do you hear the people sing! 4 days in paris

7.3.26

You can go to one of the most beautiful Chapels you’ve ever seen and you can stand in the middle of that kaleidoscope feeling hot and nauseous and hungry. That is what I know now.

This morning was bus 👏 club👏 nother club👏 nother club 👏energy. We started at Notre Dame, walked the Siene, got a drink at a cafe, headed to Saint-Chapelle, and finally put ourselves down for a nap around 3.

The last time I stood in Notre Dame, I was a semi-religious high schooler who was waking up at 5AM to “study the bible” (AKA: underline passages that made me feel better about being heartbroken over my ex) & the structure was 4 years from going up in flames. It was also the first real cathedral I had ever been to. My hometown in Texas favored churches housed in old car dealerships. All that to say, I remember being very moved by Notre Dame the first time.

This time, I came under pretty different circumstances. 28, not religious, in love, lived in nyc for 10 years with regular exposure to huge cathedrals, etc, etc. It was still lovely! A choir sang and I took a video to send to my mom who is obsessed with choral music.

I met a Wild Geese listener at a cafe! After people watching with a french75 in hand, I bopped to the restroom and when I came out, I heard “Um, sorry are you Anna? I love Wild Geese!” I looked up and saw a woman standing in line with a shy smile on her face, and I immediately gave her a big, fat hug.

This is completely unlike me. I am not a hugger. I am especially not a hugger of strangers, even if they are Wild Geese listeners. But instincts kicked in, I suppose (or maybe it was the French75). I found my arms opening before I even asked. Caught myself at the last second and reeled back, “can I hug you!?”

She was just so sweet and I was stunned that someone halfway around the world knew who I was. Logically, I know I have subscribers all over the world. But that’s such an abstract fact until you’re standing in another city, adjusting to another timezone, and seeing one of these people right in front of you.

She was sweet and stylish and Polish, here on vacation as well. Afterwards, I told my parents about meeting her. Mom texted me hours later to say she kept tearing up thinking about it. Me too, mom. Me too.

I had a bout of sleep paralysis during a much needed mid-day nap. Not the demon kind, thank God. Have you ever had a dream where you’re sleepy in the dream? And you’re being put in situations where it’s unacceptable to be too sleepy to operate (i.e - driving a car, waiting tables, etc)? That’s what this was.

At one point, I became aware that it was a dream and I was actually asleep in a hotel room with my boyfriend next to me. So I started trying, with all my might, to say “you wouldn’t believe the dream I just had.” But I was still asleep and moving was impossible. So my sleep paralysis was just me trying and failing to tell him a story.

Later, we met up with some friends who are from/traveling through Paris to celebrate Sasha’s birthday. We went to a techno club under an overpass. Techno clubs are not really my thing. I want to scream sing to ABBA. That’s what really gets me going. I’ve been to too many techno clubs where no one is actually dancing. Our friends from Paris chose the spot because it’s a regular hang out for them. To me, it felt almost exactly the same as the clubs in Brooklyn. A club is a club is a club, I guess.

At the end of the night, our uber drive totally tried to kill us. A near miss with a bicyclist and another car. We kept turning to each other with wide-eyed, wordless worry.

7.4.26

On the metro, two older women got into an incredibly wholesome argument. The woman in pink was trying to give up her seat to the woman in blue but the woman in blue was like “Nooo, noo! You sit!” and the woman in pink was like “No!! I insist!” This is all conjecture, they were speaking French and I do not know French. But they went back & forth so many times, clutching each other and laughing by the end. I love them.

We met up with some of the friends from last night for coffee in the 19th arr. The coffee shop was off the beaten path. I’m glad to have locals show me around the areas that I wouldn’t have seen if we came as tourists alone.

We had white wine & duck confit & some sort of fish & a puffed pastry dish for dinner & a world cup game (Paris V. Paraguay) started across the street. They sang (yelled) their national anthem and I found it very endearing. Funny to consider that a bar full of Americans yelling the national anthem would actively turn me off right now. As I’m typing this, I think they’re winning. A TON of cheering just started outside our hotel room.

7.5.26

We got shitty croissants and coffee on the way to our bike tour. When I have to opt for the shitty tourist version of an iconic staple on a trip, it makes me grumpy. I know, tiny violin.

The tour guide was the sweetest, most talented man named Pierre who learned all of our names and told the best stories. We were little ducks on electric bikes, following Pierre’s every move. I wish Pierre would start a podcast. That’s the only man I will say that about. He had a way with words, a knack for storytelling that made me insatiably curious about the history of Paris. When I encounter teachers like that, I want to put them in my pocket.

This experience, and my past experiences of great tours, has made me a tour apologist. I fucking love a good tour. If you’re a tourist, embrace it without being annoying and obstructing the lives of locals. A guided tour is usually a great way to do that! Keep it simple, stupid! I can’t remember who said that but it sounds like something my dad would say.

After the tour, we desperately searched for a baguette sandwich. Why is it SO easy to find spots that looks to die for when you’re NOT looking to dine & impossible to find a viable option when you’re starving & feeling evil about it? We finally found a baguette sandwich made by someone’s grand-père with horrible food safety practices.

Later, we looked out over Paris at Basilique du Sacré-Cœur de Montmartre while a man got a giant crowd of people to sing along to Wonderwall on the steps behind us.

J and I had the idea that tonight, we would spontaneously choose a cute spot for dinner. But I wasn’t wearing the right shoes and I hadn’t had enough water so I got impatient and picked the first open table we stumbled on. Don’t recommend doing this. Paris is overflowing with cute little spots that do not season their food. Salt, who???? I vow to start doing more research after this.

7.6.26

Had dinner at Pierre Sang. The only meal that was actually planned on this trip because J’s family loves this place. They don’t tell you what they’re serving. That’s their whole schtick. You tell them any dietary restrictions and then guess what they put on the plate.

One of the servers was making me laugh because he was getting a lot of enjoyment out of telling us we were wrong. A little close-lipped smile would slither up his face and he’d chirp “no!” with so much self-satisfaction, you could practically wring it out of him. He started deflating near the end when we started getting things right. Caught onto the fact they were putting gochugang and chive oil on everything.

7.7.26

Sat in Jardin Du Luxembourg and watched a dad and daughter practice volleyball drills. Two Irish doctors at the table behind us spoke about how terrible the healthcare is in America. “In America, if they have cancer without health insurance...they just die.” Thank you for the reminder, sir! My cappuccino turns bitter.

J went back to the hotel because he wasn’t feeling great so I sat right next to the Medici fountain and read my book. Sometimes, you get an opportunity to read your book in a beautiful place and you can’t stop thinking to yourself “my god! I’m reading in such a beautiful place!” & it’s all very delightful but you don’t really absorb any of the words on the page because that’s not where the wonder is.

I’m reading Station Eleven right now. Two friends were raving about the show at happy hour last week so I figured I might as well read it before watching. Aside from the airport, this was my first time reading on this trip.

Things went awry on the commute to the Musee Des Arts Forains. I tried to catch the bus but stood like an idiot waiting for the back doors to open, only to realize I was supposed to enter through the front. After the door had closed. The bus drove away and I looked up to see the next one wasn’t arriving for another 15 minutes. Tried catching an Uber but my card wasn’t working.

Considered skipping the museum altogether because it was on the other side of the city and would it really be worth it?? But this was a plan I made weeks ago and I would feel so silly to back out just because I’m tired and hot and alone. Dammit Anna, it’s time to be an independent solo traveler!!

So I got on the next bus, all pissed off with a little purple fan blowing hot air over an inch of my neck. An old french man joined the seat next to me, squeezed me up against the window. But he was singing quietly to himself and I thought that was darling. I’ve seen a few French people do this and I love it, even in this rage inducing heat. I do hear the people sing!

The tour of the museum was… a little lame. 19th century French fair decor was kind of terrifying. But we rode multiple carousels. The bicycle carousel went so fast, someone’s shoe flew off. I sat on a stationary horse while I watched the adults in front of me slowly glide up and down. I giggled a little bit because it was such an absurd thing to be doing alone. Some experiences are best shared.

While a round of tourists played Roll-a-Ball Derby, I imagined the inside jokes J & I would be making on the sidelines if he were here, I imagined the faces he would make when the room full of terrifying animatronics was revealed, I imagined the easy conversation he’d slip into with the tour guide who didn’t seem to fully register I was there.

Still, I was proud of myself for going & happy to get back to an air-conditioned hotel room to watch Girls. When someone gets sick on vacation, it’s best to indulge in a little piece of home.