Have you ever been to Paris at night? Neither have I.

Mona Lisa gazed into the crowd. People pressed in on all sides, cameras held high. I couldn’t have turned around if I’d wanted to. Kyra and I pushed forward through the sea of paparazzi to get a closer look at the Louvre’s most famous painting (perhaps the world’s most famous painting). A curly head of hair obstructed our view. The couple directly in front of us shifted awkwardly, snapping a selfie. When they moved away, we were finally at the rope. Mona Lisa smiled. The mob crushed forward. 

My first day in Paris was 48 hours long and started at my Nana’s cabin. My family woke up early, packed the car, and drove for five hours. Back in the Twin Cities, my dad ushered us through the airport and we caught the five o’clock flight to Paris de Gaulle International Airport. Two movies and three hours of half sleep later I arrived in Paris. 

Although we’d barely slept, the day was only beginning in Paris. After settling into our hotel (my dad irritated the manager into giving us our rooms two hours early), we walked to the Louvre (dodging traffic the whole way, pedestrian right-of-way is not a thing here). Despite my bloodshot eyes and the light rain, it was beautiful. Penne a la Carbonara and tomato mozzarella salad for lunch. Greek Sculpture. Two-dimensional Medieval paintings. Jesus. Chubby babies. The Renaissance. More Jesus. Mona Lisa. Romanticism. Men in Tights. The French Revolution. Julia looked like she could drop at any moment. We’d barely scratched the surface. 

Back at the hotel we fell into bed at three o’clock in the afternoon. When I woke up, I thought is was Monday morning until my parents knocked on the door and said they were going to pick up something for dinner before the stores closed. After a shower and lots of bread, cheese, and chocolate I’m ready to sleep again. Technically, I’ve been to Paris at night now. But I won’t see the lights until tomorrow.