où est le metro?

where is the metro station? AKA debunking myths

Prior to this weekend, I’d received a number of warnings about Paris, all echoing the same sentiment: the city is overrated and its inhabitants are rude.

This weekend, I perceived none of this to be true. 

For one thing, Paris is stunning. There is something to be gawked at in every direction. On each bus ride, I nearly gave myself a whiplash trying to glimpse it all. I can easily understand the city’s siren call to writers, musicians, painters, and lovers alike.

Then there’s the fact that every single person was warm and friendly — particularly when I stopped them in the streets to ask for directions. And believe me, as a person traveling alone, this happened fairly often.

Okay, it wasn’t that often. I mean, it’s not too difficult to navigate the streets of Paris when there’s a monument of some sort on nearly every block. You just hop on the bus, go in the general direction, hop off, spot your destination looming magnificently over all the other buildings, and walk towards it. If you see charter buses, you’re on the right scent.

Sometimes, though, I needed help. And the Parisians would smile kindly and point in the direction of the metro or tell me when the bus has arrived at l’Opera.

Once, an elderly lady actually told me that the bus had arrived at Sacre Coeur before I had even asked for help. I guess plastering my face to the window with my jaw unhinged as we whizzed by Montmartre was a dead giveaway that I was a tourist.


I had to trace my finger maniacally in the air for a couple of seconds before she understood that I was taking the bus to the last stop, then getting on the opposite line to see the neighborhood from a different route, before stopping at Sacre Coeur. (By the way, this was a hearty recommendation from my hostess. I second it.) “Ah,” she said. “Around.” Two stops later, the same woman gestured for me to get off the bus, because we reached the end of the line. Again, I hadn’t asked for help.

Gosh. I guess there’s something about my appearance that makes people want to help me. I don’t know. Maybe my default face is set at utter bewilderment. Someone once said this to me…not in those words, per se, but more along the lines of, “You look like you’re always confused.” It seems this trip confirmed that.

Truly, though, a little comprehension of conversational French goes a long way. Asking basic questions, or even letting out a feeble, “Pardon, parlez-vous anglais?” will reward you with the appropriate information. Or, at least, point you in the direction of someone who does speak English.