Last week I went to Paris for four days. It was amazing. The streets were crowded with bicycles and smart cars and Vespas and busy people. The French language sounded beautiful, and I felt stupid for not knowing it. Everyone was well-dressed, no matter who they were or where they were going, and I felt slummy in my ripped black-velvet cloak that I usually think is awesome. The school children riding their scooters around looked like the kids at home do when they go out to a fancy restaurant.
We went to two different modern art museums. They were fantastic, and my dad got to see his favorite color, Yves Klein blue, in person. We went to the Louvre and saw the Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo and hundreds of other paintings and sculptures. The building was huge, and the high ceilings were painted with amazingly intricate images. It made me think that even though the MAM was cool and the art there required genius and time, very few people in the world possess the skill to make a huge, detailed statue of a person out of a giant rock.
Paris felt really close and homey, which is weird for a big city. The street signs were on the buildings instead of on posts. The Metro was old-fashioned and came shooting out of a giant tiled tube of darkness. It wasn’t as sleek or as packed with people as the Hong Kong MTR that I’m used to, but I definitely liked the Parisian one more. And there was a guy playing an accordion. Accordions have a beautiful, full sound and it made the train seem warmer.
I ate so much good food. SO. MUCH. And I ate french fries! In France!
On the plane ride home, I was thinking about how badly I wanted to stay, and how I hoped I could come back some day, when I saw a rainbow from above in a perfect circle—the end to an amazing trip. ♦