Ahh, Paris... Where Do I Begin?

Before I left California in September, I knew that if I had opportunities to travel, going to Paris was priority one. On my first European adventure to Spain and England when I was 17, I was able to visit many art museums, and being face-to-face with so many priceless and breathtaking pieces of art really affected me. I distinctly remember feeling dwarfed by Las Meninas in the Prado, and had my breath taken away by paintings by Rafael and El Greco in the Toledo Cathedral. Going from that encounter with art in Europe, to my Humanities class my first semester of college in which the same masterpieces were pictured in my textbook, was such an incredible thing to me, and I’ve been fascinated with art history every since. That experience is why I’m a history major now, and a huge motivator for wanting to studying abroad during my college years.
So if seeing masterpieces of art is what I really want to do while living in Europe, where would I go? Paris. The Louvre, the Orsay, Versailles... the city itself is a great work of art. I was determined to make a trip there happen during my three months in Spain, to get up close and personal with Manet, the Mona Lisa and the like, eat croissants and crepes and drink coffee, even if it would mean I would have to do it by myself. Luckily, there was Erica, who is now my travel buddy, partner in crime, and mi mejor amiga.
The story of Erica and I (yes, this is kinda relevant to Paris...) becoming friends is actually a funny and an “awe, this is kinda like FATE!” story that I feel the need to preface my trip to Paris with. The two of us hardly knew one another when we came to Spain, despite the fact that we had been roommates for 6 months our first year as transfer students at Cal Poly. She moved into my on-campus apartment at the beginning of Winter Quarter, and by that time I already had a group of friends from marching band and a boyfriend, and didn’t spend much time hanging out at our apartment, which was usually really dirty and overrun by our other roommate. She-who-shall-not-be-named was a terrible slob, loud, a smoker, and enjoyed watching either Country Music Television or High School Musical on the weekends with the tv cranked up obnoxiously high while she ate her microwave bean-and-cheese burritos for breakfast. To sum it up, she made me want to gauge my eyes out with a spoon, and so, for the sake of my sanity, I chose to avoid being in our apartment as often as possible. Erica, since we are basically the same person, had similar sentiments towards She-Who-Shall... meh, you get the idea... and she had began dating a guy and had friends that lived off-campus as well, and consequently, we didn’t see each other much in our apartment. I always thought she was a cool girl, but never had the opportunity to hang out since we both avoided home like it was the plague.
A year or so later, I passed Erica in the hallway at school, and we stopped to chat. We realized we were both going to an info meeting for the Cal Poly in Spain program, and excitedly, went to the meeting together. After that, we saw each other at orientations and meetings for the trip, but still lead completely separate lives in San Luis Obispo.
Once arriving in Spain, Erica and I quickly began to hang out together a lot. Being two of the four 5th year students on the trip made us click really quickly, as well as suffering though daily Spanish grammar class with Monse, who teaches like she hates her life and subsequently, us. Right off the bat I started to look at flights for Paris; I wanted my plans for this trip set in stone as soon as possible. After a few weekend adventures exploring our city and going to Barcelona in the same group, Erica was quickly becoming my closest friend on the trip (along with Kristen, my roommate whom I shared a closet-sized room with and still loved me after three months of it), and I asked if she was interested in planning a trip to Paris. She answered with her signature, “duh,” and we bought our flights (on RyanAir, mistake number one) soon after. We balance each other out really well when it comes to traveling; I’m interested in art museums and walking tours, Erica is always up for things like hiking, going out at night, and exploring places off the beaten path. We put together a list of things we wanted to see, and figured that during our 5 day trip we’d definitely be able to fit it all in. We also made another pact that if we didn’t splurge on anything else in Paris, we’d shamelessly blow money on French food. Yet another reason why we’re basically twins.
Next on our Parisan to-do list was a place to stay. Spending so much money on hostels and hotels sucks, but, like I said, Paris was my must-do trip. Three years ago, my aunt Wanda and family hosted two exchange students from Europe. Tristan was one of them, a sweet boy from Paris who stayed with my cousins, aunt, and uncle for a summer. I got to meet Tristan on a couple of occasions; we went to Monterey Bay Aquarium with him and my cousins brought him up to my house in Grass Valley for a weekend to go boating and give him a taste of California outside of the Bay Area. Tristan and I were friends on facebook, and I had emailed him after arriving in Spain telling him I was going to be here for three months and really wanted to come to Paris. He emailed me back quickly, giving advise on the must-see sightseeing and finding us websites to purchase museum passes. I told him housing was going to be an issue for us broke college students and was wondering if Erica and I might be able to crash on a couch of something while we were in Paris. Again, he responded quickly, saying of course we could, and he asked his parents and they said it was fine. He even insisted on picking us up from the airport, which, even though our tickets said it was a Paris airport, was in reality an hour outside of Paris. Tristan told me it’d be no trouble to come get me, and that the airport was “basically a tent and the parking lot a field,” and that it’d be best if he came to get us in his car. I was sure he was exaggerating, but thanked him for taking that time to come pick us up.
After our adventure, or mishap, or brain fart, whatever you want to call it, when Erica and I tried to go to Valencia, my travel confidence, needless to say, was not at its highest. Erica and I had a midnight bus from Valladolid to the Madrid Airport, and then would have 5 hours to try to sleep in the airport while we waited for our 7:30 am flight to Paris. We packed our clothes together in a super cheap carry-on suitcase Erica bought, and made sure we both had our other travel necessities and paperwork in a backpack. We kicked off our trip to Paris by running to the Valladolid bus station, with Erica behind me struggling with the SUPER cheap suitcase with wheels that were more or less useless, and her “buccaneer boots” that, adorable as they are, were not the best attire for hauling ass to a bus station to make sure we’d get there on time.
We made it to our bus, and collapsed on the seats, transit to Paris, part one, accomplished.
By the time we got to the airport in Madrid, it was 3 am and we were terribly disoriented, just wanting to sleep, but apparently not tired enough to fully pass out on the tile floor in front of our check-in gate. The hours passed, and we made our way from check-in, to security, to our terminal, completely on autopilot after so many weeks of travleling and going through this same routine every time. When we got to the gate to board the plane, the incredible sweet and docile RyanAir employee (PLEASE recognize my sarcasm) told Erica that our (carry-on) suitcase was to big, and we’d have to check it and pay 35 euro. I rolled my eyes as I glanced at the couple who just boarded with backpacks on that I could fit myself into. Erica frantically tried to squish the suitcase smaller by zipping up the extender, breaking the zipper in the process. I told her don’t stress it, we’d just pay and figure out something better on the way back. I handed the woman a 50 euro note and informed me I needed exact change.
“Bitch” I uttered, not very discreetly.
I happened to have the 35 euro in cash (miracle), I tossed it to her and we got on the plane, defeated, and hating RyanAir, just a tad.
We had the next two hours of the flight to chill out and take a nap, and before we knew it, I was gazing out the window at beautiful French countryside. My annoyance with RyanAir was quickly melting into the incredible realization that I was finally here. My dream of coming to Paris was happening, and I was just about to land.