Paris at 15

   
Back when I had braces and didn't know any French, I visited Paris for the first time. This was the moment when Paris started playing a huge role in my life. It was the summer of 2006- the summer after junior high- and it was the first time anyone in my family had been to Europe.

     We divided up two weeks into four country visits:
     1. Starting in Germany, we visited my grandfather's family (He was one hundred percent German and his parents immigrated to Minnesota) just outside of Hamburg in a little town of a few hundred people, Groß-Buchwald, and met a whole lot of relatives that look like my dad. Heino, my fourth cousin, would be his doppelgänger if not for being even taller than my dad, at 6'8". The large brick farmhouse where my great-grandfather, Ernst, grew up in the late 1800s is still on the main stretch of town with our last name engraved on the front façade.
     2. Two G-rated days in Amsterdam spent soaking up the historical scene of the city at the Rijksmuseum, Van Gogh Museum and the Anne Frank House.
     3. Paris.
     4. Ending our trip in London, we were exhausted and tackled the city on foot instead of the Tube and just saw what we could. The notoriously cloudy and drizzling weather only served to emphasize that melancholy feeling you get when you know you're heading home from a great travel experience.

Now about Paris.
   
     I came to Paris with the typical ideas that well-meaning but badly-informed Americans bring: Everyone wears striped shirts with red berets (I've never seen it). No one showers or shaves (Not true). Everyone is rude and arrogant (Some people are). The Eiffel Tower can be seen from everywhere (Usually not). Accordion music is always playing (In the trains and stations, it's pretty common). Instead of affirming my preconceived notions, Paris mostly just made my jaw drop and in the best way possible.

     Paris and other parts of Europe were in the midst of an unusual heat wave. Staying in a quaint apartment in a quiet area on the rue du Temple in the Marais, it was a moment to really feel like Europeans outside of the hard shell that tourists hide behind in air-conditioned hotels. My mom and I stayed there again in May 2012 when she came to visit during another unusually hot few days and I really realized, by Parisian standards, the place was huge. And beautiful. (It has since been sold.)

     We mastered the métro and RER, even though we probably blocked quite a few black-suited Parisians' paths, scoffing at us tourists. I ate my first-ever croissant from a vendor in the Gare du Nord and it was buttery, flaky magic. I saw the Eiffel Tower for the first time ever from the top of the Arc de Triomphe. We ate fruit and pastries from street vendors. We didn't wear any white tennis shoes. My sister, who was our only French speaker at the time with a few high school classes under her belt, did some impressive communicating (And gesturing). We were golden. I am proud.

Rachel

Under the Arc de Triomphe

Classic Montmartre tourist moment at La Mère Catherine in the Place du Tertre

Musée du Louvre

My, how I've changed from a freshman in high school! (Thank goodness)

This was a completely candid shot of my sister, Emily, in front of Notre-Dame

I had my eyes on Montmartre from the top of the Arc de Triomphe (This was also my first-ever sight of the Eiffel Tower)

Avenue des Champs-Elysées

I.M. Pei's pyramid at the Louvre

Smile, Dad! You're in Paris!

Those damn Montmartre stairs. Older and wiser, I know to take the funiculaire now.

Liberté, Égalité, Difficulté

   

     My dad seems to believe that I think everything about France is perfect or superior to America. Every time we get into a conversation about cultural differences between the two countries, I seemingly show preference towards France. France is better at making bread. French waiters don't try to hustle you out the door to make room for new customers. The French only work thirty-five hours a week and get much more paid time off per year. But one thing I can't stand about France is applying for a visa to live there.

     The process of acquiring a visa started back in mid-May with my CampusFrance application, as you're supposed to start at least three months before arrival in France. CampusFrance, without a doubt, is the most complicated, nonsensical, stress-inducing, backwards process I have ever experienced--because if you don't do it correctly (a difficult feat), you don't get to live in France. And I've now gone through it twice, miraculously. According to their website, CampusFrance is "the French national agency for the promotion of higher education, international student services, and international mobility" (Not sure what that means? Me neither.) and all students coming into France to study need to register with them to basically explain why you are going. First, I needed to navigate the poorly organized website to create an account and choose the application that best fit my situation. The English online application is worded in such a way that I'm pretty sure whoever designed it used a translation website, because when it's not busy being just plain confusing, they put various parts in French for the hell of it (Maybe it was too hard to translate properly into English?). It took all of ten seconds before I ran into problems. I watched their step-by-step video, emailed back and forth with my admissions counselor, sought advice from my parents and sent CampusFrance three or four direct messages to which I later found out they don't respond. After completing the application as best as I could, I sent in my supporting documents along with my money order of $100, from which point it's supposed to be three weeks until you receive your approval message that needs to be printed and brought to the visa appointment at the Consulate.
     I spent June trying to contact CampusFrance because I hadn't received my message and it had been well over three weeks. Did I mention they don't answer their messages and also have no contact phone number listed? After some crafty Googling, I found a phone number and it turned into a couple of weeks of trying to reach the French Consulates (I called every one in the country) and CampusFrance during their extremely restricted hours. It turns out I was missing documents I never knew were needed and I was eventually approved the first week of July after speaking on the phone with an actual human being.
     On July 8th, I hastily made the trip to my regional French Consulate in Chicago and got in touch with my midwesterner Paris friends for a spontaneous reunion. By 'hastily,' I mean the Megabus was scheduled to leave St. Paul at midnight and I was still making copies of my visa documents and throwing clothes into a backpack at eleven. As an alternative to what is a forty-five minute flight, I rode the bus for eight hours through pitch-black Wisconsin and repeatedly thinking I could have flown past Paris in that amount of time.
     I met Haley at Union Station and we walked to our hotel near the Hancock Tower in the rain before heading to my visa appointment, again in the rain. Twenty minutes later, I came out of the visa building and we were ready to boire. It's kind of incredible that I had to go to Chicago for a ten-minute meeting on the thirtysomething floor of an office building, which is something that's only recently become required. Just a few years back, no one had to do it. And all for a little sticker that goes in my passport, which I got back in the mail five days later.

The sticker that caused all the stress. I look tired from the Megabus.

     Haley and I met Stephanie at Millennium Park's Cloud Gate, better known as "The Bean" and it felt like no time had passed since we last saw each other over a year ago. We spent our afternoon eating chocolate at Ghirardelli and catching up over beers at Pippin's Tavern on Rush Street. We later met Lauren when she came in from Valparaiso, Indiana and the four of us got some deep dish at Giordano's, and later pints at Kitty O'Shea's on South Michigan Avenue. We filled each other in on where our lives are at and, as Lauren said, it felt normal for all of us to be together like it was just another day in Paris. I felt a little bittersweet that I'm going back to our city without all the people that made it the experience that it was, but I'm also excited for everyone's post-graduate lives.

Pippin's Tavern

Ghirardelli

Meeting Lauren

Goodbye!

     Our trip being spontaneous, Haley and I had come to Chicago with one-way Megabus tickets, hoping to just figure out our plans when we needed to since neither of us work full-time like real adults. Stephanie offered to house us for the night at her house in Oak Lawn so we could go to the Taste of Chicago with her the following day, leaving us with another full day to fill before heading to her place. With mimosas as our only requirement, Haley and I found a place to grab brunch, Rosebud on Rush, which put us across the street from The Peninsula, where Justin Bieber fangirls were waiting for him to step out (He didn't). Per tradition, we followed up with my favorite Chicago must-do--drinks at the Signature Lounge on the ninety-sixth floor of the Hancock. For less than the price of admission to the observatory deck, we had fantastic drinks--the Godiva Chocolate Martini is straight-up happiness--and, in my opinion, the best view of the city. We spent the rest of Tuesday shopping on Michigan Avenue and walking and drinking around Navy Pier. On the Pier, I insisted we speak only in French just like old times after class at the Catho in Paris. At one point, I realized we were about to get on the famous ferris wheel and that I am, in fact, moderately scared of heights. I spent our ride, palms sweating, shouting at Haley to stop moving so we wouldn't rock back and forth. I fared much better on the swings where we zipped through the sunset sky and had a beautiful view of the skyline.

Godiva Chocolate Martini at the Signature Lounge

Navy Pier

"Just don't look down!"

Navy Pier ferris wheel and swings

     We took the L out to Midway Airport, where Jim, Stephanie's friend whom we had met in Paris, picked us up for a late dinner. After dinner, we checked for tickets home and realized that our spontaneity made for poor planning because we ended up not being able to stay for the fun. concert at the Taste of Chicago. Due to the different bus schedules on Wednesday, I had four hours to kill in downtown after saying goodbye at Union Station, of which I spent the bulk walking. I hauled myself and my backpack to Millennium Park again to hear an orchestra warm up in the Jay Pritzker Pavilion. While sitting there in the grass, my inner shopping addict realized that, if timed correctly, I had time to make it to Topshop to buy a dress that, according to Haley, I could "buy at Target." But as Topshop has only a few U.S. locations, none of which are near Minnesota, the importance of such a dress was lost on Haley. It was 1 PM, my bus was scheduled to leave Union Station at 3 PM, the store was right next to the Chicago Water Tower-- there was time. I paced myself according to my Google Maps app and ended up walking, which turned into desperate hobbling about four miles for my detour. Hands tucked in my backpack straps, I booked it southbound, nearly hitting cars along Wacker Drive as I thought to myself how fitting The English Beat's "March of the Swivel Heads" would've been as I started elbowing my way to Union Station. My feet still haven't recovered a full week later.

     During the nine hours of staring out at rural Illinois and Wisconsin during my ride back to Minnesota--a whole lot of time for thinking-- I realized how much I really love where I'm from. I've always loved Chicago, but I'm also always very aware how not-from-there I am. I belong in Minneapolis. And Paris.

Rachel

Shout out to my good friend and favorite temporary Bostonian, Ashley!