After more than twenty-four hours of traveling from DC to Paris, I just didn’t have it in me to turn down a night on the town.
This will be my only night in Paris. She paid me back for this when I did a face plant whilst casually crossing one of her streets. I can’t remember the last time I fell on my face. My dad said he hadn’t know I was so happy to be back that I would kiss the ground.
We didn’t go too far, just up to Notre Dame, and back into the Latin Quarter for a late dinner. But it was just enough to satisfy that pull on my heartstrings. A flame thrower, a few crowd-drawing break dancers, caricature artists, and an enchanting saxophonist performed on their own stages at the foot of the looming cathedral. The combination created somewhat of an uncomfortable contrast, at least in my mind. The beauty of the cathedral was difficult to focus on with all the jesting and clapping and pocket emptying.
We moved on.
The sun set in a pink and orange swirl over the Seine river as we crossed the bridge over into the Latin Quarter. The smell of food, smoke and booze saturated the air. Disco music pounded from within the heart of one bar, while the delicate strum of a guitar could be heard from another. The hum of different languages melted together. Love-struck couples with arms around each other swayed this way and that across the street like drunken doves. Forever true to it’s name: the city of love.
For $14 euros I ate a 3-course meal with delicious paté, steak frite and a crepe. A staple Parisian dinner.
This will be my only night in Paris. It couldn’t have been more perfect.