Paris, you stole my heart...and all my money.

Sacre Coeur: Home is where the heart is

Our final day in Paris was incredibly special. Having seen the majority of what was originally on our list of "must-sees," Morgan and I were looking forward to picking up some friends studying abroad in London from the train station.After realizing that the train station was too far of a walk, Morgan and I decided to give public transportation a shot. Luck was on our side, we happened to catch the bus straight to Gare du Nord. The long-awaited arrival of  Lissy, Taryn, Rachel, and Carol was like a scene out of your favorite romantic comedy. They had given me the wrong arrival time, so they had been waiting for an hour at the train station by the time Morgan and I got there. Ironically, Morgan and I arrived to the train station an hour early...and decided to have a cafe au lait across the street. Once inside, we were searching all throughout the train station for four obvious tourists. Then I saw the most luscious ombre locks I had ever seen, and knew I was looking at Rachel. Sure enough, the rest of the girls were behind her. Running into my arms, I picked Rachel up and twirled in the middle of the train station (locking eye contact the whole time). Ok, that didn't happen, but I was incredibly excited to see some familiar faces. Morgan and I had created a tentative itinerary for their short day in Paris. Since we were already in the Eastern neighborhood, we figured a trip to Sacre Coeur and the Moulin Rouge were in order. After the a steep hike up Mont Martyrs, the view from the Sacre Coeur was well earned. You could see all of Paris East of the Seine. The beautiful buildings, cobblestone streets...couldn't help but imagine what Mont Martyr was like in the 19th century. Gypsies, prostitutes, and cigarette-clad artists and writers. However, what were once brothels now stand as kiosks selling I <3 Paris apparel. Walking back down, we ventured on our highly-anticipated visit to the Moulin Rouge. Think less tassels, and more sex shops. With a porno store at every corner, Pigalle was definitely my neighborhood. Nicole Kidman was not in sight, but a baguette was (equally attractive). After a quick dejuner, we decided to head back to the train station to see if we could catch the bus to the Tour Eiffel. 

Paris: The city of....mustard gas?

On our way back to Gare du Nord, we noticed screaming, yelling, and protesting in the distance. As we got closer, we realized that a well organized riot/protest (called Manifestation) was occurring in the heart of the neighborhood all the way to the end of the Rue Lafayette, blocking the train station. Our poor visitors from London (as well as ourselves) were scared shitless to say the least. It was surreal, roughly 15,000 people were marching and protesting the murder of three Kurdish women that occurred previously in the week. Little did we know, all public transportation above the metro was shut down for the day. After running into a lady cop (my favorite), she informed me that the only way to get around would be through the metro. Those of you who know me are familiar with my irrational fear of all things dirty. Hesitant at first, we were really left with no other choice. So the six of us and my lacking French headed towards the railway catacombs of Paris. To our surprise, the metro was much easier to use than we had imagined, and ended up using it the rest of the night. Making sure the girls had their purses well secured and had calmed down since the riots, I couldn't help but feel a bit paternal...kind of weird..but almost like the head of a pack of...wolves? Maybe?

Anyways, after a morning full of adventure (well, not really adventure...more so us running away from the adventure) we had finally arrived to the Eiffel Tower. 

60 Euros. 

You could buy a dinner for 5 in the US, or 4 cappuccinos off the Champs-Elysses.

After a stroll down the Champs-Elysses, and the terrifying morning we had experienced...we were ready to take a piss. However, Paris is unique in that to take a leak you have to dish out at least 2 euros...and let's be real, ain't nobody got money for that. So we held it in. And held it in. And held it in...until I thought Taryn was going to pass out on the Champs-Elysses from some sort of urine poising. So we decided we would stop for coffee and hopefully use the restroom. Well, safe to say that was the most expensive (and relieving) piss I've ever taken. After a few cappuccinos and an argument with the waiter, it was time to head back to the train station. 

Paris, I just don't know what to say about you anymore.

Dropping the girls back off at the train station was more emotional than expected. It was such a tease being with friends from home. The more you can share this beautiful city with, the more enjoyable it is. At the end of the day, what's the city of romance for a lonely boy? On our way back to the hotel, Morgan and I decided to spend the rest of our euros on a bottle of wine and a slice...yes, one slice..of cheese (well worth it). The wine really helped take the edge off regarding tomorrow. This is it. Tomorrow I meet my host family, find my new home for the next semester, and start a life where no one knows who I am. It's kind of all I've ever wanted...you know, move somewhere far away, start a new life where no one knows your name (what do you think of Tony? I feel like I look like a Tony?). It's funny though, because once you finally get the opportunity to run away from everything that's ever bothered you, everything you've wanted to escape...all you can think about is the good you leave behind. The roller coaster of emotions I've been riding this past week keeps going through loops and turns of excitement, sadness, happiness, and nervousness; but, the one feeling that has been consistent is that of liberation. It's almost impossible not feel invincible with Paris as your playground. So glasses raised to a hopefully enjoyable and exciting journey, where before I make a new life, I can realize all the good within the one I already have...and who knows maybe find out who I am along the way. I've seen my fare share days of reincarnation, from Allen the skater boy (wannabe, really) to Allen the whale (high school was rough), all the way up to right now...who that is I don't know.

But for now, you can just refer to me as Allen Abroad.

xoxo, always.