A New Solo-Traveler in Paris
Never before have a traveled alone. Never before have I ever even really traveled. Since coming to France it has been the first time I have been in an airport without being toted along by one of my parents, minding me to hold on tight to my carry on and not bump into people. It has also been the first time that I have ridden a bus that was not yellow and carrying multiple loud people, ages ranging five through eighteen.
Yet, here I am in France. Here I am… I am going to Paris, and not just Paris. I am going to Paris alone.
I kind of want to be all inspirational like all those female travel bloggers that I see online who get their start in the world this way. They rave about the wonderful experience of “solo travel” as they call it, but to be completely honest right now, I don’t feel all the things that people have been calling me since I let them know I would not be in Aix-en-Provence this weekend. I do not feel inspirational. I do not feel brave. I do not feel ballsy. I feel nervous.
I hope it is a good nervous.
My backpack is packed, stuffed full of just enough clothes and my book I have a feeling will not make the cut to come back on Sunday. My hostel that probably looks nicer in the photo than in real life is booked, and my plane ticket should be set to print out the moment I get to the airport most likely too early.
I have always said that I wanted adventure, and I have definitely been slightly complaining about how no one will go to Paris with me for some reason even though I really want to go and see what the city has to offer. I have said to my friend back home that I am going, I am, yet I still worry about being safe and having a good time. I told them that I am nervous. They said to worry more about possibly catching a case of Paris-itis.
Well, here I go. It is the first time I think I hope I catch a little something.
Yet, here I am in France. Here I am… I am going to Paris, and not just Paris. I am going to Paris alone.
I kind of want to be all inspirational like all those female travel bloggers that I see online who get their start in the world this way. They rave about the wonderful experience of “solo travel” as they call it, but to be completely honest right now, I don’t feel all the things that people have been calling me since I let them know I would not be in Aix-en-Provence this weekend. I do not feel inspirational. I do not feel brave. I do not feel ballsy. I feel nervous.
I hope it is a good nervous.
My backpack is packed, stuffed full of just enough clothes and my book I have a feeling will not make the cut to come back on Sunday. My hostel that probably looks nicer in the photo than in real life is booked, and my plane ticket should be set to print out the moment I get to the airport most likely too early.
I have always said that I wanted adventure, and I have definitely been slightly complaining about how no one will go to Paris with me for some reason even though I really want to go and see what the city has to offer. I have said to my friend back home that I am going, I am, yet I still worry about being safe and having a good time. I told them that I am nervous. They said to worry more about possibly catching a case of Paris-itis.
Well, here I go. It is the first time I think I hope I catch a little something.
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