I have officially been overseas.
Like, overseas overseas.
Not Canada. Not a cruise ship that technically touched another country. Not somewhere where everyone speaks English and I can confidently locate a Walmart within 15 minutes.
I went to Paris.
By myself.
And somehow, I came home.
That last part feels important.
This was my first trip overseas, and while I was technically a solo traveler, I wasn’t completely alone. I met up with a friend from Canada once I got there, which was comforting because nothing says “I’m a capable, independent woman” quite like arriving in a foreign country and immediately thinking, “Okay, where is my adult?”
The Journey Begins
My trip started with a terrible airplane seat.
Of course it did.
Because apparently the universe wanted to make sure I understood from the beginning that international travel was going to require character development.
I spent the flight folded into a position normally reserved for carry-on luggage, wondering if my knees would ever forgive me. But eventually, the plane landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport, and there I was.
In France.
Alone.
With luggage.
And absolutely no idea what I was doing.
And then I did something that still makes me disproportionately proud:
I figured out Charles de Gaulle.
By myself.
I found immigration. I found my luggage. I found the exit. I found transportation. Nobody had to come rescue me. No one had to send a search party.
I even figured out the airport well enough to later find the tax refund area and an ATM.
At some point I thought, Wait. I may actually be good at this.
Or at least good enough to avoid becoming an international missing-person case.
Bonjour, Paris
We stayed in the Latin Quarter, and my very first observations of Paris were the architecture and the colors.
Everything looked like a movie.
The buildings. The balconies. The cream-colored facades. The little shops. The flowers. The doors. The café chairs spilling onto sidewalks. The architecture that somehow makes even an ordinary street corner look like someone intentionally composed it for a painting.
And the colors.
Paris has this beautiful, muted palette that somehow feels both elegant and completely lived-in. I spent an embarrassing amount of time taking pictures of buildings that were, essentially, just buildings.
But they were Paris buildings.
So naturally, I needed 47 pictures.
The Best Way to See Paris When Your Feet Are Already Filing a Complaint
One of the first things we did was the double-decker hop-on-hop-off bus.
And honestly?
Do this.
It was the perfect way to get an overview of Paris without immediately walking approximately 900 miles.
From the top of that bus, I got to see so many of the things I had spent years seeing in pictures:
The Eiffel Tower.
The Arc de Triomphe.
Notre-Dame.
The Champs-Élysées.
Historic buildings everywhere.
Beautiful bridges.
Monuments.
Museums.
And enough high-end boutiques to make me realize that apparently Paris has a completely different understanding of the word “expensive.”
Then there were the patisseries.
Oh, the patisseries.
There is something deeply unfair about putting that many beautiful pastries in one city and expecting people to make responsible decisions.
I did not come to Paris to count calories.
I came to Paris to experience the culture.
Some cultures just happen to be made of butter and sugar.
Obviously, We Went to Disneyland Paris
There was never any question that Disneyland Paris was happening.
I could travel halfway around the world, but I was still going to find Mickey Mouse.
We spent two days at Disneyland Paris, and it was beautiful.
The weather was actually reasonable, which I appreciated because I had mentally prepared myself to either melt, freeze, or get rained on.
And yes, we stayed at Sequoia Lodge.
Because obviously.
It’s Bambi-themed.
I am nothing if not predictable.
There was something surreal about being at Disneyland Paris. I’ve spent years visiting Disney parks in the United States, so seeing Disney through a European lens was such a fun experience.
And the castle?
Absolutely gorgeous.
I took approximately eleventy-billion pictures.
I regret nothing.
After two days in the parks, we headed back into Paris using the subway—the same way we had gotten there.
And if you had told me before this trip that I would casually navigate a foreign subway system, I probably would have laughed.
Instead, I was standing underground in Paris thinking, Look at me. I have become a woman of the world.
Art Nerds Have Their Moment
Back in the city, we visited the Musée d’Orsay.
This was a particularly special part of the trip for me because my minor in college was art history.
I have spent years looking at reproductions of these works.
I have studied them.
I have read about them.
I’ve talked about artists and movements and techniques.
And then suddenly, I was standing in front of the actual paintings.
The real ones.
The ones I had only ever seen in books and on screens.
There is something completely different about seeing the physical scale, texture, brushwork, and color of a painting in person.
It was one of those moments when I thought, Okay. This is why I came.
We also toured Notre-Dame.
Seeing it in person was stunning.
There is something about standing inside a building that has existed for centuries that makes you suddenly feel very small.
The history is overwhelming.
The craftsmanship is incredible.
And seeing it after everything it has endured made the experience even more meaningful.
The Louvre: Please Send Reinforcements
On our final full day, we did a private tour of the Louvre with Tours by Flo.
This was absolutely the way to do it.
Our guide was fabulous—exceptionally knowledgeable and somehow able to keep us moving through a museum that is approximately the size of a small country.
We hit the major works, including all the things you feel like you have to see when you’re in the Louvre.
Yes, the Mona Lisa.
Yes, there were approximately 4,000 people between me and the Mona Lisa.
Yes, I took a picture anyway.
At one point, I think I was mostly taking pictures of the backs of people’s heads.
But the Louvre was incredible.
As someone who studied art history, getting to stand in front of so many historically significant works was honestly surreal.
There were moments when I had to remind myself:
I’m not looking at this in a textbook.
I’m here.
In Paris.
In the Louvre.
My little art-school self would have absolutely lost her mind.
Apparently Paris Requires Feet of Steel
We walked.
So much.
Dozens of miles over the course of the week.
By the end, my feet had entered into a formal labor dispute with the rest of my body.
Every night I would look at my step count and think, Surely that’s enough.
And then the next morning Paris would say, Cute. We’re walking again.
But that’s the thing about Paris.
You want to walk.
You want to turn down the next street.
You want to see what’s around the corner.
You want to stop at another café.
You want to photograph another building.
You want to peek into another shop.
You want to see what is beyond the next bridge.
There is just so much to see.
Before I left, I did something that was probably the most meaningful part of the entire trip.
I left a lock in memory of Mom overlooking the Luxembourg Gardens, with a view of the Eiffel Tower.
My mom should have been there.
She would have loved Paris.
She loved Disney. She loved beautiful things. She loved adventure and little treasures and experiences.
And I know she would have been taking approximately as many pictures as I did.
Leaving that lock there felt like taking a little piece of her with me—and leaving a little piece of her in a city I know she would have loved.
It was a quiet moment in a very busy week.
And one I won’t forget
Then Paris was over.
The week flew by.
One minute I was figuring out Charles de Gaulle and wondering whether I had made a terrible mistake.
The next, I was standing in the airport heading home.
And because apparently the universe had decided I had suffered enough on the way over, I was surprised with an upgraded seat on the flight home.
I would like to formally thank those who were responsible (I know, I'm loved).
My knees would also like to thank you.
The woman who boarded that flight to Paris was nervous.
She was excited.
She was worried about navigating a foreign country alone.
She was wondering if she could actually do this.
The woman who came home was already thinking about when she could go back.
Because here’s the thing:
I loved Paris.
I loved the architecture.
I loved the art.
I loved the history.
I loved the food.
I loved the colors.
I loved the little streets and the enormous monuments.
I loved Disneyland Paris because apparently I am incapable of going anywhere without finding Disney.
I loved walking until my feet hated me.
And I loved proving to myself that I could get on an airplane, fly across an ocean, navigate a foreign airport, ride a subway, find my way around a massive city, figure out a foreign tax refund, and have an adventure all on my own.
I went to Paris thinking I was taking a trip.
I came home feeling like I had opened a door.
And I already have plans to walk through it again.
Paris, I’ll be back.
Just maybe next time I’ll request a better airplane seat from the beginning and pack a MUCH larger suitcase.