A Walk in Paris (with Paris Greeters)

It is ironic to think that in a place where the architecture, the cobblestone streets, the churches, the palaces have stayed the same throughout centuries, I find myself coming back to a different Paris each time. Every time I return, it seems like I’m returning to a changed Paris. The minute I step into its streets, I feel the distinct almost imperceptible undercurrent of a place different than I remember. Like coming home after a prolonged absence and noticing that your favorite wall hanging has been moved a millimeter to the left. Good, bad, indifferent, one thing never changes. Paris always, always, always makes me swoon. It is as if I enter a trance and I convulse into involuntary back flips while promenading along the Seine. Baguette under one arm, of course. Whenever I catch Anthony Bourdain on TV, I feel a pang of envy. I want to have that same experience of seeing a place in the eyes of a local. I want to hear the stories of a place as told by someone who calls that place home. Especially if that place is Paris. When I made an appointment with a volunteer Parisian guide via Paris Greeters, I did not expect that that would exactly be the kind of experience I would be in for. I met my Parisian guide outside the Maubert metro. A resident of the 5th arrondissement, he would show me the quirks and nuances of his neighborhood not often covered by guide books. There were so many snippets of interesting information walking the streets of Paris. The walk would take me to the small neighborhood park next to where ex-first lady Danielle Mitterrand lived while her husband, then President Francois Mitterrand carried on an affair, past the bouquinistes (those charming green stalls selling old books, menus, posters, that sort) along the Seine, to an amphitheater back when Paris was still known as Lutetia in the Roman Empire, to the street where Ernest Hemingway lived.

Of course there was one quirky moment when heading towards the marche on Rue Mouffertard, a lady I would mistake for a bum would bellow in something in French and my guide would respond something back. She is a wealthy lady, owning a lot of real estate in the area and was known to randomly scream things at random people just to interact with someone.

We sat outside Dose - Dealer de Cafe on Rue Mouffetard while I enjoyed my coffee and he his OJ. We have spent the last half hour or so walking and he was opening up to me a Paris I've never known before. By conversations surrounding politics and the Parisian society in general, I was gaining understanding of how complex the French people are, and also perhaps, how activism never left them two centuries after the French Revolution. Case in point: I was scheduled to fly Air France both directions to and from Paris, but on the week of my trip, the pilots decided to go on strike. Seriously? This is so foreign and unintelligible to my capitalist-trained brain. No flights for two weeks? But this is the way of the French. It is their way or the highway - millions of dollars in business be damned. We resumed our walk on Rue Mouffetard where a lively market was in full swing and at this point, I gave up my pretense of coolness. The SLR had to come out.

#paris #diytravel #travel