A Night in Paris

Silly Duck   
  Funniest thing just went down- the back of my throat is so dry from adrenaline that I feel like I just ran a marathon. So mum and dad and I have just spent the most wonderful few days in Paris, checking out the Louvre museum, walking the stylish Montmarte district and the Tuilerie gardens, boating under the imposing bridges along the seines river, gaping up at the Eiffel Tower while scoffing Nutella crepes and smiling at every gorgeous street we turned down. We have taken up the national sport of people watching, pointing out bohemian bourgeoise individuals toting chihuahua in one hand, glass tipped cigarette in the other, baguette under the elbow and browsing delicatessens laden with goats cheese and soft fig rounds, rainbow macaroons, strawberry tartlets, jelly cakes of paté, cured meats hanging from the walls and vins fins (fine wines) to pair with every morsel. We have heard the history of extravagant kings, headless queens and saints, the reason the city survived the war, the overarching popularity of Paris Disneyland, the practical purpose of the radio tower also known as the Eiffel Tower, the danger of putting all those eternal love padlocks on bridges. We have eyed the gargoyles of Notre Dame, seen a cyclist hit by a bus (she’s okay I think), eaten from the most highly rated bakery in the entire bread obsessed city and been challenged by a psycho in floral board shorts and a suit jacket. We walked in silent awe most of the time, wishing we had more time to take it slowly and picnic at the parks by the Seines River. It has been so much fun that when I just went to say goodbye to mum and dad on the metro, we were talking to another couple of Australians and I just jumped off waving at everyone and made my way to the bus stop for the airport, still in my Paris induced dream bubble. When I got off the next metro I suddenly felt extremely light. I was light. Because dad was still wearing my backpack while zooming around underground somewhere in a city of twelve million. If you know me well you know I don’t deal with stressful situations well. The people watching me probably thought I was having a heart attack, because I hadn’t yet realised dad was wearing my backpack and I thought that I had just left my bag on that metro disappearing into the dark unknown. And the worst part was, dad had just entrusted me to take his favourite shoes back to Madrid so that I can send them back to australia. I swung my head around wildly, holding my heart, cheeks suddenly burning and probably foaming at the mouth a bit. I started bolting through the train station literally saying out loud ‘Jessica how could you be so stupid?!’. I was trying to find an information desk to ask them to send out a city wide search to look for my backpack and return it to me before my 9pm Ryan Air flight. My parents are going to kill me is all that ran through my mind. Then it finally dawned on me that I never got my backpack off dad, so I ran to find a ticket to go almost an hour on the train to where mum and dad are staying in Paris. I had a big chat with the ticket lady to rationalise, and we decided I should go to the bus station and find wifi. I ran up there, crossing at red lights and generally freaking the bejesus out. That’s when I saw mum and dad standing at the bus station. Dad was waving down airport buses and jumping on to look for me, but on the whole they were so much calmer in comparison to me. Mum is one of those amazingly chilled humans when it comes to seriously stressful situations. We said goodbye a second time and now I’m with my backpack on my way back for eight final days of Uni in Madrid and mum and dad will continue gallivanting Europa, with Sicily next up. 
O-revwaa, Pareeeee!!


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