France

Paris at Seventeen: Rain, Luck, Bastille Day, and Chaos in the Streets

I arrive in Paris with Aiden expecting something simple. We are supposed to stay with Mark and spend two days exploring the city. Then Mark tells us his hotel only fits two people and we have to figure it out ourselves. We are teenagers in Paris with backpacks and no plan.

We search for hostels and get nowhere. We ask online. We ask in the street. We are literally asking strangers if we can stay at their homes, which is insane looking back, but we are young and desperate and trying not to call our parents.

It starts raining and it feels like the city is closing in.

Then the miracle happens. Frauke calls. Her friends in Paris have parents out of town and they are having a sleepover. A real sleepover. With teenagers. And we are invited. We sprint into the metro and make it happen.

When we arrive, the girls are hanging off the balcony and they spot us instantly. They start yelling down at us when they see the backpacks. We climb upstairs and suddenly we are safe. We spend the night laughing and bonding with French strangers who feel like instant friends. It is one of those moments that makes me believe travel works out if you keep moving.

The next morning I wake up early to meet a friend under the Eiffel Tower at nine. I have no cellular data. I do not understand how far away it is. So I try to run there in the rain, which is a terrible idea. I end up trying to use maps around the city, then jumping through a chain of problem solving, finding WiFi, trying to get a scooter working, riding miles through Paris with no confidence and a rising panic, then running again, asking strangers for directions, until I finally turn onto cobblestone streets and see the Eiffel Tower to my right.

I sprint. I arrive breathless. I meet my friend. I cannot believe it worked.

We walk together through Paris in the rain. We find the famous Love Lock Bridge and I grab a random lock, try a code, and it pops open. The code is 194. It feels like the universe is messing with me. We put the lock back, and the whole moment turns into a teenage Paris memory I will never forget.

Later I make my way back to reunite with Aiden. On the way I pass a Colombian protest and hear that the president might be there, but I am too focused on getting back. That is what travel is as a teenager. Everything is happening at once, and you only understand pieces.

We eventually secure a hotel because my cousin Faisal helps us, and that night I sleep like someone who has survived something.

Then Paris becomes Paris. We explore the Louvre and see the Nike statue and the Mona Lisa. We go to the Pantheon. We walk past Notre Dame, and it is just after the fire, so the whole area feels raw and historic at the same time. We do the Jardin des Tuileries. We do the Eiffel Tower. We do the Arc de Triomphe. We walk the Champs Élysées. We walk everywhere because we are broke and young and walking is how we own the city.

Then we return to Paris again later for Bastille Day. July 14, 2019. I am awake early and the streets already feel charged. We go to the Champs Élysées for the military parade and I see Emmanuel Macron in the procession. The avenue feels like a stage. There is an enormous French flag. The whole city looks proud.

That night we find a spot for the fireworks at the Eiffel Tower, and it is the craziest fireworks show I have ever seen in my life. Then we start walking back toward the Arc de Triomphe and the sound changes. Flashes. Yelling. People running.

We see police tackle people. We see flash grenades. We see tear gas canisters on the ground. We see fires. Broken windows. It feels like Paris is splitting open. We learn later it connects to both Bastille Day and the Algeria versus Nigeria semifinal in the African Cup, with crowds flooding the streets and the energy turning into chaos.

Paris gives me everything. Romance, panic, luck, history, fireworks, and the reminder that the world is always bigger than your plan.