Paris - far beyond the borders of France also known as the "City of Love." To be honest, from my last visit 3 years ago I accompanied my father had only a gray, huge, scary big city with far too many people remember. And yet followed I one of my spontaneous flashes just before going to sleep and sat down for a few days later, on a gray Saturday morning, at Munich airport on a flight to Paris. And that alone. Previously, I had to
both my friend, my mother and my grandparents explain why I suddenly want to fly to France alone. That I could not explain exactly, so I had always refer only to the old friend of my father that I wanted to visit in Paris. It is this greeted me - beneath a bright sun in Paris - with kisses left, right, kisses at the airport. Equally warmly greeted me his wife and two daughters in the most comfortable House I have ever seen. I was patiently introduced into the tribulations of Paris buses and Metro stations and after a lunch of cheese I was made to finally rid the city.
On my first day I was very amused. After hours of walking I wanted to take a break in a park next to the shopping center Les Halles. "C'est la romance de Paris, elle au coin des rues Fleurit, ca met un peu au coeur des Amoureux de rêve et de ciel bleu ...", drowned it out to me. About 50 singers and a few musicians who had gathered under a kind of pavilion and irradiated the whole area, while nearly the passer's eyes from the Head fell. The whole thing was actually something romantic. The drug dealers in sunglasses, who was a few yards further off in handcuffs by three police officers was mentioned only in passing. No one seemed to know who these people were. Since I am innately equipped with a healthy dose of curiosity, I finally spoke to one of the singers. He told me many gestures that they were the "Bachiques Bouzouks" and meet regularly at various locations in Paris were to sing old songs. Spoke, and gave me a music book in his hand. And so I hummed on my first day in Paris songs, of which I was not a single note known.
evening I got to know me the famous "timeliness" of the French. I had an appointment with Philippe and his family at the Place d'Italie to eat. At 8 Clock I gave them notice that I was waiting for her. The answer, a text message: "We're almost there." For an hour I drove my time trying to walk around the Place d'Italie, go to strange people in the dark dawning of the way and to insure a waiter that my friend match them and everything would be fine. At 9 clock Philippe welcomed me with joy beaming smile and two kisses. How could I be angry?
The next day I overslept in half. I can probably rule out a jet lag. Maybe it was because my cat, either before the bedroom door screaming, still awake around gymnastics to me. jam baguette dipped in cocoa - - for the best breakfast in the world I sat down again in the Metro. The afternoon I spent trying to walk along the Seine. Except with a roller-skater, who sat at about 5 degrees naked to the waist and huge headphones on cobblestone streets and roads (and it worked easily popped by), I had the pleasure with a strange dance group. Three young women and three young men danced in front of a photographer. The whole thing seemed quite harmless at first. Until they began to undress. Above all, the men got stalk eyes, when the dancers finally just stood there in her panties. Besides the question of what this action should probably bothered me the thought of the cystitis, the ladies would probably get.
On Monday, my last day in Paris, I went to a very famous "marché aux puces," the flea market of Clignancourt. Although these are less to be a flea market. People are selling new shoes, new clothes, decorations and much more ridicule prices. After I was told that I "belle", "jolie" and would "Mignonne" and also "très bien" French were speaking, I was able to persuade the seller to some special prizes, and left with four Clignancourt nostalgic metal signs, souvenirs for my friends and three pairs of shoes.
When I packed my stuff on Tuesday, I was actually a little wistfully. A hugger and kisses rich farewell was finally a bit hectic march through the airport (where I find the duty-free shop where I get 20% on the expensive perfume?), Another load of my purse and finally a lovely window seat in the plane to Munich. And when I looked out the window, I decided to come back in the summer for a month. I fell in love. Not But in a man in a city. Paris, je t'aime.
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