The weather in Paris went from mid 60s and sunny down to 30 and snowing in a matter of two days. And no, my advanced planning did not allow for such drastic snaps in climate. I was layered within an inch of my life: tights, pants, tank top, turtleneck, sweater, scarf, two pairs of socks, boots, gloves, (blessedly) waterproof coat. There were many stops into cafés and stores this day to dry out and warm up. I will pat us on the back and say that we were completely undeterred in our adventures around the city that day, though we did waddle like penguins and slipped and slid all over the place.
You know what Parisians are really bad at dealing with? Besides the English, tourists, Germans, Italians, and basically everyone else not French? SNOW. Not a single sidewalk was shoveled, not a single street was plowed, not a single staircase was salted. And still! Still! Women were walking around in tiny stilettos. I LOVE THE FRENCH.
When I say “it snowed,” I mean it snowed the entire day Tuesday, actively, and without a break. After finally trekking to the tippy top of Paris and touring the Basilique du Sacre-Cœur, we walked back down through the Île de la Cité and Île Saint-Louis again (what can I say, we were charmed by those tiny islands), only this time we had a mission: love locks. My mom had given us a lock to attach to the Pont de l’Archevêché before we left, and we picked the coldest possible day to stand on a bridge over the Seine and toss a key into the river. Sure, it’s cheesy, but since when is that a bad thing?
We had lunch in the 10eme at a restaurant without menus or prices, where you were given a plate of kebab and frites, before going to the absolute coolest, tiniest shop in the world (I’ll write a full post on it tomorrow) to pick up some unique souvenirs.
Tuesday night was the night we had luckily rescheduled our tickets to see “How to Become Parisian in One Hour,” (which we showed up ON TIME FOR) and we laughed for an hour straight. It’s a one man show, by a Parisian, in English, detailing the cultural differences between non-Parisians and Parisians, and trust me, he makes just as much fun of Parisians as he does tourists. And we had front row tickets! He’s bringing the show to London for a dew dates this month, and if you’re in the area (ahem, Annie/Sam/Sue/Chi/Meghan!) I cannot recommend it enough. I’m hoping the show comes to America at some point because we’ve been remembering small bits of his act days later and cracking ourselves up.
We tried to take a cab back to Montmartre afterwards, only the thing about Montmartre is there are a million 90º angle hills, and did I mention it snowed and everyone in the city lost their ability to function? Yeah, our cab stopped halfway home and wasn’t going any further. BECAUSE OF 4″ OF SNOW. I’ve talked a lot about my Inner French Girl, but my Inner Philadelphian was eye-rolling SO HARD. In Philly we eat 4″ of snow for breakfast and get on with our day. I’m not going to complain, though, because the city was so staggeringly beautiful covered in all that fresh white snow. I think the apocalypse could hit Paris and it would still find away to look gorgeous even as it’s going up in flames.
We had one last dinner at a place that looked like an English medieval cottage before cross-country skiing our way back to our apartment, ordering a cab for the morning to take us to Charles De Gaulle (which ended up being an hour late to pick us up, BECAUSE OF THE SNOW), and passing out. Paris, I love you. And I miss you already.