Back in the early stages of planning to study abroad – before it was a definite thing – I realized that I would turn 21 while abroad. Then I had a moment: Oh my goodness, there is a genuine possibility that I could spend my 21st in Paris?! I had no idea that months later my grandiose wish would come true.
It just *so* happened that my birthday fell on a Friday, and that weekend was a travel weekend. So, I “convinced” my friends, Colette, Heather, and Isabella, to join me for a Parisian birthday weekend.
Thursday, March 14- Friday, March 15
Flying would have been the most ideal timewise but a 15-hour FlixBus was the most ideal money-wise. Our bus left Hamburg at 20:30 Thursday and we arrived Friday morning around 09:30. From the bus station (and after using gross [free] public bathrooms), we rode the metro to our hostel. We were too early to check in, so we stored our luggage in lockers and set out for lunch.
This is when we encountered a problem we hadn’t considered – none of us speak French. All the menus outside the cafes were in French. We found a place, Café Odilon, where we recognized one item on the menu – lasagna. We ordered our lasagna, ate cake (the BEST chocolate cake I’ve had since coming to Europe), and enjoyed each other’s company until check-in. We also noticed two differences between German and French restaurant culture: a pitcher of water and a small breadbasket are complimentary (and everyone said amen).
We were exhausted from the bus ride, so we took a power nap after check-in. Then, we hit up our first Parisian landmark: the Eiffel Tower! We quickly discovered that Paris wasn’t built like a typical German city, with a distinct Altstadt (city center) where all the cool things are within walking distance. Paris is sprawling. One 45-minute metro ride and a 10-minute walk later, we got our first glimpse of the iconic wrought-iron monument.
It. is. so. cool.
Before seeing it in person, I’ve always brushed off the Eiffel as one of those tourist attractions to check off my list one day (still true) but, boy, it is breathtaking. And so tall – 300 meters or 1063 feet tall, to be exact – much taller than I had imagined. It was the moment where I said to myself, “Okay, I am really in Paris.” We enjoyed the view of the whole tower from the plaza across the street before seeing it up close.
The Eiffel is located in Champ de Mars, the largest public park in France. While you can walk around the park, you cannot walk freely through the monument’s arches; there are fences around the tower with controlled entrances (something you never see in pictures). We went through security and got a closer look at its base. It takes up way more square footage than I thought. We considered going up to one of the three viewing platforms, but long lines and expensive tickets turned us away.
We hung around until sunset, which is when the Eiffel lights up in a glittering display. The sunset, masked behind a cloudy sky, cast a pink glow over the tower and the park. Pretty, sweet, breathtaking, and romantic are the only words fit to describe the scene – now I understand the longtime tradition of romanticizing Paris. It was perfect.
Afterwards, we got dinner at a small café; I got delicious carbonara. We toasted my 21st with our glasses of Sprite and water (I mentally played Martinelli’s by Wordsplayed feat. Andy Mineo [side note: check out my “twenty one fun” playlist on Spotify]). It was a wonderfully special birthday.
Saturday, March 16
One thing I’ve learned while traveling is to be flexible. We had roughly planned to be up around 08:00, eat breakfast at our hostel (yummy French bread with Nutella and hard-boiled eggs), and join the free walking tour at 10:00. We got ready little slower than planned, so we skipped the tour and headed to the Catacombs for an afternoon underground.
Pro tip #1: reserve your tickets in advance, unless you enjoy two-hour long lines. (We passed the time by playing “36 Questions: How to Fall in Love,” a set of conversation starters that get increasingly deep and introspective.)
Pro Tip #2: those under 26 get discounted tickets with a valid ID.
Pro Tip #3: pay the extra €5 for the audio guide! Without it, you will learn nothing, save for the two places with informational plaques (which are before you even see any bones).
We spent at least two hours wandering the spooky ossuary. Formerly a network of mines, a small section has become the final resting place for over six million whose remains were exhumed from overflowing cemeteries, with the most from Saints-Innocent, starting in 1786. Originally, the bones were deposited haphazardly, but in 1810 this dude named Louis-Étienne Héricart de Thury (*mutters about the French and their stupid names*) began renovations to reorganize the bones into the pattern seen today and to add décor from the cemeteries, as well as inscribed monuments and archways.
The Catacombs are a must-visit in my opinion, especially on a hot summer day – the perpetually cool air would be a great escape.
We emerged out of the labyrinth around 14:00, starving. We got lunch at a nearby restaurant and sat there for almost three hours – because we were exhausted and because it is more difficult to get the attention of French waiters when you want to pay your bill (*rolls eyes*).
Another item on my birthday to-do list was vintage/thrift shopping. I had bookmarked a few stores near the Notre-Dame, so we decided to hit two places at once.
We metro’d (this should be a verb by now) to the cathedral and found ourselves staring at the bell towers as golden hour shone over the city. To be honest, the Notre-Dame – though beautiful and historic and important – is not my favorite cathedral (yes… I am at that point in my life where I have favorite cathedrals). I thought about making a joke about liking the Kölner Dom more (don’t tell the French), but after the tragic fire, my attitude towards the famous cathedral has changed. I didn’t expect to feel such sadness – despair, honestly – as I watched the video of its spire collapsing with tears in my eyes. Even as I write these words, I’m upset again. Someone on Twitter said it best – we take for granted that monuments which have stood the test of time, such as the Notre-Dame, will stand forever, that they are untouchable, but they’re not. And honestly, that’s a little frightening. We didn’t go inside the cathedral, as there was a slow-moving line. I took for granted that I could one day return. Now, much has been destroyed, requiring years to rebuild.
After the Notre-Dame, we rummaged one of the thrift stores on my list. I think it was FREE’P’STAR – we were on our way to a different one and we found this one instead. It was so fun combing through the racks; there were clothes everywhere! I bought two dresses; a floor-length black and silver evening dress with capped sleeves and a semi-casual navy button-up; and a blue-and-yellow plaid high-waisted skirt (which I later shrunk in the wash *cries* but hopefully I can fix it!).
We got dinner and then decided to metro to the Louvre to see the glass pyramid thing. However, we did not consider that it was so late – everything was closed. We saw the Louvre from the outside, at least (and it’s massive!). I’ll just have to come back one day.
Sunday, March 17
We finished our Parisian adventure with the Arc de Triomphe late morning. Colette went to Mass at a nearby church, and Isabella, Heather, and I hung out around the Arc. The Arc was also bigger that I was expecting. It’s not as long or “thin” as the Brandenburger Tor, but it’s tall and “thick” (thicc with two C’s… okay I’ll stop). There was a riot the night before, so police milled about. The Arc itself was gated off; we couldn’t walk through it. Once Colette met up with us, we took a few more pictures before setting off for the bus station.
All did not go well. (If you are here from my Instagram post, this is what you were waiting for.) My phone got stolen. Yes, stolen. Straight up pick-pocketed on the Parisian Metro.
Here’s the rundown: I was in charge of directions. While on the first train, I had my phone. I took it out of my jacket pocket to check what was next, as we were nearing our stop. I put it back in my pocket, moved out of the way for those boarding to the center of the wagon. A few minutes later we got off at our stop. I reached for my phone to double-check the direction we needed. But – my phone wasn’t there.
I checked my other pocket. Nope. I told my friends I couldn’t find my phone. Did I put it somewhere else? They helped me look through my bags. Not there. Dropped it? Wouldn’t we have heard it? Colette checked the floor of the metro wagon – nothing.
It was about five minutes between me having my phone to me not having my phone. I was in disbelief – so much so that it took me a while to say it was stolen – it was just lost. First thing I did was text my mom off of Isabella’s phone; she called Apple and AT&T. Then I tried to use Find My iPhone from my laptop. My phone was offline, but I marked it as lost. I didn’t really know what else to do, so we went to the ticket desk and she sent us to another platform. We were under the impression that it was a police station, but it was just their lost-and-found. Since it was Sunday, it was closed. I received information on how to file a lost object claim online and that was it.
There was nothing else I could do, so we finished our trek. We picked out a café for lunch near the bus station. Once we sat down, I realized what not having my phone actually meant. No alarm clock, no music for bus rides, no camera, no way to communicate. Luckily, most of my pictures were backed up to Google Photos, except the new ones from that weekend – I’m still so sad about that. Fortunately, Heather took quite a few pictures of me on her phone and camera, and I had posted a couple to Facebook already.
Getting pickpocketed is an odd experience – 10/10 do not recommend. I felt more emotions than I thought I would. First disbelief, then frustration, sadness, a little anger, some anxiety and a weird sense of violation. I generally find people to be decent human beings (not spiritually speaking, as the heart is wicked and all that). A random stranger broke that agreement and took one of my possessions – and I didn’t even notice.
Anyways, enough philosophical musings. Back to the ride home, which was terrible. The first leg wasn’t bad; I worked on a paper. We had a stopover in Amsterdam probably around 22:00, where we fought a self-locking bathroom that locked itself with no one in it, so we had to wait the 10 minutes allotted to each user. We refueled at Starbucks, then it was time to hop on our bus. This was the worst part of our FlixBus journey. I barely slept and for part of the ride, I somehow sat backwards in my seat, which made me nauseous.
Then we were stopped on the German border by the dang Bundespolizei (federal police). It was well past midnight, so we were deliriously sleep-derived. I would argue that was mostly why we made jokes about the Bundespolizei and about being Americans with German resident permits (therefore making us untouchable) until we were actually face-to-face with the Bundespolizei. (If you have dealt with Bundespolizei, you know.)
Monday, March 18
I would not recommend getting back from a weekend trip two hours before class. We arrived in Hamburg at 05:30 Monday morning. It was so great to be back in German speaking territory! I forgot what time our train to Lüneburg was supposed to be, but it was very delayed; we didn’t get back until 08:00. I fell asleep on the train immediately (because trains are the superior mode of transportation – I will scream this from the rooftops). Heather and I chilled at Isabella’s apartment until it was time for class.
Despite my phone getting stolen, my Parisian birthday weekend was incredible. It’s going to be hard to top, but I think I can live with that.
