**EDIT: In light of the recent attacks in Paris, I feel the need to preface my post. I was planning to post this the day of the attacks, but the timing seemed inappropriate. I want to share a few things that have been on my mind. Today I am thinking about Paris, but I am also thinking of the various tragedies that are occurring around the world. Yesterday, today. Daily. Not just the ones affecting "1st world" countries, but also the ones we tend to ignore. The ones that have been caused by our government, our consumption habits, our wars. To the people being horribly abused in the banana fields, I am thinking of you. To the thousands of immigrants dying as they cross the Mexican/US border, my thoughts are with you. To the Lebanese bombing victims of only a few days ago, my thoughts are with you. Everyone in Paris, I am thinking of you. Syrian refugees and south Sudanese women in displacement camps, I am thinking about you. Prisoners here in the US who are being horribly mistreated, my thoughts are with you. Black and brown people who must live in fear of our police, I am thinking of you. You all matter. You are all important.**
Paris, man. Paris was one of those time you look back on and wonder if it ever happened- cringe a bit, pat yourself on the back, roll your eyes, and relish in your current safety. These were the experiences I was looking for; this is why I went on the trip. I mean, no, I wasn't particularly trying to get roofied or have a shitty time. Obviously. But I learned so much about myself. Cheers to self-discovery and evading sketchy men!
^^ The morning after the alleged roofie incident, Rachel and I stumbled around town looking for coffee. Seeing the blurred "Cafe Cotton" sign in the distance was like a wonderful mirage. We approached, only to discover that Cafe Cotton was a literal store of cotton, not a cafe. I believe I actually cried. But! Not long after, we found a real cafe in which we acknowledged the absurdity of our situation, drank away our sorrows, and laughed uncontrollably. Seriously, uncontrollably.
We walked miles that day, laughing and crying through the intermittent bouts of nausea. We ended up at Monmarte where was sat for hours, making silly faces, warding of selfie-stick and beer vendors, and watching this cool soccer player do acrobatics on the light post. We then accidentally used our last remaining metro tickets to take a glass elevator down the hill, when we would have been perfectly suited to take the stairs.
And then we were done. That was Paris.
feminist. linguist. traveller. foodie. crafter.
All photos are the property of Elizabeth Cheney and may not be used without permission.