Unemployment Sidequest No. 1: Paris

I went to Europe to find peace. To open myself up to new opportunities. And frankly, to distract myself from the overwhelming anxiety that comes with unemployment. 

And so I packed my bags, ready to accept whatever the universe had in store for me. 

To be fair, I did a lot of planning. Each day of my two-week adventure had an activity, and I made a map of restaurants I wanted to try in each city. (Like this one I made for Paris).

But I couldn’t have planned the luck I had. There were so many moments on this trip that couldn’t have been more perfect: seeing northern lights on my first night in Iceland, getting blessed by a full day of sunshine for my Cliffs of Moher hike in Ireland, flying over the recent volcano eruption in Iceland on my way home, and other serendipitous events I’ll never forget. Keep reading to hear all the juicy bits, starting with Paris: 

Paris, France 

Another example of luck happened a few weeks before my trip. While planning my two-week escapade, I asked a well-traveled friend out to lunch to hear her advice on what places to include on my itinerary. I left with keys to her Parisian flat, free of charge. 

Her flat (and generosity) was the cherry on top of a near-perfect trip. But the vanilla bean ice cream it sat on had to be that my best friend Ana was able to share it with me. 

A Beautiful Reunion

She flew into Beauvais, I into Charles de Gaulle. We were to meet in front of the flat, which sat a few blocks from a metro station in the 5th arrondissement. As I got off the train and walked those 2 blocks while she embarked on her shuttle journey into the city, the distance between us gradually shrunk from 4,154 miles to mere steps, until we finally caught eyes. Overladen with overstuffed backpacks and coats and roller luggage, we sweatily embraced on the sidewalk, overcome with joy and disbelief. How was this real life? 

We turned the key to the building, crammed into the elevator, and unlocked the flat’s door to see an IKEA futon and some electric bikes. And then we saw the terrace. With its top-floor views of the surrounding flats offering glimpses into locals’ lives and in the distance, the tip-top of the Eiffel Tower, standing on the terrace, shoes off in January, we couldn’t be happier. 

Views from our home away from home.

We filled our days in France as one should. An evening cruise on the Seine, slow-walking trips to the best art museums in the world (the Louvre, Musée d’Orsay, Musée de L’Orangerie) accompanied by Chopin and Debussy playing through my earbuds, and then loads of window shopping, neighborhood strolling, and eating all of the delightfully heavy French foods. We filled in any free moments with warm beverages, mostly of the caffeinated variety. 

Don’t Cry (from laughter) Over Spilled Coke

One of my favorite nights included visiting a nearby Thai restaurant. After an early wake up after a long, cocktail-filled first night, followed by a packed day of art appreciation and walking, we didn’t want to fuss with anything highflautin and we definitely didn’t want to travel far to get there. We needed something fast, tasty, and close. And so we decided on Chez Neung. 

Let’s play Spot the American.

Chez Neung is tiny, so regardless of where you sit, be prepared to dine within centimeters of a stranger. We snagged a table — the only one open — and put in our order: two chicken pad Thais, a Diet Coke and a regular coke. 

I can’t remember what we were talking about — was it the details of our day or rehashed high school lore? — when our canned Cokes came. But when they did, Ana shared a tip to make the cans’ carbonation less intense: take chopsticks and gently stir a few times. “I tried it the other day with 7-Up” she said. Modeling the technique for me, she ripped the chopsticks out of their paper wrapper, snapped them in half, and stuck one in. She stirred three times. 

And up arose the soda, an oozing of brown foam resembling a volcano’s slow but unchangeable descent of lava — similar to what I witnessed on my last day in Iceland. And once it started its spill, there was nothing we could do but stifle laughter and prepare to clean up the travesty with the two (2) napkins we had on the table. Moments before, we were wondering if any of our dining companions thought we were French. And if ordering Coca Cola wasn’t enough, the spillage and laughter that followed most definitely betrayed our true nationality. C’est la vie! 

People-Watching Hits Different in Paris

Another highlight was enjoying outdoor seating at a handful of cafes, with their street-facing seats perfect for people watching under bright restaurant awnings. And despite it being winter, I was delighted to see cafe patios if not packed, then certainly busy.  A visit to Café de Flore on Saint-Germain was a particular high point. In addition to the delicious teas Ana and I enjoyed under the lit-up restaurant marquee, it was damn near magical to dine in the same restaurant where James Baldwin spent his evenings writing his first novel, Go Tell It on the Mountain. Another pleasant outdoor cafe dining experience was steps away from the Arc de Triomphe.

The Most Memorable Coffee of the Trip

Our last day included the only rude French person we encountered the entire trip. What started as a beautiful morning spent exploring Montmartre and its postcard-worthy streets was tainted by our Uber driver speeding off angrily — leaving us stranded on the curb. 

After taking in the panoramic views of Paris at the Basilica Sacré Coeur, admiring the artistic spirit of Place du Tertre, and eating my weight in beef bourguignon, we decided to move on to our next itinerary item: the Shakespeare and Company bookstore. But it was our last day and we didn’t want to waste our last hours of daylight on finding a metro station. Plus, Ana had picked up a cough during our trip and the winter chill wasn’t doing it any favors. So, we rideshared, or at least tried to. 

Ana called the car. And then checked her phone battery, realizing a moment too late that it was dangerously low. Not knowing if the car would still come if her phone died, our options were limited. We could cancel the ride, but that cost €7. We could pray the driver would make it to us in time, but the charge rapidly declining. Or, we could get deux espressos and ask the cafe to charge it while we waited. The last option seemed the most rational, so we bolted into Le Consulat, asked permission to charge the phone, and put our order in. 

Since the only outlet was behind the bar, we had no way of checking if the driver had arrived. But we certainly had our suspicions as we watched a gray SUV drive up the street and put the car in park. Our server brought us our espressos, and Ana went outside to see if that was our car indeed. 

Here's where miscommunication came into play: I assumed Ana was going to speak to the driver and let him know I would be right out. And so I paid for the coffees, asked for to-go cups, and leisurely put my change away in my wallet. l chatted with our server, who immediately asked if I was American. As I made my way to my friend, hands full with coffees, her phone, and my wallet, I saw she hadn't gotten inside the car yet. I made my way over to her, and within steps of entering the car, he sped off, tires squealing. "Pardon! Pardon!" I yelled. 

It turns out Ana actually just peered into the car from the rear window to check if his phone displayed her name. And after he sped off, we were right back where we started: on the hilly (and chilly) Montmartre streets with 5 percent battery. 

Luckily, our second rideshare attempt yielded success, and soon enough we were in line to enter the famed Shakespeare and Company bookstore across the street from the Notre-Dame. We spent our last hours of daylight in the cozy haven flipping through books and learning about its literary-trailblazing owners before flying to Dublin the next morning. 

I’m sure Paris is lovely with a lover by your side, but to visit with someone who’s stood by you through acne flare-ups, breakups, and long distance — all without the strings of romance or family ties bounding you to closeness — is a very special thing. A special thing worth celebrating often.