It is 2:32 on my first Parisian Friday, and I have a hot cup of tea to warm my frozen fingers, the remnants of une tartinette de framboises crumbled in a box near my knee, and French pop on the ancient radio. If I sit up and strain my neck, just a little, I can see the spire of a church across the Haussmanized rooftops.
Yesterday a British photographer named Paul kindly helped me get un-lost, and a San Diego skater named Max told me solemnly that my name was special to him because he had almost named his hamster Emily. And so, with such a fine introduction, I entered Paris. Yesterday fatigue and the cold competed with each other and kept me upright. Today, my charming landlady/house (grand)mother Madame de Turckheim helped me navigate the Metro for the first time–an odd mix of the DC and New York systems, only everyone is much better dressed–to find my way to the IFE classrooms. Mme de Turckheim has propped me up well in my day and a half. Thanks to her, I’ve got a Monoprix (grocery) rewards card; my Passe Navigo, which I have yet to understand the mechanics of; a working cell phone, though the most simplistic kind; and, bien sur, introductions to the cell phone seller & the coffee man outside the metro & everyone else as “l’étudiante américaine qui vient d’arriver!” (the American student who’s just arrived).
Today I got my city stride back. Today I got my Paris stride started. I wandered in the Marais this afternoon, and found myself in L’Eglise Saint-Paul-Saint-Louis just to warm my hands, one of those baroque churches that are scattered like crumbs through the streets of Paris. No one was in there, except one dark-haired woman hugging her knees in the front row, but somewhere a choir was practicing, and I lit a candle and stood on a heated grate to look at the Madonna as threads of soprano brushed the gilt dome. I felt very peaceful, and very lucky indeed.
Kids streamed out of schools for lunch, effortless with words I tripped over only minutes ago when trying to buy a jambon&fromage crepe, the fourteen year olds already smoking, already flirting, older than I ever was then. By following one jumble of dark-haired teenagers I found the Place des Voges, and tried to find Victor Hugo’s house to ask his ghost how he feels about Anne Hathaway as Fantine. But the cold sank its teeth in and I ducked my head and walked faster, past motorcycle shops and travel agencies and patisseries with lines out the door. I forgot how much I missed cities, and even two days into this one I know I’ll leave not having seen it all. It took me five minutes to decide which pastry I wanted at the shop near the Place de la Republique, and if it weren’t for the seven flights of stairs to my room, I would be concerned for my future waistline given the sugary options all around me.
To the Monoprix, then! Tonight I’m going to my first French aperitif, chez the cousin of a friend, and I do hope they like me. My French is better than I anticipated, but still not quite good enough. I have not seen the Eiffel Tower, and I have yet to see Notre Dame; but I think Paris and I will get along. I will make it happen–and if you know me, you know that’s a promise I can keep.
Emily Wolfteich 
