What is LoVE in Paris when you are 20-something wandering the streets without a man? What happens as you absorb the architecture, the art, the history, and the people?
. . .
It is virtually everywhere you look in Paris.
It infests the streets and monuments. It gets pushed around in carriages throughout the Luxembourg park. It leans on the other when walking up the steps of a metro station while the other is holding a cane. It spews out ducklings’ chirps as they float on a pond. It lives in the trees when they shake by the force of a warm summer breeze. At night, it glistens on the water through the reflected boat lights on La Seine. It blows kisses from the sparkling lights turning the ever alluring Tour d’Eiffel into a diamond-like spectacle as the sun sets. It taps you on the shoulder and says, “Pardon,” when you stand in the way in the escalator. It’s two kisses on each cheek. It’s THE LOOK from a stranger across the table. It’s an old French book of poetry. It’s sipping coffee at a cafe and taking the time to do nothing but admire the view–people and buildings alike. That is what love is.
But when you are a 20-something person in Paris without a partner (in my case tis my man) for two weeks—the process of experiencing these things alone or with friends can be kind of…lonely. An Au-Pair lady told me yesterday (she’s lived in Paris for a good year)—-“Paris is beautiful! BUT Paris without a lover can often times suck.”
There are so many beautiful moments I have experienced. Moments I wish I could have turned around to ask him,”Did you see that?”
No, he did not. He’s not here to see me be weird, loud, or obnoxious. Only judgmental eyes of those I travel with.
On the other hand, I have to admit…it’s nice getting back to me and what I like. Yes, Paris can be painful if you are single. It seems there are lovers everywhere! French men are also very forward and brave when it comes to approaching ladies. It’s admirable, actually. I have enjoyed my two weeks, and I am looking forward to the next two. Yet, there are moments when I wish I could gossip to my significant other. He gets me and my weird jokes. Sometimes I turn to speak, but only the ghosts beside me get to hear my thoughts. I must look nuts to Parisians. Oh well, c’est la vie.
Viva la France!