On my first trip to Paris in 1988, I had a long list of things to do and see, and the Louvre was number one on that list. The Mona Lisa! The Winged Victory! The Venus de Milo!
I didn't get to the Louvre for days. Each morning after a good night's sleep and a delicious breakfast at our Place Vendôme hotel (which is now way out of our price range), it receded in importance in the face of what was really significant: Paris itself was a series of art works in its vistas and architecture. It provided a completely unexpected visual feast that was overwhelming. Nothing had prepared me for how beautiful the city was. We spent time strolling, sitting in cafés, people watching (and admiring Parisian chic!), enjoying the different pace and atmosphere, and taking photographs by day and by night. Many were moody or of lesser-known sites, and an attempt not to replicate postcards which we were buying by the dozens. Remember postcards?
(The Cluny Museum of Medieval Art)
(Paris's most famous department store)
Winner of my high school's French award, I was also thrilled to finally use my French and absorb phrases and expressions on the spot that had never came up in any class. People complimented my skill and kept asking where I was from. I obviously had some kind of accent, but they couldn't place it, and I didn't seem Canadian or American. Once I told them, they were surprised and more impressed because they uniformly reported not encountering many Americans who bothered speaking their language.
Thanks to my command of French, I even got a private tour on a dinner cruise along the Seine one night. The lights and sights were so beautiful, standing at the rail after dinner, I murmured, "Mais, ç'est beau comme un rêve." (Wow, it's as beautiful as a dream). The elderly couple nearby overheard me and agreed, drew me into a conversation, introduced me to their granddaughter who had just passed some exam, and proceeded to describe in their own words the buildings we were passing, as well as their personal history with each part of the city we passed. Delightful.
(Dinner cruise on the Seine)
That first trip taught me to slow down while traveling. Not an easy thing to do for someone born in New York who was always proud of "crowd walking" on Fifth Avenue and other busy streets: cutting through hordes of people as quickly as possible, almost the way bike messengers zip through traffic now. And let's face it, seeing as much as possible in Europe as quickly as possible is an old American tradition: Henry James noted that in his 1878 novel The American. But when you rush, what do you really see? Isn't that like speed reading? You get the gist, but do you appreciate any nuances? How can you?
Lev Raphael is the author of the memoir/travelogue My Germany and 24 other books in genres from memoir to mystery which you can find on Amazon.