I admit this post is self-indulgent, and I'm here to brag. Don't hold it against me; I'm someone who never brags, but allow me this small slip (which won't happen again) because not long ago, I wasn't in charge of a baby, and not being a parent is a period in our lives that you quickly miss. Understand that now I am the happiest person in the world, but I was happy before too, and Paris was my last pre-parent trip.
Paris is an incredible city, it's on everyone's list of cities we absolutely must visit at least once, and it's so famous it even has its own syndrome, the Paris Syndrome. It's a transient psychological disorder mainly suffered by Japanese tourists, who idealize the city so much that many are disappointed when they see it and fall into this depression or disorder.
From my perspective, Paris is spacious, majestic, and boasts colossal avenues. Haussmann did a good job in its 19th-century recomposition, through expropriations, dead workers, and injustices, but architecturally it was a good job. The injustices and expropriations went hand in hand with Napoleon III, but hey, when has a Napoleon ever been considered a good person? Before Haussmann, Paris was a dirty, dark medieval city, and therefore unhygienic. The architect designed what we know today.
Parisian sex and a cheap apartment
That's right, before I became a father, I had a healthy and frequent sex life, and since we all have that idyllic place where we did it, today, without anyone asking, I bring you my experience.
Paris two years ago, Lucie has a French writer friend who has a beautiful apartment in Montmartre, 5 minutes from the famous stairs that lead up to the temple, and she let us have it for €50 a night. Keep in mind that it was August, and she rented that apartment for much more; the writer is just her friend, not a fool. Well, a series of coincidences began to unfold one night, and the ending was satisfying. The views from the window of our bed were these, which the photo doesn't reflect even half of their beauty, but you can get an idea—they are the roofs and domes of Montmartre.
Well, one night, carried away by—I don't remember if it was French cider or wine—we began what for me, but probably not for her, was that time I'll always remember. Let's omit unnecessary details that occurred in bed and fast forward to when the final moment approached, the climax of any respectable pasodoble, the uncorking of champagne, the San Fermín rocket, the microwave's "ding." Right at that moment, a religious procession in the middle of Montmartre square began to sing with a Gregorian monk choir a piece with medieval tones. Surprised, I looked out the window to observe those illuminated domes, while the monks sang. I had no revelation, I didn't see the Lord, but readers, it was really cool, with "really cool" being a very simplified summary of feelings and thoughts that my vocabulary would likely feel defeated trying to explain.
Free museums.
Lucie, the other half of Teytal who is not me, has something very good about her, and that is that we could say I fell in love with her smile, her eyes, her intelligence, her genuine laugh and how it sounds (even today it still gives me goosebumps) but what the hell, she owns a chocolate shop which means good Belgian chocolate for free, and she has a lifetime pass as a tourist guide that gives her free access to museums, cathedrals, monuments, and sometimes priority access at the entrance. And of course, now, how could I resist that? I fell in love.
We are early risers; in fact, we used to wake up naturally at half past six to go down to the center from Montmartre, where our apartment was, which was a good walk. Even though we arrived well before opening, there was already a long queue at the Louvre Museum, which, thanks to Lucie, we avoided by entering through a side door, and I bought my ticket once inside. To be honest, this was the case in almost all museums, and in some of them, I, as her companion, didn't have to pay. The good thing about this pass is that it's not just for France but for the whole world, knowing that in some countries they'll probably tell us, "a pile of crap for you."
Ultimately, I will always remember Paris as that idyllic trip, just the two of us before becoming parents, where we had freedom of movement, where we did what we wanted, where I discovered a cultured woman who explained paintings to me and showed me the corners of the city where she had been a high school teacher.
And as I said before, today, for the first and last time, I came to brag about my cheap apartment in Paris, my free access to museums, and my sex with Gregorian monk chanting, and I apologize for it.
Soon another absurd, uninteresting travel blog.
Regards and such.
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