it quickly appeared from out of the dark tunnel and began to slow to a stop in front of us.
“Ahh, looks like that’s us. You know where you’re getting off? The metro can be a little hard to figure out your first time around.”
“I think I’ve got a map here somewhere,” I said, pulling out the embarrassingly small guidebook from my pocket. “But, honestly, I have no idea where to get off. I was just going to wing it and try to figure out how to get to the center of the city. That’s where my hostel is.”
“No problem, kid. I’ll show you where St. Michel is, that’s where I’m getting off too. It’s right next to Notre Dame — pretty spot, really. Gotta bunch of French cafés and book carts right along the river.”
“That’d be great actually,” I said, feeling a sense of relief wash over me.
The doors to the subway car beeped a few times and then slid open, letting off a hurried group of passengers. I took one more look around, noticing that the couple had long disappeared from their corner, and I followed Kerry onboard.
“I heard there’s gunna be a few places live-streaming the England-Croatia game tonight. Winner plays France in the Cup. You should come, you won’t wanna miss it!” he carried on.
As the doors began to beep again and closed shut, I grabbed onto the hanging straps above me to steady myself, and I couldn’t help but smile a little as I realized that I had no idea what lay ahead of me.
But I did know one thing: Paris was only the beginning.
