Although my trip to Paris was many years ago, I can still remember it like yesterday. Okay...last week. Alright, maybe a month ago. Sigh. I admit it. It was awhile back, but I do have fun memories and not so fun memories of the city.

I traveled to France with a student group (then called AIFS-American Institute for Foreign Study, now called ACS- I forget for what)

I had had a year of French at that point, (making straight A's I might add), and had never been outside the United States. It was a big deal for me. There were 7 of us from my high school in San Antonio. My professeur, her mother, and 5 students. We caught a flight out of Houston into Brussels, where we met our bus and our bus driver Joss, a Belgian, and our British courier, Heather (who reminded us all of Twiggy). Our first night in Paris we ate in a wonderfully rustic restaurant on the Left Bank. The walls were full of French actors who had eaten there and signed their photos for the proprietor. Included were Jean Marais and Josette Day, who starred in Cocteau's Beauty and the Beast.

They served up a hearty steak and pommes frites for us before we arrived at our lodging for the next few days--FIAP, at 30 Rue Cabanis. FIAP stands for the Foyer International de Accueil de Paris (International Welcome to Paris Center), and it was founded in the late 1950s and early 1960s to provide international lodging from travelers from all over the world. The building was constructed in 1968. Since I was there, in 1983, the name has been changed to FIAP Jean Monnet, to honor one of the original founders of the organization.

It is a no-frills type of high-rise lodging, but with so many teenagers and young adults running around, it was never boring! We girls had a room for five. The large room boasted saggy mattresses with orange fine-wale corduroy bedspreads and bolsters. I seem to recall a desk or 2, and a few chairs, and we even had our own balcony from which to view the L'Hopital de Saint Anne across the street. The room had its own bathroom with a shower and the special French thin slick brown toilet paper. From the looks of their web page, some modernization has occurred since I was there. There is now an extra restaurant, and a bar as well. They provide lodgings for individuals AND groups.

Breakfast was served in the FIAP cafeteria: a roll or croissant with preserves, and hot coffee or chocolate. We began settling into a routine nicely during our 3 day stay there. FIAP's nearest metro stop is Glaciere, so we were very close to everything that the Left Bank had to offer. It is safe, and comfortable, and you really begin to develop a sense of fun and excitement with other travelers from all over. I'm sure that the place has seen at least one facelift since I was there.

The next day we toured around the Place de la Concorde (which was ankle deep in blood during the revolution from the guillotine, they informed us), saw the Arc de Triomphe, and of course, went up in the Eiffel Tower.

If you have never been-- you travel up at an angle along a curved leg in two different sets of elevators, and it feels very unusual. But of course the view is spectacular. The first evening we were treated to a river cruise along the Seine, and treated to a glass of the most incredibly foul dry red wine I'd ever tasted afterward. Then we traveled up to the top of the hill on Montmartre. Montmartre (Mountain of the Martyr) is named for Saint Denis, the patron saint of Paris. I believe he was martyred by being rolled down the hill on a spiked wheel? Or maybe I'm getting him confused with Saint Catherine (of Catherine Wheel fame). Up at the top of the hill, we passed the chapel of Sacre Coeur, and because it was around dusk, just about every student in the city was hanging out, talking, laughing, listening to one strumming his guitar-- it was like a giant pick-up joint.

We had dinner at a historical restaurant on the hill called Auberge de la Bonne Franquette (The Simple Inn, or the Inn Without Fuss). The Inn was one of the favorite haunts of Toulouse Lautrec and Maurice Utrillo. One of the things I remember most about Montmartre was the fact that I'd worn a dress and heels for dinner, and my heels were picking up tons of doggy poop from between the cobblestones! Ladies be warned. Paris is poop city. It's a city hazard here you might as well get used to!

The inn itself was charming and full of French flavor. The food was another matter. I ordered the French Onion soup which was delicious-- rich delicious broth, full of softened bread, and topped with a full crown of gruyere, as is proper. One of my friends let me taste his snails, and I have to admit what they say is true: they taste like chicken. His were dressed in the wonderful garlicky butter snail sauce the French do so well. However, the rest of my meal left much to be desired. I was glad I at least got these small morsels to fill me up. I ordered the Boeuf Bourguignon, and was appalled to find that it had no discernible flavor. Absolutely no seasoning had gone into the flavor of this meat.

It was as dry and tasteless as the Luberon in August. I began to raise my arm to alert the waiter that I needed a soupcon of salt, when I felt the insistent pressure of Dr. G's hand on my arm. "What are you doing?!" she said frantically. "I was just going to get some salt," I say. "You can't!" she said, "You'll insult the chef!"

I sat there dumbfounded. My mother had hammered in the importance of not wasting food since I was a youngster, and here I was going to waste at least a $3.00 cut of meat because Monsieur le Chef had an inferiority complex? I'd never heard of anything so silly. So there the meat sat. I picked at it of course. After all, I was starving. But for me, the onion soup, single escargot, and 3 tartines from the breadbasket would have to suffice for dinner. The entertainment thankfully began then to take my mind off my hunger. Acrobatics ensued, Jewish folk dancing with the "Hava la Geva Hava" song (forgive me please, I'm Gentile), an organ grinder.

It was all in good fun, and very ebullient. All in all an enjoyable night. Then came time for dessert. "Finally!" I thought, eyeing the chocolate mousse added so lovingly to the menu just for me. My hopes were once again dashed when they let us know that they were fresh out of chocolate mousse. "Mais non!" I cried. To no avail. We were all served the same dessert-- spumoni ice cream. I took one biteful and had to fight not to grimace. The candied fruit in the ice cream made me want to retch powerfully. After this I sat, trying with a surgeon's precision to remove the fruit from the dessert before I spooned it up. It didn't always work. I wondered if Picasso and Braque had had this much of a problem trying to get a decent meal in this place.

The next day was a visit to the Louvre. And I'm ashamed to say as a BFA in art history, that I missed so much. It seemed like row upon row of endless madonnas. "Not another one," I can still hear myself saying. And now I wish I could go back and savor the experience as I did in my religious pilgrimage to the Uffizi many years later. Of course I recognized the Venus de Milo, and the Winged Victory, and Artemis with Stag, and of course I ooohed and aaahed over the Leonardo da Vinci room, but I was only 16. And now I shudder at my ignorance. Someday I'll make it back to really appreciate the art I missed. Heck, the glass pyramid wasn't even there yet when I visited.

The next day, we got to see the beautiful Notre Dame from the inside, since we'd sailed by it the night before. I didn't think I had never felt so close to God. His importance and majesty seemed to be everywhere. I lit a candle for my father and sat for awhile admiring the stained glass. Then I gave equal attention to the famous gargoyles outside.

Next we saw Napoleon's Tomb at the Dome des Invalides. In a round hole in the floor, you see a HUGE carved, gleaming wooden box, which houses several other gleaming wooden boxes. There the little dictator is in his glorious mausoleum. Very impressive, l'Empereur.

We ate at a little cafe across the street from the Dome. Dr. G had gotten her doctorate from the Sorbonne. Everywhere we went, she ran into people she knew, and this cafe was no exception. She excused herself upon our arrival to go catch up with some older men sitting outside. And she was out there a long time. Meanwhile, we were getting hungry, but most of us were terrified to order, because the waitress did not speak English.

Half an hour had gone by, and still the conversation outside showed no signs of abating. Finally, I took the situation in hand. I positioned my phrasebook within handy reach, called the waitress over, and to my own amazement, began skillfully and politely, to order lunch for everyone! I think I was as flabbergasted as they were! When Dr. G arrived back inside, apologizing profusely for leaving us stranded so long, we laughed as the waitress walked over with a tray laden full of food. She was so proud of me, and quite honestly, that is where my love of foreign language began in earnest.

We got a free afternoon that day, and one of the girls and I decided to head to the Galeries Lafayette- kind of the equivalent of a French shopping mall on several floors. They carried plenty of Cacharel and other recognizable brands, so of course I stocked up on doodads. We both returned to FIAP laden with goodies. That night we got the surprise of our lives when one of the mental patients at the L'Hopital de Saint Anne across the street began...um...well...for lack of a better word...STROKING himself in front of the window. Being the good girls we were, we closed our drape and giggled for awhile until we got tired of playing truth or dare, then retired.

Our night was the topper! Our staid American moms didn't realize it, but Dr. G wanted us to experience real Frech culture. The Moulin Rouge! And no, I still haven't seen the movie (unless you mean the old one-- the one with Mel Ferrer. I liked that one). It was an eye-opening experience for a 16-year old only three years out of Catholic school. More breasts than lunch hour at Kentucky Fried Chicken! Breasts and pink plumes, and champagne bottles, and dolphins in tanks, and silver sequins, and well, if you're into decadence, this would be a good place for you to start. The feature show when we were there was Debby in "Femmes Femmes Femmes."

The last day there we made a visit to Versailles to view the folly of the Sun King. It was a fascinating and beautiful glimpse into history, but you can't help but think of all the poor French who starved while the King paid them no heed. The Hall of Mirrors is truly a sight. And I loved the Petit Trianon. We had a small snack in the gardens- ham and cheese on baguettes, an apple, and warm lemon Fanta. Yum.

While Paris was what made me a travel buff, I realized that because I spoke decent French, I was treated MUCH differently than the other members of our party. The large group detracted MUCH from what I wanted to see. And we continued on after Paris. I do not recommend organized tours. Too much of a "If this is Tuesday it must be Belgium" mentality.

I know that if experienced independently and with someone I love-- browsing through the Louvre together, walks along the Seine, antiquing at Les Halles, romantic dinners at 3 1/2 to 4 star restaurants, I would be writing a much different review. While I was bitten by the travel bug, mine was a flea with a nasty bite. It wasn't until I experienced Florence that I knew true love.

Below are some helpful links for your trip!

FIAP: http://www.fiap.asso.fr/uk/index.html
Galleries Lafayette: http://www.galerieslafayette.com/vdm/GL_index.asp
Auberge de La Bonne Franquette: http://www.paris-montmartre.net/franquet.htm
Moulin Rouge: http://www.moulinrouge.fr/home-flash-gb.html
The Louvre: http://www.louvre.fr/
Versailles: http://www.chateauversailles.fr/EN/

Recommended: Yes

Best Suited For: Students
Best Time to Travel Here: Mar - May