Paris - Day 1

More than twelve million people live in this city. Twenty arrondissements form a metropolis in the north of France, famous for its wine and cheese, its baguettes and crepes. Legendary writers have lived in Paris, many of them already gone. Ernest Hemingway, for example, he moved here in 1926. Henry Miller in 1930 and Mark Twain in 1897. William Faulkner, too, he lived here in 1925 and F. Scott Fitzgerald in 1928. They all spent several years in Paris and wrote amazing literature.

My train left at six something in the morning. St. Pancras Station is only a ten minute walk away and for the first time I thought, coping with a ridiculously high rent finally payed off. I packed a couple of clothes, a nice pen and some euros. Drinking a last cup of coffee I noticed that it had started raining. It was too early to play any music, but the sound of sleepy raindrops knocking on my tilted window was better than any song I could think of. I drank up and left the house.

I arrived at the station alright, but the woman at the check-in said I had to hurry. I didn't quite comprehend her attitude, but once I passed a security check and a passport control it suddenly made sense. Fortunately, I got through without any problems and made it to the platform, the carrier, the right seat on time. I stowed my bag in the bag compartment, tucked my jacket in the jacket compartment and jealously doze off to the smell of coffee from the woman who sat next to me.  

By the time I woke up we were already in France. Only moments after I realized where I was, the speaker made a funny sound, then a voice announced a soon arrival at Paris Gare du Nord. Crazy, I thought, but it was true. People stopped slurping their juice boxes and started grabbing their bags. As if tired from all the running, the train approached the station very slowly. I washed my face with my bare hands to get rid of the fatigue and stepped outside. Paris. 

I exited the platform and looked out for Bosccono who had arrived here a few days ago. Somebody tapped me on the shoulder and I turned around. But instead of my friend some absent looking girl shoved a piece of paper in my face, telling me to sign. For a good cause, she says. I looked at her and considered punching her back into reality, but I ended up saying, I don't think so. She insisted, I said no. Then she left. I looked around, still no sign of my friend. Sigh.

Coffee would be great, I thought, and walked up to an ice cream stall that hosted a coffee mashine. Before I could even smell the beans I saw the price list and turned around to swallow my saliva. I really felt like having a cup, but four sixty is just madly unreasonable. I switched the sim cards of my phone and punched in my pin number. A second later it rang. I picked up and heard Bosccono's voice. She sounded sleepy and I can't blame her, I'm tired, too. I should've picked a later train.

We met up at Notre Dame de Lorette, close to where Nanook lives. Nanook is a friend of a friend's of my friend, and he's lived in Paris for more than five years. I was taking a picture of a yellow post box attached to a wall, my first photograph of Paris, when I saw somebody walk up to me. Bosccono, so nice to see her. We said our saluts and I was introduced to Nanook. And this guy, a man like a friendly small bear, he must be the most likeable dude in the entire Ile de France. 

First we went to a little cafe close to the opera, enjoyed hot coffee and vin chaud in the 9th district, then walked around the neighbouring arrondissements in search for interesting shops and boutiques. We toured around, following Bosccono's genius fashion sense, and checked out store after store. In the evening we grabbed an Ace Bento in the 2nd district where they have lots of Japanese and Korean restaurants. For dessert we chose a nice little place around the corner, perfect for the end of a great first day.