79 HOURS IN PARIS | #1

Hi there!

As you may or may not know, on the 13th of October I hopped on the train to Paris with school. I was planning on doing a short recap, but nope. No alternative universe allows me to make that amazing trip into a SHORT recap.

As I love not only writing about things I like, I also love writing stories. So I thought that I would put my experiences of Paris into a story and maybe make this into a series of some sort. If you like it. That's why the most important thing you have to do on this very moment is read my story and comment below whether you thought it was good or not.

:)

I am quite nervous for this to go up because I have actually never shared any of my stories with the world wide web before and to be completely honest, I am quite scared to be judged very hard.
But, for the future's sake, here we go.

Disclaimer: this story is based on real live events, but is dramatized. Characters have been given different names for privacy reasons. I have no intention of judging or humiliating anyone. If you feel like a part of this story is somehow inappropriate, please email me (businessrosaly@gmail.com) with your reason and I will see to remove said part.

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Hour 1

Gare du Nord, Paris (Tuesday, 13 October, 2015)

French flags. A Starbucks. A dozen French adverts. Pigeons, scurrying and searching for dropped breadcrumbs. Suitcases. And people. Loads and loads of people. That's what I see when I first step onto the pavement of platform 2, Gare du Nord. I've been to Paris before, with my parents, but that was a last minute summer holiday, short and hasty. And sweaty. Not at all like the wall of cold air that hits my face this October morning. The group of students that is forming a shield to the cold around me, is a source of happy chatter, excited "OMG!"s and an occasional verbal shiver. Two minutes ago, the sky would have been grey, as far as the eye could see, but now, the first brave rays of sunlight are breaking through the clouds. Someone bumps into me and I shoot forward. It hurts, but I hear a muffled 'sorry' and decide not to pay any attention to it. I tighten my grip on my weekend bag, and start searching for my friends. About ten feet away, a tall, awkward blonde guy towers over the crowd surrounding him. He's looking down and chatting to someone whose face I can't see. Found them. I clumsily work my way through a wall of people until I discover that I'm going the wrong way, adjust my direction and end up right in front of the, now grinning, tall blonde. His interlocuter seems to have vaporized into thin air. 'Hey David, had a good journey?' I ask. Stupid question, he was sitting right across from me in the train. 'Yeah,' he answers, and we fall silent. David and I have never had a lot to talk about, nor is the 'inbetween' ever awkward. The silence is broken by Lisa and Emily, two extremely giggly and absolutely inseperable girls. 'Hiii, we're so excited! Are you excited as well? Oh my god, we're so excited!' Their cheeks are as red and flustered as ever. One by one, the rest of our friendgroup joins us, heaving their suitcases along the grey stoned platform. Alex, a short, skinny and athletic girl with way too much energy, always. Will, clumsy and tall, nearly as tall as David, and an amazing photographer. I must not forget to mention that, a long time ago, we had... something. I'm not entirely sure what it was exactly, but it was something. We get along fine. Last to casually shuffle their way across the platform is my best friend, Mandy. Her suitcase is way too big because, according to her claims, she took Monopoly for us to play. My bet is that the box will never be opened, the game will not even be so much as mentioned and it will dissapear back into the massive suitcase unplayed. Mandy is a few inches shorter than me, which annoys her because apparently I can rest my head on her shoulder but she can't rest her head on mine. She has brown hair and brown eyes, which also annoys her, because she thinks that is boring. Well, in my experience, she is anything but boring. Before we start a conversation that will end up on some strange topic that has nothing to do with anything relevant at the moment, because that is what we do, our teacher Nicolas summons us to follow him to the underground.

The underground is chilly, for some reason windier than outside. Nicolas gives us tickets that the acces gates will swallow soon after. It's crowded. Our suitcases slow us down, and some people throw us slighty annoyed looks. Suddenly the small tunnel we were walking through ends and we stand still, some of us, assumingly the ones that have never been in a tube station before, gazing at the wide round space, consisting of two platforms, separated by the tracks and lit by LED lamps that emit a warm glow. A whooping sound emerges, growing louder and louder, until it turns into a deafening, eerie squeaking. The tube. The crowd starts jostling toward the mint-coloured aluminium doors, that slide open before the tube has even stopped moving. Our three teachers hastily shoo us into it, meanwhile repeatedly warning us to mind the gap and, 'for heaven's sake', be quick. We discover why when a hornlike sound leaves our ears ringing, followed by the aluminium doors closing with force shortly after. Apparently the tube in Paris gives you about two seconds to get on or off. The tube itself is filled up to the roof with people of all sorts. I grab a silver bar that looks like it's attached to the wall and cling onto it so that my knuckles turn a yellowish white. I don't let go until someone taps on my shoulder telling me we have to get off. Remembering the amount of time we were given to get on, I immediately start panicking. I plug through the mass of people between me and the doors, pulling my most apologetic face and politely whispering a few 'excuse-moi's. Suddenly I find myself face first to the doors, that slide open once we've reached a speed that you could call somewhat acceptable. I take a breath and step forward. Relieved to find myself once again standig on solid ground, I turn around. Very dumb idea. I am bumped into by an outpour of strangers that stream out of the tube, seemingly coming out of nowhere and nearly lose my balance. I spin around, race to the wall and press my back against it. The crowd is now flowing past me, giving me time to look around. This underground stop is identical to the one we were in before. I spot my mentrix and math teacher, Eileen, and follow her to the rest of the group, that have gathered at the bottom of the stairs. I quickly glance at the sign with the name of the tube stop. 'Chatelêt'. That's something to remember for when you get lost, I think by myself. We walk up the stairs, struggling with our suitcases. Nicolas is trying to tell us somthing with a raised voice, but he can't outdo the noise of Paris' traffic and thirty over-excited teenagers. He gives up and starts walking. We follow, like a hurd of sheep. Having crossed dozens of endless busy streets, gazing at the appartment buildings with romantic-looking balconies that look like they come straight off of the typical Parisian postcards, after having desperately tried to remember the lesson on the Hôtel de Ville, suddenly looming in front of us, we finally arrive at the youth hostel we will be staying in for the next four days. The building, located in a narrow alley behind a catholic church, looks old, creepers leading up the cream-coloured concrete walls. Next to the double mahogany doors, hangs a metal sign carrying the name of the hostel: 'MIJE'.

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So... that was the first part. Jup. It was quite short, but I just wanted to see your guys' reaction before I start blurting my entire notebook onto this blog. So yeah. I really hope you enjoyed reading it and getting a little taste of, I don't know, my writing and obviously Paris as well. Although I have only described the station and the hostel. Uhm.

What did you think? More? Let me know in the comments please!

Bye.

Love,
Rosaly