Touche, Paris

My initial thoughts of seeing all of Paris in three days were extremely confident. However, now I realize I must have been delirious. The city is a whirlwind of cultural chaos. Every building deserves praise; however, it seems to be cast in the shadow of whatever structure stands next to it. Not to say that the beauty of buildings and art is under appreciated but they are hardly given the notoriety and space that they each deserve. There is no better example of this than The Louvre. We spent a staggering six hours there on Saturday and I felt as though my mind was fried within the first 45 minutes. Incredible works of art blend into the ornate walls as they hang within inches of equally beautiful paintings. And once you circumnavigate a room, you crank your neck upwards to find a breathtaking mural on the ceiling trimmed with ornate, wooden molding. In a wave of anxiety, I eventually had to exit the halls of portraits and I made my way to the open courtyard, thinking some open space and a few statues would give my mind a rest. To my dismay the gargantuan, yet graceful, marble masterpieces were so cluttered that I swear I saw Hermes’ out reached hand touching that of Hercules. I found myself staring at the ground at times just in order to rest my senses.

Enough about art. The true interest I had in the trip was to see the people. America is given such negative portrayals of the French that I just had to see for myself if they were true. I brushed up on my Ricky Bobby quotes and anticipated a couple Peppe Le Pew references in order to keep my patriotism alive. But to my surprise, I was not confronted by the hatred that I had expected. Perhaps I blended into the crowd better in Paris, but I most definitely receive more glares here in Barcelona than I did during my time in France. The only anti-American remark I received was from a young, drunk man stumbling to the metro. And to be honest, that would have most likely happened to a Frenchman in the States. I have extended family in Paris who I visited on Sunday. They were incredibly nice and welcoming to someone whom they had never met and it gave me a chance to compare ideas with locals who would respect my thoughts. I brought up the idea that perhaps the French and Americans are so similar, in respect to national pride, that it makes it impossible for us to get along. It is the same mentality that can be attributed to the fans of two rival sports franchises. However, they pointed out to me that the biggest problem the French have with America are not the everyday people, but rather, the way our government was run. The conversation ended there in order to avoid going into a less than desirable lunch conversation.

Midnight beneath the Eiffel Tower, drinks in the Latin Quarter, and strong drinks at Jazz joints made the trip a fantastic experience. But I don’t think I can label it a complete success. My biggest regrets from the trip were pretty glaring. Firstly, I traveled with two girls. I can’t help but sound sexist saying that was a little rough. I could have used a bro, to say the least. Not that I didn’t enjoy their company, but frequent bathroom breaks and contradicting plans created a slight tension in the trio. Secondly, I needed someone who speaks French. I have never been somewhere where I haven’t known the language and I found it to be incredibly frustrating. Of course, I made an attempt with simple words and phrases and I could tell that the French appreciated the effort.