me,” with a copy and paste page of directions from the train station to his apartment. On his CouchSurfing page, he described his apartment, or as he called it, “Le Laboratoire De La Creation”, as a place where creativity knows no bounds. Julien, along with his three roommates and countless visitors, are all painters, musicians, actors, filmmakers, writers and sculptures.The flat was four stories high, strung together by an old wooden spiral staircase that creaked with every step I took. The first floor housed the art studio and miniature theater; the second floor the sculpting studio-and also my makeshift bedroom; the third floor was Julien’s bedroom and office; and on the fourth floor was the kitchen, bathroom, and other three bedrooms.
After reading their profile on CS, I was overwhelmed with excitement to stay in such an artistic environment for three days. Unfortunately, by the time I arrived Monday afternoon, something had happened t
hat caused everyone in the house to sink into a tremendous state of depression. Julien informed me that earlier in the week there had been a tragedy in his family, and for that reason he would be unable to show me around the city. Though he made it clear I was still very welcome in the house, it certainly wasn’t the experience I had hoped for. I almost never saw or spoke to anyone in the house in the time that I stayed there, except for a few painters here and there I met in passing. Nevertheless, I completely understood his absence under the circumstances, and was still very grateful to have a roof over my head. I mean how could I possibly complain? I was only a few blocks away from the Louvre!My first full day in Paris I tackled alone. When you only have two full days to spend in Paris, it can be hard to decide what to make time for. But one thing I knew for sure, my first destination would be the Eiffel Tower. After a short walk from the apartment to the Seine River, I could see the Eiffel Tower standing tall and mysterious in the distance. The longer I walked towards the tower, the further it seemed to be away. It took me about an hour to finally reach the park it sat in. But when I did, I was completely awe struck. It was so much bigger up close than I
imagined it to be, and certainly more impressive. As I stood under the massive structure, peering up through its iron center, I began to tear up thinking about how far I had made it, and all the wonderful things I’ve been able to see because of my hard work. It seemed at that moment that everything was beginning to come full circle, and I was truly proud of myself for making it all happen.Soon after, I sat down in the soft grass beneath a small tree near the Eiffel Tower to write in my notebook and read my travel book. After a few nice minutes to myself, I was interrupted by a dark-haired and long-faced man. He introduced himself nervously, and told me that he and his girlfriend were practicing foot massages in the park to prepare for a test they need to pass to get into massage school. He then told me that he “needed” to massage my feet for three minutes, because he has to get eight people in the park to do it before he would be prepared for the exam. I responded by telling him that I don’t let strangers massage my feet, but he didn’t seem to get the idea. He continued to plead with me about the ridiculous massage until I finally said very calmly, “Sir, if you don’t get away from me, I’m going to scream.” He then proceeded to give me a terrified look as he walked off to find another tourist to harass.
After such a strange encounter, I decided to grab a coffee at a nearby café to avoid other strange men approaching me with any more absurd requests. So I said farewell to the Eiffel Tower and walked down Champs-Élysées, the back bone street of Paris, to find a good place to relax. Champs-Élysées is an extremely busy street with plenty to see, always bustling with tourists searching for souvenirs and gifts for their friends back home. By the time I reached the end, I’d forgotten all about the coffee I wanted, and continued on towards the Louvre , snapping photos everywhere I looked.
Once I had reached the Louvre I was losing energy fast, and since it was beginning to drizzle, I decided to call it a day and walk back towards the apartment.
The next day I made plans to meet up with a fellow CouchSurfer named Val to go see Jim Morrison’s grave at Pere LaChaise, one of the most famous cemetaries in the world. Being the resting place of such talents as Oscar Wilde, Frédéric Chopin, Isadora Duncan and of course Jim Morrison, Pere LaChaise is one of the most frequently visited graveyards in the world. I met Val at a nearby metro s
tation, and we walked down the Parisian streets toward the cemetery, getting to know eachother as we went. Val was such an interesting woman. She was so easy to talk to, being such a free-spirited intelligent person, and we clicked right away. We explored Pere Lachaise together, going to both Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde’s grave, stopping at every crumbling and ancient-looking grave that caught our wandering curious eyes.Eventually, the mysterious dead energy of Pere LaChaise was too much to bare, so Val and I retired to the Shakespeare And Company bookstore, where I, of course, had to purchase Hemingway’s “A Moveable Feast”. That was where Val had to leave me, so we said our goodbyes and she walked out the door of the bookstore into the quickly fading sunlight. I could see it was beginning to rain, so I left soon after.
I ended up walking for an hour to get home, stopping at Notre
Dame on the way, despite the fact that it was pouring rain. It was such a beautiful night that the rain could hardly ruin it. I walked slowly to the apartment, taking my time with every step, only stopping once when a man named Oliver pulled up next to me on a moped to introduce himself and propose marriage (I said no, of course). It was an absolute perfect ending to my time in Paris, and it left me itching for more. This is a city I know I will return to, some day.
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