Honeymoon Diaries: Paris, France (Part 1)

“As we sit in a train station in Colmar, I am endlessly thankful. We are only halfway through our honeymoon journey, and I feel as if I’ve experienced more in the past seven days than I have in a long time.

My appreciation for people has grown in a way I did not foresee. Human virtues such as kindness and patience mean even more as someone who does not speak the languages of the countries we travel through. The locals have accepted and loved us and have unknowingly encouraged me to actively foster the goodness in myself. Similar to how fertilizer nourishes plants, France has inspired me.

I intend to keep this journal for reflection and appreciation of our first meaningful visit to Europe. If I fail, it only means I am too enamored with my surroundings that the distraction of words on a page would fail my ability to savor the moments as they hang in the air.” – Journal entry excerpt from September 20th, 2024

Introduction

Fortunately, I did fail to keep the journal. Writing and meditation are more feasible while sitting in a train station midst the comfortable silence of your partner than in a bumping van filled to the brim with friends, luggage, and an endless supply of European drinking songs. Both magical situations in their own rights, but they demand different ways to experience them. Just as I would not want a baby screaming during my journaling time, I would not want journaling to distract me from the screaming gaiety of the people I love most while they are all in one space for a limited time.

Instead, I will use the Looking West platform to document our experiences in the most comprehensive manner I can manage. While I will provide basic itineraries, transportation logistics, and high-level reviews of food and drink, this series of travel blogs will chiefly be my own personal reflection and celebration of simply being able to experience new things. If you have the opportunity to explore, take it without hesitation and with purposeful appreciation. It makes each moment that much sweeter.

Now, first stop: France!

We’ve Landed

We arrived in Paris around 9:30 AM. I was practicing elementary French sentences in my head as I ordered a car service:

“Bonjour! Ca va?”
“Nous venons des États-Unis.”
“Pardon, je suis un idiot. Je ne parle pas français.”

That last sentence was Ian’s favorite and most utilized French phrase. When I said it, I was a nervous rat wishing only not to be kicked for trying. When Ian said it, he was a charming, exotic bird merely asking for directions to the nearest watering hole knowing full well his wings will still work if met with a “non”. Alas, I ordered the car then proceeded to somehow get in the entire airport’s way as I attempted to decipher the directions to the pick-up location.

Our Uber driver was kind enough. Although, he did not hide is bafflement regarding how English speakers “do not like to speak French.” My husband and I attempted to explain in as simple English as possible that to learn a foreign language and successfully apply it is uncommon in the United States as many people do not have the opportunity to leave the country in their lifetimes. It was clear, however, that our well-intended sentiment was lost in translation and dismissed with a business-like smile–an irony not lost on us.

I grew more and more nervous as the ride continued. Would all Parisians have this same prejudice? No matter how kindly expressed? My knowledge of the French language was limited to directions, ordering at restaurants, and slow conversations about basic topics. New fears were suddenly unlocked: slang and talking at a normal pace. It was difficult not to wonder if this would come to hurt us during our trip.

Our Arrival

We arrived at our lodging accommodation about 30 minutes later, a charming Airbnb at the corner of a quiet street in the 16th arrondissement where you could see the Eiffel Tower peaking through the trees like a homing beacon. Hardly having a moment to take in the tower’s splendor, we were suddenly in the presence of our host who emerged through a large wooden door and welcomed us with an enthusiastic “Bienvenue!” Jean-Christophe wore corduroy pants, a knit sweater, chunky metal bracelets, and a genuine smile. Relief kissed my self-consciousness as Jean-Christophe grabbed all of our bags by himself–despite our objections–ensuring we immediately felt right at home.

Though our room was not yet ready, he sat us down at his kitchen table where he promised to hold our bags while we explored nearby streets but not before we had some breakfast. From what seemed out of nowhere, Jean-Christophe revealed a plate of croissants and macaroons as he kindly inquired about our plans. He recommended a local bakery called Chez Meunier. After having our fill of our first French croissants, we meandered our way to the bakery but not without first stopping at this tiny brasserie that only offered standing room at the bar. It was clearly a spot meant for locals based on the confused looks on the gruff faces of the Frenchmen smoking cigarettes and gambling in the corners of the establishment. Nevertheless, we ordered our first glass of wine in shaky French and congratulated ourselves on finally being in the City of Lights.

Day 1

To say I was nervous walking around Paris for the first time was an understatement. I had dreamed of going to Paris ever since I was in elementary school watching Mary-Kate and Ashley speed off on mopeds down Pont Alexandre III. What if it did not live up to my expectations? The idea behind the quote “never meet your heroes” made complete sense to me now. Ian, forever my guiding light, rightfully dismissed my silliness and told me to just have fun. You know, like it’s easy.

The glass of Gewürztraminer we had at the charmingly grimy brasserie did well in staving off my anxiety about the city; however, it did not give me enough confidence to really try out my French just yet. Overwhelmed by the idea of looking foolish, I stared blankly at our server in Chez Meunier when he greeted us in French after we entered the bakery. My silence caused him to heave a disappointed sigh before continuing to speak to me in English. This weighed on Ian a bit, and I made a mental note to just accept that I will make mistakes and the only way to learn is to put it in practice. Trying is better than not trying, right? As it turned out, absolutely.

From the bakery, it was a less-than-a-mile walk to the Eiffel Tower. Looking up at the iron wonder gave me butterflies. I couldn’t believe I was finally here and, to top it off, I had found the love of my life who made this trip possible. What a life we live. What a blessing to celebrate our marriage in such a luxurious way. To see the Eiffel Tower in person was a feat thought to be impossible if you had asked fifteen-year-old Tay, but here I was a twenty-eight-year-old standing in the shadows of history and sculptural elegance feeling nothing but love and luck.

After an appropriate amount of gushing, Ian and I spotted a crepe cart. Ah, the crepes! It was one of the culinary delights almost every blog I read in preparation for this trip described as a “must-try”. With the purchase of a couple Nutella treats, I now understood why. Ian was adorable as hell walking up to the cranky Parisian woman in the crepe cart (Not that I blame her for being cranky! It truly must be taxing serving every kind of tourist in the one the most popular destinations in the world.). He smiled widely and ordered in his best French accent. She practically rolled her eyes as she began preparing our crepes. We asked about her day (in French), commented on the weather (in English), and exclaimed everything was “Tres magnifique!” The last remark finally broke her, and she couldn’t help but laugh and tell us how cute we were. Conversation turned kind after we revealed that we were here for our honeymoon. She was tickled by our enthusiasm. “I added extra filling for you”, the woman said as she handed us our snack. Another wonderful welcome to Paris.

Throughout the rest of the day, we popped in and out of shops and made sure to walk continuously to keep our jet lag at bay. We had a wonderful dinner of escargot at touristy restaurant called Le Champ de Mars, and Ian bought a cigar at a nearby convenience store to punctuate the meal and roll like smoke into the shimmering evening. Did you know Paris is a city that comes alive at night? Unlike New York City, almost everything stays open, and we were encouraged by a local to grab a bottle of champagne and sit in the Champ de Mars (the park this time) and wait for the Eiffel Tower light up. Public drinking was encouraged?! This city couldn’t get any better!

Though we missed the tower’s glittering reveal that night, we planted ourselves on a nearby bench in full view of its orange glow to sip on bubbles and chat excitedly for the remainder of the evening. I held on to Ian’s cigar as he went in search of a restroom–a hilariously difficult task in Europe. While waiting, a man with a tuft of white hair asked 1) if I was American and 2) if I had a light. Confused at first, I looked down at my hand holding an ember of a cigar and answered in a happy affirmative. His look of relief disarmed me as I now knew all too well the safety one feels when you can communicate without barriers. He belonged to a group from the mid-west that included his boyfriend, his niece, and her boyfriend. They thanked me with a cup of the champagne they brought along and also rewarded my husband with a cup upon his return.

The night ended with the draining of two more bottles, the addition of a sweet Canadian couple, and friendly wishes that we all may cross paths again before we go home. We hardly finished our good-bye waves before the two of us started galloping across the Pont D’Inea as fast as we could back to our Airbnb as I was one cough away from being publicly punished by my bladder. Ian held onto me as we laughed with every step. How we ended up asleep in our bed I barely remember, but I do remember waking up to the sound of birds without any hangover at all. This place is magic.

Cheers!