The funny thing about the French language is that it’s not that widely studied in the United States. That’s actually not so funny as it is sad, yet quite fortunate in my case. High school French classes tend to form strong bonds between students so that when the moment arises that you do go to France, someone from your high school is there too.
And that was the case with me. My friend Kate is studying in Tours, France which is somewhere over an hour southwest of Paris by train. Realizing that we were both on a different continent at the same time, what better way to have a reunion than to meet at the Louvre and see new things while talking about old times?
This was back around mid February, so while just beginning to adjust to a host family and new faces galore, it was nice to see an old one that hadn’t been seen in a while. The Louvre was nice too.
In fact, it’s quite difficult just to say what’s so nice about the Louvre. The building itself is artwork, from the classical style of the architecture juxtaposed with a glass pyramid in front, to how the interior of the museum is designed. One thing I tell people when they go into the museum and trek their way to the Mona Lisa is to be very mindful of the ceilings. Any photo I have won’t do them any justice. All I can say is that when you go, if you do, and you should, make sure to look at every ceiling and you’ll know you’ve truly looked hard enough when your head is stuck up like a pez dispenser.
I spent the entire day with Kate as well as her friends that she had in Paris and those she brought from Tours. What was nice about two of the friends from Tours was that they were actually French. The nightlife in Paris is filled with some French people but a large part of the crowd is other students from other countries.
After the Louvre we went back to her Hostel to cool down a bit from the day of walking. One of her friends, Friedrich, enlightened me on the basic rules of Rugby and made me feel bad about myself because English is his fourth language. I digress.
Later in the night we headed to Bar 10, a well-reputed sangria bar in Paris that is small, dark and extremely cozy (and nearly always full on weekends). As I parted the group they all asked if I was going to Tours. I said it was something I really hoped to do. Friedrich offered the couch in his apartment as a place to stay.
It’s a trip I’ll be booking.
Avoid Clichés 