When one comes to Paris, one should always pray for rain because that’s how Paris is meant to be seen.

Cue the Concertina.

Now, the well-dressed sophisticates prancing around with baguettes and ennui.

The exaggeration melts away. All these things, these cartoonish cliches, just seem to just work in Paris. They spin around and come out vibing. Paris is like that cool friend who will always be cooler than you but somehow is not an asshole about it.

It’s hard to be ironic about Paris.

I’ve been to Paris a few times, I’ve come with my parents and with tours and on my own, and I’ve always enjoyed the city, the one that lives up to its hype. 

Walking around Paris, IRL is even better. I found myself in cute boutiques, somehow holding a perfect croissant, and suddenly better dressed by way of osmosis. Paris is like a filter of charm. Just ignore the poop; that’s all of Europe. 

Colombes is a suburb of Paris, where the big box stores and big hotels are. The charm is subdued. It looks like a city. One of our friends was coming all the way from Manila for a conference. She was extending her hotel stay, so Colombes it was.

We had 36 hours in Paris with friends, and didn’t splurge on the Parisienne Princess Package. We found a cheap listing near the convention center where we could congregate.

I’m an experienced traveller, I thought. We only need to do one or two touristy things in Paris proper, I thought. I even speak a little French, I thought.

Here’s what I learned:

Don’t try and save in Paris, you don’t have to find the “cool” places. They will find you, I promise. Don’t stay in the outskirts or try and do the underground stuff, seriously, the Parisians don’t want you here. They want you to stay in the Tourist areas. Walk around, feel the ambiance, because the second you hit Zone 2 on the Metropolitain, you’re on your own.

There are three transit apps in Paris. They do not sync but the tickets do, somehow. Only one will allow you to pay. There are different trains that go to different stations; you pay on separate transit apps which do not link and each is good for an hour unless you turn around and throw salt over your shoulder, roll a cigarette, and do a little dance.

There is a saying that in heaven, the cooks are all Italian, the lovers are all French, and the Germans keep the trains running on time. In hell, the cooks are German, the haters Italian, and the French try to make it worse somehow.

In hell, there is no escape. No matter how many apps you download.

You enter the gates of no return, and then tap out. If you can. If you misjudge which train arrives at which station and which transit app you’ve paid with, you will not be able to leave. If you overstayed your time allotment, you will not be able to leave. If you try and find someone to help you, you will not be able to leave.

You will have to back track, there will be no one to help because all of it is automated, there is a call line, but it will sound an emergency alarm and your French will not be as good as you think it is.

Take a picture of the signage and walk.

You have been warned. Skip the underground, don’t try and be cute by being local or checking out the suburbs. 

Paris is worth it, she’s beautiful. It’s hard not to romanticize Paris because you walk around and you just get it.

However, one traveller to another, spend the extra cash on some millionaire’s Airbnb’d pied-à-terre and live your best Emily in Paris life.

I haven’t even begun to talk about the pickpockets. You have been warned.