I am haunted by the things I want to write.  Just as I’m about to close my eyes, it comes to me… the perfect article about Madrid or Paris or somewhere I haven’t been yet.  I always promise myself to remember it for the next day, but it never returns, these twilight inspirations.  I think Paris has left me unseated, looking for a way to explain myself, only relaxing into the idea of it as I drift off.

Figuring out the disconnect

It’s taken me two weeks to get over Paris.  I arrived in the airport with a backpack and no clue.  I followed the signs for “Sortie” until I found the tourist desk.  In my previous life I would have never asked for directions from such a place, I prided myself on being self sufficient.  That was before I realized that my basic French wasn’t going to navigate me to my hostel, even with three pages of notes in my moleskin.  “Do you speak English?” I ventured.

I soon found myself on a bus headed to the Champs de Elysee.  It was the only street address I knew off the top my head and I watched the English dubbed tour video as we rambled through the countryside (Welcome to Paris, we have shopping, food, and wine).  I had come to Paris completely unprepared, waiting for inspiration.  It was this notion I had of exploration and adventure, of being a writer, that landed me directionless, fumbling in a foreign country so well explored before me.

I had approached it completely wrong.

I had found a little adventure, as I deciphered the metro map.  I had explored the gardens of the Louvre by accidental encounter.  But I couldn’t write about it, recklessly, the city seemed to deserve better than that.  I was full on intimidated, so I avoided the subject.  What was Paris like?  It was big, beautiful, noisy, crowded, amazing, delicious, and sweet.  You can eat crepes on any corner.  You can rent a bike for 1 Euro.  You can walk the Champs De Elysee and watch the tourists buy stuff made in China.  You can spend a fortune on lunch, just because you’re near the Eiffel Tower.  These are just snapshots, but I never caught the full picture of any one thing.

In the end, I saw most of Paris only through my peripheral as I whizzed by on bus or train or foot.  I didn’t strategize, leaving it to luck and chance.  It was a wonderful trip, but hardly a unique experience.  I felt like a 3rd grader recounting her summer vacation whenever I tried to pin it down.

Lessons Learned

I wanted Paris to tell me something, but I never found it in my short time there.  I’ve learned a lesson about how I want to travel.  In Lisbon, next week, I will be carving a narrower path.  There will likely be people who disagree, preferring the scatter shot approach of grabbing up as many experiences as possible.  For me, I want to try to absorb completely one or two things.  I’m still learning, but I suspect Lisbon will tell me more in one place than in twenty.

As you travel, have you had to adjust your style?  Did you ever feel like the mad dash through a destination makes you miss more than you see?