Cities Through Her Eyes

Paris

Paris. The city of love, lights and a few others I was sure. The most cliché-d city in the world and so of course my mother, the most cliché-d mother in the world sent me here.  "Go for a trip." She had said. "You know the back packing, all alone trip." Again so cliché-d. "Enjoy this gap year you have taken, I'll even pay for it." I said yes at the time hoping that she was not serious but here I am, in Paris. I had told her that I am not one for adventures, and specially with my awkward personality. I said I am too shy and introverted for something like this. I tried to kick in her maternal instinct and found the data of the murders in Europe. None of it worked. 

Somehow through  a mixture of metros and taxis, yes plural, I managed to reach the hotel my mother had booked for me: Grand Hotel Du Palais Royal. One of those fancy-ass hotels like the ones I went to on my family trips. This was perfect, I could stay there my entire stay in Paris. They had an amazing spa room I had heard, I was set. 

My room was a palace inspired modern room. I jumped onto the bed, cocooned myself in the blanket and dozed off for about 10 hours. By the time I woke up, it was nine at night. I was starving but as I was thinking of ordering room service, I received a call from my mom. It was the "proof" call. The call I had forgotten all about. I grabbed my coat and keys and ran. I ran all the way through the corridor, down the four flights of stairs and out on to the brightly lit Paris street.  The call had died by then but surely, two minutes later my phone rang again. "What have you done till now?" asked a very excited voice. I am not good at lying so I decided to stick to the truth. "Hi Mom, I was sleeping but I am out now, just roaming around... no I won't go back early... Yes you were right its magical... Okay bye , yes, not yet, yeah bye now." I finally cut the call. 

I had walked a few blocks away from my hotel while on call, so I turned back. While walking back, I saw this guy ride past me in a jet black motorcycle of some sort. He cruised by so fast that I hardly caught a glimpse of him. All I saw was his light brown, grow out hair flowing with the wind. I tried to look at him in the distance but he turned left into an alley. Once I reached that turning, I saw the same bike at the corner of the deserted alley. I walked in close to the bike and I saw a huge red arrow pointing towards a manhole. I thought about leaving it but curiosity got the best of me. I lifted the heavy piece of metal and shifted it aside. Inside I found a ladder, so I climbed onto it and pulled the metal to cover the hole. It was a long, long way down.

I could feel the thump of the music now. This was when my anxiety was supposed to kick in and tell me to turn back but I wasn't nervous. Maybe it was because this was all new and temporary, no one knew me here. No one would know me tomorrow. I opened the big red door at the end of the tunnel and walked straight towards the bar. I asked for sprite, of course. Then I turned around and noticed how congested the pub really was. "Elle est entrée dans mon esprit, entrée, entrée dans mon esprit." The song went something like that I think, my french is not great. I just started moving with the music. I have no idea what got into me. I turned back to get my drink, and next to me stood the brunette, bike guy. I awkwardly stared at him and then he looked at me so I looked away. 

"Salut... vous ne vous sentez pas bien ici, portant cette veste?" 

All I said to that, partly because I didn't understand and partly because I could feel myself blushing, was: " Hello." 

"Ahh no french? He said: You are not feeling hot? I mean wearing that coat of yours down here." His english was slightly broken but the accent! I tried replying but I could only break out a smile. I got myself to sit on the empty bar chair next to him. He gestures "two" to the bartender and the bartender places two glasses of vodka soda in front of us. I look at him, contemplating if I should... when without another second, I grab the glass and gulp down a large sip. He smirks, picks up his glass and clings it to mine, and we take a sip. 

After another drink, while sitting in silence , he takes my hand and pulls me through the crowd to the centre of the dance floor. He places his hand on my waist and my body perfectly synchs with his. And we move together, perfectly co-ordinated. 

The time almost vanished, at 2:30 in the morning, I was sitting the bike behind him. My hands were feeling the wind blow and I was singing some song, almost screaming it. Then, I rest my head-on his shoulders and tie my hands together around him.

After a while, we stop next to the river. I jump out of the bike and let the nipping breeze pull my hair back. He stood next to me and it was as if time had dropped. I know how it sounds, the cheesy love stuff. It was not that though. It was surreal, me being there with this guy I had just met. In a completely new city. This was not me or at least it had not been me, but it felt good. And what was wronging that?

The next morning, I woke up at around 9. "Come with me to Prague?" He had asked. I got up and started to pack. I had said no to the offer but we did exchange our numbers. Who knows, we might meet again in the future. I however, was packing to go somewhere else. Alone. I was not to going to be tied down to someone else already. I had made up my mind. I was all set for Barcelona.