Like Hemingway, I found Paris exhilarating and hardly in need of an introduction. Hence, the uncharacteristically pointed title of this post.
I've now been twice in less than ten days, and can safely say The City of Lights is one of the most perfect places in the world.
Nowhere else can one go from enjoying world famous art to quaffing world famous wine to eating world famous food in the span of a few hours. Public gardens such as the Jardin des Tuileries put other titans of floral exhibition from Central Park to Chanticlear to shame. The back streets of starving artist haven Montmarte might as well have been taken out of a Disney movie (if, you know, Disney movies included drunken sexual escapades and manic-depressive tendencies).
Oh, did I mention the museums are free with a student ID card?
Yep. Just skip the line at the Louvre, flash your card to the ticket collectors at the entrances to any of the former palace's hallowed halls, and enjoy. Apparently, after Robespierre guillotined pretty much everyone in France, including Louis XVI, people decided the same artwork once reserved for the aristocratic elite should be opened for viewing to anyone and everyone.
As much as I admire this state-endorsed provision of some of history's most famed art pieces and worldly treasures, I'd be lying if I told you it was enough for Paris to win my affection.
To be honest, it was pretty much all about the food, and assuming you haven't been living in a cave all your life, you've probably heard a thing or two about the nearly-sexual nature of French cuisine. In that sense, Paris is to food porn what Amsterdam is to actual porn. From crepes to duck confit to exotic cheeses, every single bite of every meal was without comparison, especially considering that I'd come from subsisting mainly off oats, honey, and yogurt here in Rotterdam.
Sure, it was expensive. The concentration of wealth in Paris is absolutely on a whole different level. If you're reading this back home in Colorado, the only way I would describe Paris is that it pretty much makes Cherry Hills Village look like the projects of Los Angeles
Even so, to think that I was able to completely and fully experience a city which played host to Napoleon and Hitler, Picasso and Dali, Voltaire and Dumas, and countless legends of history for as much as I spent made it worth every penny.
The French have a favorite saying from writer Andre Breton which states, "Rien ne sert d'être vivant s'il faut qu'on travaille," meaning, "Being alive serves no purpose if you have to work." Despite their reputation for indolence, I found the French to be well-read, astute, and enjoyable people adept in exercising the concept of joie de vivre; a steady exaltation of one's true self and a persistent appreciation for the little things in life.
In my opinion, it's a state of mind Americans would be well-served in emulating, and a state of mind that I find myself missing already.
Thanks for reading everyone! I've now got less than a month left here in Rotterdam, and as my new friends from exchange return to their varied homelands, I will now focus my attention on composing my final Wanderlust Rotterdam post: a farewell letter to Rotterdam, to the amazing country that is The Netherlands, and a "see you later" to all the amazing people I've been so blessed to meet over here.
I'll probably cry. All you Wanderlust readers here in Rotterdam will probably cry, but it goes without saying: this is only the beginning of a new Wanderlust; a new chapter in our lives which we attack with enthusiasm and renewed vigor, consoled with the fond memories of our new friends, and eager to experience more.
Cheers ya'll,
Drew
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