Final- Letter to Paris

A Letter to My First Love 

Experiences from traveling in Paris

Paris, My Dear
      I've never had the pleasure of falling in love, but if I did, I imagine the relationship would feel much like the one the two of us have shared this summer. You pursued me with such vivacity I could hardly catch my breath. You enticed me with grandeur and beauty that left my heart racing a thousand beats per minute. In the words of one of one of my favorite Jane Austen characters, "you have bewitched me, body and soul." 

Paris, You Changed My Perspective

The only painting with a mob.
Photo by: Kimberly Chandler

      Our relationship began like any other. We went on dates and you expanded my thinking, showing me how beauty is found not just in Mona Lisa's smile, but just to the left; in the gazed over master pieces of other Da Vinci works. Bustling tourists speed by some of the most brilliantly crafted pieces of art in a mad dash to catch a glimpse of that smile. However, you have taught me to appreciate the beauty in the lesser known; In the things that have always been there, but go unseen by eyes living in fast-forward. You made me slow down in order to look for and find unsuspected treasures hidden in the mundane; like the smells of open markets and boulangeries wafting through my windows in the early mornings, taunting me from my sleep. 

Paris, You Made Me Independent
       As time moved forward and euphoria turned into routine, I became comfortable with you, Paris. I started to venture out on my own seeing things with fresh perspective; you gave me new eyes. The beggars on the streets weren't just the scammers that I was warned to avoid at all costs, but teammates with their own eunique stories, working busy corners in shifts, rotating from sidewalks to metro stations. They were actors on the world stage just like the rest of us. I finally understood what Shakespeare was saying, "they have their exits and their entrances and one man in his time plays many parts." I wonder what part I play.

                                                            Paris, You Taught Me To Communicate Without Words

Even on the darkest night, the Eiffel Tower
never loses its shine.
Photo by: Kimberly Chandler

      My lack of knowledge in the french language proved to be difficult, and yet you did not allow it to hinder my experience. On the days when I felt  lost, you translated for me, showing me that spoken language was only one form of communication. Art spoke for itself. In fact, the Eiffel Tower told me to withstand and endure without saying one word. The tower demanded my attention, exuding charm and confidence that begged my mind to engage with its rich history. In a day trip to your sister city, Normandy, I learned about how the Germans conquered you during the second world war and how through defiance and rebellion, your people would not allow the nazi flag to fly over the tower.  As the old adage says, "Hitler conquered France, but did not conquer the Eiffel Tower." With confidence and indignation, the Eiffel Tower tells me I too can resist my enemies. 





Paris, You Helped Me Appreciate French

      Although I can't speak it fluently, your native tongue still leaves me in awe at the beauty of its word choices.  Walking down the Seine I witnessed a scene play out between two musicians. A flute player began yelling at a guitarists, clearly upset that his marked territory was being tramped upon by another musician. "Tu respectes mon misère, plus que tu respectez mon musique," the flute player shouted repeatedly. After doing a little research, I translated the words to "you respect my misery more than you respect my music!"  Even in the heat of anger, the french language shoots from the lips like little bullets leaving a barrel. Simple english sayings  take on new life when spoken and translated from french. The phrase "I miss you" is tu me manque, and it's literally translated as "you are missing from me." Again, this example shows how zeal infuses your language with a passion that drips from each word like poetry.

Paris, You Taught Me Love
      Paris, the very things that make me love you, are also the things that infuriate me about you. Your busy streets, although charming, almost got me killed on several occasions as absent minded drivers sped through crosswalks and ignored traffic rules. The adorable pups that roamed the streets at the heels of their owners, left little presents in their wake that my shoes always seemed to find. Your indecisive weather patterns that changed on a whim, left me with the sniffles. You were aggravating, and I loved every minute of it. In my home city, the traffic is pretty moderate, dogs are confined to fenced in yards, and the weather is hot and cold when it's supposed to be. My home city is sensible and right for me like the boyfriend that says all the right things and treats me like I deserve, but you, Paris, are like the ex that I have screaming matches with at 3 a.m. With you I am passionate, tumultuous, and crazy and even though my boyfriend is the obvious and safe choice, it's you my mind runs to and craves to be with.

Paris, You Changed Me
      My time here is coming to a close and to say you have changed me is an underwhelming statement. Because of you, I have found my voice in a city that doesn't speak my language. My stride is still the same but my pace is different, matching the steps of those who value living in the moment and enjoying life. Like most Summer flings, they must have an ending place, but I believe this is just the end of a chapter in a book that has many more pages. I will see you again Paris. I have too much more to learn not to. 

  

       

Journal #7

The Markets
Food- Writers- Books

I was not particularly certain what to expect in our shopping adventures, but I was optimistic because I was told flea markets in Paris are different than flea markets back home, and I abhor the flea markets back home. So I went into the whole ordeal fairly positive, especially because the first markets we were visiting were food markets and we all planned to grab some food and I was ravenously hungry.

Knowing that the markets opened at nine and closed fairly early, me and my team made a plan to head out earliar than the rest of the group so we wouldn't miss anything. Bad idea, We headed out around 8:40 and arrived to our first destination a little after 9. No one was setup, We could smell the food being prepared behind closed doors and pulled curtains/tarp from the outside stands and yet we couldn't buy anything. Disappointing. We decided to wander around anyway. The workers refused to acknowledge our existence as they readied themselves to open I'm assuming sometime around 11 or noon. These markets were not very big, but it was quaint and cozy, tucked away into a small cove between tall apartment buildings. The prices that were on dispay didn't look to bad and if the food tasted anything like it smelled, I would definitely go back for lumch

Next we went to the markets that we all referred  to as the writers market. We again, didn't know what to expect but we hopped on the metro, after stopping at a boulangerie for croissants of course, and made our way to the market streets. Again, they were still getting ready. At this point it was after 10 and we were all pretty confused as to why the internet and book warned us about getting to these places early. From what we could see, vendors were setting up clothes, handbags, and food shops. Me and my group sat down on some steps over looking the two main market streets and ate our boulangerie pastries while we plotted out our plans. "I think there's some more shops on the other side of that building," Ina suggests. So we got up shook off our flakey croissant crumbs, and headed in that direction. There were no shops to be found. We really weren't having much luck on our shopping adventures, but we were still in good spirits because we had saved the best for last, Books!

Once getting off the metro for our last destination, we walked towards the book markets, passing vendors a long the way that are usually planted along the Seine. We had seen them numerous times always avoiding, assuming they were the tourists traps we all were warned again and again about. About half way down the road they were lined on I noticed they all were selling the same things. Books.
"Ugh, guys. I think this is the book market," I said.
"I think you're right, but these guys are always here," Raven added.
Apparently the book markets had been right under our noses the entire time and we had never realized. The books were very old and all in french, but they were beautiful and classic. They also sold postcards and stickers and posters out front before you got to the books, which probably is the reason  we never realized they were book stands.

We ended our trip standing over the Seine on the original love lock bridge, examining the art and wondering what we would journal about. It wa in this experience that I realized everything is a story, even if things don't go as planned. We all, with our failed attempts at markets shopping/observing, each had our own experiences and so much to write about.

Final Draft

Dear Paris,

        You have shown me so much in a very short amount of time. I have learned things about myself that I can only credit to you, and for that, I must say thank you.

      When visiting you, many tourists hit up the well known spots such as The Louvre, The Eiffel Tower, and Notre Dame. These spots are well known, and packed with bodies, and yet they still deliver awe and inspiration from their beauty and rich history. No matter how many times I visit the Eiffel Tower, my eyes can't help but trail up and down the sturdy structure, and at night, the twinkling fills my stomach with giddy delight.

I have always considered myself someone who was horrible with directions, but your metro system has given me confidence in my abilities. No matter where I am within the city, there is usually a metro stop near by, and as long as I can find that, I know I can find my way back home. Yeah the connecting lines are a bit confusing at first, but over time after a few failed attempts they were finally conquered. It was like something clicked in my head and the whole world made sense...

Food is something I love dearly, but I can tend to be a picky eater. That was not the case, thanks to you Paris. You offered so many delicious choices that I couldn't help but want to try new things. The freshness of the bread and cheeses and meats left my mouth watering everyday, and I woke up with a ravenous appetite every night, ready to see what new things I would get to try!

Again and again I was warned of tourists traps and pick pocketers, and it made me uneasy to say the least. I constantly was clutching my bag to my chest and judging any suspicious character that steppe near me. Maybe I was lucky, but within in the confines of the city walls, I never felt unsafe. Being a girl from Atlanta, I know its best to not wander the streets of the A after darkness falls or you might run into some pretty unsavory characters, but although you have some interesting characters in your city.....

(New idea, I want to write from the perspective of atlanta. I will personify both cities as if one is writing a letter to her friend or new aquaintance. I think this works for my audience since my target audience is an atl publication. Since I will be writing about my own personal experiences and things I encountered, I will write as If I am Atlanta so that its more personal.... I'm rewriting this whole thing now.)

Journal #6

It was mid-afternoon, when terror struck the Oiseau family. A cool breeze brought a peaceful calm over the couple. With it, smells of Nutella and Crepes wafted over the unsuspecting occupants flitting about the sandy park grounds, munching on bread crumbs and half eaten sandwiches.  Mr. and Mrs. Oiseau had just arrived to Paris after traveling a full weeks journey. All they wanted was to rest, so they made their way over to the massive expanse of brown water that stood in the center of the park.

"This really is a beautiful place," Mrs. Oiseau chirped as she cocked her head back and forth watching the boats sail on the open waters, feeling the maritime mists coating her brawny body.

"Ah, we could settle in just nicely here," her husband added as he perched himself on the wall of the fountain. He had tried for 5 unsuccessful years to convince his wife to migrate into the city, but she was set in her ways; convinced the big city, with its giant walls, would leave her feeling caged.

"Ah, whatever you old crow," she teased. "This is just a visit. Don't you go trying to talk me into staying. Now, what's next on the agenda for..." she paused mid-sentence, "Did you hear that?"

A low whistling sound began to ring out over the park, a noise unlike anything the couple had heard, sending shivers down their tailbones.

"Oh, its probably nothing," Mr. Oiseau unconvincingly assured. "Don't get your feathers all ruffled, dear. It's just a little wind."

Boom!
An ungodly sound echoed creating a vibration that seemed to shake the earth, and the Oiseaus, to the very core!

Boom, boom, boom. Again, and again shock waves filled the park, sending the terrified occupants into fight or flight.

"Run for your lives!" screeched Mr. Oiseau as he began running, bobbing his tiny body, and moving his feet as fast as he could.

"Run if you want, I'm out of here," Mrs. Oiseau said over her shoulder as she stretched her feathers and flew up into the chaos of pigeons flying in terror at the sounds of the instruments.

"Oh, right," thought Mr. Osiseau, and he too spread his wings and took flight into the air, away from the cacophony of drums.

Blog Post #3

Postcards: Unsafe Safety 

Safety Measures on Bastille Day in Paris, France

Soldiers underneath the Eiffel Tower
Photo by: Kimberly Chandler

The Chaos Before

I never questioned my safety in Paris until I was face to face with thirty policemen systematically corralling people in order to insure my safety. I knew going into Bastille Day, France’s Independence day, that security would be crawling all over the city’s streets. What I didn’t expect, however, was the sense of vulnerability their presence would make me feel. Since stepping foot off the plane, due to recent events putting Paris on a red alert, I have seen military and police walking, gun in hand, all over main streets and busy tourists hubs. So multiply the heightened security by 10, and that might give you some image of how intense things were on this Holiday put in place to celebrate the strength of the country’s military. As most first time visitors would do, I made the decision to experience all parts of Bastille Day. From walking the Champs Elysee in order to view the parade, to staking out a spot on the lawn in front of the Eiffel Tower so I could get a great view of the fireworks, I did it all. During those activities I could feel my tension and unease growing through out the day as more service members appeared, lining the streets with their weapons and steal expressions, but it wasn’t until that evening, after the fireworks display finished, that I felt the most unsafe.

The Chaos After 

As can be imagined, the big lawn in front of the Eiffel Tower was packed to capacity; not an inch of the green grass could be seen. So once the display was over, expectedly, chaos ensued. People, myself included, began pushing and running trying to make it to the metro only to be met with a blockade of security baring entrance. A little frustrating, but there was another metro station barely a block away. However, as it turns out, it to was closed. Quickly, the now agitated crowd realized all of the metro stations in the area were closed off; we would have to walk. After a day of being searched, moved, and now blocked, the service members were nowhere to be found. They had made it so everyone was pushed out of the central part of Paris and into the outer quarters. The tension from frustrated drivers stuck in their cars because people filled the streets and even more frustrated metro riders who were roughly pushing people out of trains because they were packed with everyone trying to get into the open ports, grew to a pretty hostile environment. Despite their efforts, the security team had made things worse. Instead of creating an atmosphere of calm, the lack of control people felt they had when faced with security, made them feel threatened. After a long day of this people were fed up and just ready to get home or to their next destination and that is the time security is needed the most, but where were they? Perhaps, the lesson to be learned in this scenario is experiencing all of the Bastille Day activities can be fun and worthwhile, but it will come at the price of relinquishing your own feelings of security.

Note to Dr. Carroll: My posts are doing some weird things with my fonts and text sizes that I can't seem to fix.

Blog Post #2 Revision

Audience: Travel blog piece for first time flyers/travelers.

Getting Through The Port

It's not always easy, but it's always worth it.

        Since traveling is so expensive, my family never took vacations. I remember when I received my first car (this was around the same time I headed out to college) I felt unstoppable. I felt as though the world was mine to explore. However, there was only so far my lime green little boxy car could take me, and believe me, I pushed that green machine to its limits. I was road tripping all over the southeast with friends, and even going as far as San Antonio, Texas. I loved mobility, but like with anything else, getting a taste of travel only made me crave more. At 24 , I embarked on the trip of a lifetime to France, and if I can do it, anyone can.

          For many first-time abroad travelers, the planning stage consists of figuring out what kinds of clothing to bring, as well as what fun activities and attractions to do upon reaching the destination. However, the actual plan for getting there can easily become an afterthought. I started planning for my France adventure nine months in advance. To get ready for my trip, I began reading travel articles nine months before departure, covering topics such as ‘how to pack’ and ‘how to get the most out your trip to Paris.’ New to flying, I could only wonder the ardors of a nine-hour transatlantic flight.

          Upon reaching the airport, a nervous sensation began to spread, making my stomach feel as though it was doing back flips. I blew it off as nervous excitement, not recognizing the early stages of anxiety. As I rolled my suitcase over to the baggage checkpoint, the sensation only grew. I ignored my sweaty palms and mild chills. After one last goodbye to Mom, I headed for security and, for me, unchartered territory.

          Once, in the main airport I began heading to my terminal. Thank goodness I spotted some classmates, Madison, Typhani and other girls I recognized only by face, who were coming on the trip with me, or I might still be wandering around the massive airport. As I slyly followed the crowd, probably looking conspicuous, I gaped in awe at the magnitude of the airport, which looked more like a shopping mall. There were so many stores. I couldn’t help wondering if people paid for flights just so they could come shop or eat at the fancy food court. Fighting the urge to do some shopping myself, I finally made it to my terminal. After waiting for what felt like hours, they began boarding us. I was very nervous about who I would sit next to and prayed I would have the window seat. Lucky for me, I sat next to Kristy Johnson, a woman who exuded happiness and offered to be my travel partner through the duration of the trip. I was tucked away right by the window and ready to begin the flight! 

          Who knew how shaky airplanes were? During take off, the plane shook so much I thought for sure it would fall apart before we made it off the ground. I clutched my seat so tightly the color began to drain from my fingertips. The side ways tipping back and forth sent me over the edge. I began praying so earnestly; I felt a spiritual growth occur right then and there. That’s when the deep thinking began. I started reflecting on faith and how every individual who flies has to have faith regardless of their belief system. I thought about how many people were currently floating in the air at that exact moment. I thought about the clouds and how my plane looked like a ship floating amongst the clouds. I thought a lot. And as the anxiety and thoughts about death by turbulence subsided, I began thinking about the wonders of the sky and the majesty of the huge hunk of metal floating, transporting us miles and miles across the world. That was all it took. I was hooked. As scary as my initial ascent into the air was, I was finally traveling. The memories of getting there is a journey of it’s own, and make up a huge part of the experience. 

Taken from the Lufthansa flight to Frankfurt.
Photo by: Kimberly Chandler

Journal #5

Going into Bastille day, I had very basic knowledge of French History and independence. SO I did a quick Google search and found some information on Wikipedia so I wouldn’t totally be in the dark on what was going on during the days festivities.

Once we went out for the parade and fireworks, I found that I was totally I the dark for the days festivities. I had no idea what to expect, and what I got was sensory overload. Google and Wikipedia did not prepare me for the chaos, crowds, and obnoxious people.

After waking up and heading out to the Champs Elysse at 8:30am, I realized just how massive the Paris armed forces are. Including police and other security members. I was awestruck.

On every corner was a service member. While walking with a friend towards the metro to head out I asked my friend, “How are the military members going to patrol and secure everything if they’re all in the parade?”

Well, they weren’t all in the parade. Not even close.

They’re were hundreds of military in the streets, and yet countless more patrolled up and down the champs. The side walks lining the street for the parade were gated off so that the only way you could get into the enclosure was by first having your bags and person checked. This was understandable. I mean, the countries president was going to be there and no telling how many wackos were walking about. After going up to the gate to be checked, my friend was asked to throughout her cute little jar of jelly we had just received from a café. Since, we weren’t willing to part with some of belongings, we decided to keep walking up and down champs and see if we had better luck somewhere else. We didn’t. every inch of free sidewalk was covered with people just trying to catch a glimpse of the top of the soldiers helmets. As I enviously looked up at the high apartments with French people leisurely watching the parade from their balconies, three planes flew from overhead and painted the sky in red and blue. It was amazing. More planes flew by at incredible speeds keeping exact formations and at that moment the strength and security felt by strong militaries was felt by everyone in attendance.

After the parade, we decided to walk towards the direction of the Locadero to scout out a place to see the fireworks. Once at our location, the police began pushing people back out of the park in a systematic fashion.

The part I want to focus on in my blog is the security. After the fireworks display people were hearded to one metro as the closest ones to the Eiffel were closed off and guarded by police. Once at a working metro, people began to get pushy, irritable, violent, and forceful. This hearding to one metro was no helpful. If anything it made things worse. All day the police/military were blocking and barricading and controlling. Desperately trying to control a city by asserting their power but when it came down to it, It made it harder and made people feel less safe.