Anyway.
Today, I turn my thoughts to Paris, and what it means to be a "good" tourist.
When I recall my week-long trip to Paris in 2009, I first
think of the marvelous opportunity I had to see the Louvre, Eiffel Tower,
Versailles, and Disneyland Paris (perhaps not as important to most American
tourists, having seen Disneyland & Disney World, but it was important to
me, anyway), and of the wonderful people I befriended during my stay at a
particular hostel. Following this, I
can’t help feel a bit of regret about the things I didn’t see – or just see properly. Perhaps because I was on my own, I didn’t
feel the same urgency to follow a schedule as I might on a family vacation; and
unfortunately, my tendency to stay awake late affected the time I would have
otherwise spent in a productive, worthwhile manner, e.g. visiting the Bastille
and the Père Lachaise Cemetery (nearly did – I arrived shortly after its gates
closed for the day), exploring numerous patisseries & fancy shopping
centers, or re-visiting the Eiffel Tower during daytime.
When I woke on my first full day, I was alarmed to find it
was already the middle of the afternoon!
The day was wasted. I spent the remaining daylight absentmindedly
exploring the surrounding neighborhood; as night fell, I purchased a street map
from a bookshop, and sought out some of the more famous arrondissements, making my way
over to the Eiffel
Tower. To be sure, it was a worthwhile
experience. It reminded me of the first
time I saw the Yosemite Valley; in the car with my mother and sister, we passed
through the long tunnel just before – the music loud and appropriately gaining
speed in anticipation (we were listening to the “Pink Elephants” song from Dumbo) – and suddenly, greater than I
could have imagined, the whole of Yosemite Valley appeared before us, mile-high
monoliths and all. In a similar way, I
emerged from the underground Metro tunnel and walked along the sidewalk by a
large stone building; turning a corner and reaching the top of some steps, the
famous Eiffel Tower glowed before me, and for the first time, the iconic form –
memorized through photos, films, illustrations, and every other imaginable form
of media – collided with reality.
I encountered numerous famous, enchanting, and
characteristically Parisian things during that week; I even had a couple
unintentional adventures – e.g. being locked in the Versailles gardens
after-hours, encounters with a few rather forward Parisians (or maybe I'm too prudish), and getting lost after 2 AM & remaining on a bus all the way
to the depot (without a common language, I mimed my confusion to the bus
driver, who gestured for me to stay on the bus while he went on his break).
On the whole, I felt like a mediocre tourist. There are certain things which I suppose are
expected of each successful tourist, and my choice to “wing it” didn’t work out
as well as hoped. By not doing extensive
reading and planning, I had hoped to experience Paris a little more naturally, at my own
pace. I expected the unexpected,
preferring to follow a loose plan organized more or less by whim. Instead, I slept in and didn’t cover as much
ground as I would have liked.
