Paris is about 320 miles from Amsterdam, and the Thalys high speed train covers that distance in about three hours and twenty minutes. I've been feeling a bit remiss over the past few months for not yet taking the relatively short trip to what was my first international travel destination. So I took a vacation day on Friday, arranged for a couchsurfing host in Paris, and took the long weekend in the city of lights.
Mitt Romney has committed several gaffes in the past five months, one of which being his comment that the Michigan trees feel like they are the right height. I don't know if Mr. Romney has any personal affection for Michigan and simply failed to articulate his feelings, or if he was simply taking another failed step in forming an artificial connection with voters. If he was trying to articulate something genuine, he should have gone with smell. To me, something about Paris just smells right. I'm not sure what it is - the smell of the Seine, or the metro system, or the street food, or the trees (whose height seems perfectly fine, if not "right") - but it smelled the exact same as it did when I lived there for five weeks in 2002.
Being in Paris made salient the modest size of Amsterdam. Amsterdam has four metro lines and some trams; Paris has 14 metro lines five RERs (rapid intracity train/metro hybrids). Amsterdam has a population just under 800,000; Paris has a population over 2,200,000. Amsterdam feels quaint and quiet; Paris feels like am imperial capital flexing its muscles and showing off its richness in arts and food.
The "showing off" is evident in the night time lights. In Amsterdam, the small lampposts that border the canals combine with canal side apartments to glow and glitter on the waters at night, but the scene, while beautiful, almost feels like a nice byproduct of normal life. There is nothing that feels like an accident in the Parisian lights. Not when the entire Eiffel Tower is lit up, and an array of white bulbs dance on the exterior for ten minutes before turning off and leaving only the normal spectacular lighting.
Lights on the Seine, and the Louvre, and Invalides, and dozens of other landmarks turn on right at dusk.
My host, Isabelle, and her friend Pacault (I'm guessing on the spelling - it sounded like "taco") told me about a new fad on the Pont des Arts, a pedestrian bridge over the Seine. Apparently couples can buy locks and "lock" their love to the bridge for a price. Charming.
I visited one of my favorite museums in Paris - the Rodin - and I was disappointed to see that much of the surrounding gardens are under construction. This left the Thinker relatively far away.
I'm guessing I'm not the first person to take this picture.
My host Isabelle could not meet me for a few hours after my train arrive in Paris, so I took that time to visit Sacre Coeur, the sparkling white cathedral on the highest point in Paris. And a little photographic evidence that I was indeed in Paris.
The weather was unseasonably warm, and droves of tourists and locals lounged in the sun on the grass.
As is typically the case when I visit large European cities, I ducked into as many churches and cathedrals as possible. Some are famous, like Notre Dame and Sacre Coeur. Others were smaller and less well known (at least to me). All had some unique beauty, either in the stained glass windows, the high ceilings, the candle displays, or the altars.
Naturally, the food is one of the main draws of Paris. I unfortunately accidentally ordered the same thing for lunch on Friday and Saturday - an open faced sandwich with an artery clogging amount of cheese, ham, and egg on it. I bought Isabelle lunch on Sunday in exchange for hosting me, and she steered us to a place where I was able to safely order a nice salmon meal.
And, of course, Paris is full of Parisian bakeries.
And, of course, Paris is full of Parisian bakeries.
Isabelle hung out with local friends of her both Friday and Saturday nights. Jean and Jeremy were itching to party on Saint Patrick's day by bar hopping and drinking a pint of Guinness at every pub. The night ended around midnight when everyone realized that they're getting a little old for chugging Guinness. But not too old to wear silly hats in public.
Locals flocked to the Luxembourg gardens on Friday, just as they had to Sacre Coeur. It was unseasonably warm (around 70), but even the normal weather allowed for flowers to have recently been planted.
And, as is the case with any city, one of the real pleasures is simply to walk around, people watch, and see the local architecture.
I managed to sneak in an hour at the Musee d'Orsay right before leaving back for Amsterdam on Sunday. The d'Orsay is built in an old train station, and it has an equal mix of sculptures, paintings, and miscellaneous (like furniture). It has a large impressionist component, with many works from Van Gogh (including Starry Night, which apparently resides there rather than in the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam), Gaugin, Matisse, Rodin, etc. But the building itself is as impressive as the artwork it houses. 
