I wasn't supposed to catch my flight home from France until the 16th, but my
babysitting duties ended with me in Paris on the 9th, leaving me with a week
off. I saved all the money I had made in order to stay there that week and
explore the city by myself, something at this point I was an expert at. A week
after I left the U.S., however, one of my best friends from high school, Yara,
told me she had money saved from her job and she wanted to use it to go to France. This was something
she had wanted to do forever and finally decided on doing.
She booked a ticket for the same week I'd be in Paris.
We were able to forego hostels and splurge on a double room in a hotel since
we could split the bill. I arrived on Friday night, Yara flew in on Sunday
morning. Saturday was all mine to wander, and while I still appreciated the
freedom of traveling solo I was lonely as hell. I had been only interacting
with babies and their grandparents for the past month and a half. I'm an only
child, being by myself is in my bones and I do enjoy it, but there's something
about trying to communicate in a language you barely know about the needs and
wants of toddlers for so long that made Yara's decision to come with me to Paris
especially awesome.
The thing about Paris though is that it is a romantic city. Even though
I had planned to be there alone, everywhere you go you get the feeling you're
not supposed to be so. Everything you do makes you realize it would be better
with someone else there. With my friend Yara there, thanks to her being friends with one
of my grade school friends and having biology with me freshman year, I didn't
have to eat alone, climb the Eiffel Tower alone, ask strangers to take pictures
of my lonely self.
Also, I spoke (in English!) to someone who was also nineteen.
In person and not on a computer. The change was welcome.