Swiss Miss: Dream Weekend in Paris

Paris is, and will always be, a city that I see as "perfect." It is big, urban and exciting, yet cozy, historical, French-speaking and romantic all at the same time. The only thing about Paris that still baffles me is why an entire country chooses a huge ugly metal structure to represent itself. But I guess I can get past that.

I had been to Paris once before, when I was sixteen and on a high school trip. While I have changed a lot since sixteen, Paris has remained the same, in all its perfection, exactly as I had remembered it from four years ago. The monuments, museums, language, feeling of oldness, and city bustle hadn't changed a bit. The difference in my two trips to Paris lies exclusively in experience:

This time around, in addition to my four years of increased wisdom and wit (or so I'd like to think), I had a much better understanding of the French language. I felt pretty confident using French with waiters, store owners, our hotel concierge, etc. But the rumored Parisian negative attitude toward Americans certainly held true: in communicating with a ticket saleswoman at the Louvre, I spoke French and, upon hearing my American accent (which I am trying tirelessly to get rid of), she switched to English. Naturally I was irked that she would ignore my perfectly-functional (though maybe not so pretty-sounding) French, so I continued speaking to her in French, while she continued speaking to me in English. The conversation went on like this, completely functional, and completely annoying.

Besides my improvement in French skills from four years ago, my perspective, understanding, and perception of history has expanded significantly. After about 2.5 hours of wandering around the Louve in total bliss, I sat down on a bench in the Italian Medieval wing and composed a note on my iPhone, expressing the "Condensed History of the World as Inspired by Art and Living in Europe and Put into Quick and Witty Phrases" by Eloise. (When I get famous for cynical and humorous historiography, you'll know where it all started. Unless I of course decided to pursue a career path that might actually have some remote hint of relevance.)

And, as much as I resent my concession of softness, this time in Paris was even a little bit romantic (shout out to Zach). Sharing a bottle of wine under the lit-up Eiffel Tower with a nice guy you met in London really isn't the worst thing in the world.

Here are the photographic highlights: