A Little Help from the French

As a Canadian undergraduate student, chances for traveling to Europe are hard to come by; and so I jumped at the opportunity to tackle an exchange in Ireland for the spring semester of 2014. My experience abroad gave me a new confidence in my traveling abilities and an increased sense of wanderlust that propelled my interest in furthering my studies abroad. Luckily, I landed a scholarship from my home university that allowed me to attend a summer school course in Paris, France for two weeks in June. The journey from Ireland to Paris would mark my first excursion entirely on my own in Europe, relying on my own organizational skills and abilities to get me where I needed to go. As someone prone to daydreaming and forgetfulness, I knew this would be an interesting adventure.

I flew into Beauvais, an airport nowhere near the city centre of Paris, from which the only mode of transportation available is an overpriced coach bus shuttle that is quite cramped and lacks any air circulation. Eventually arriving at the outer rim of the city centre, it would take forty minutes by metro or fifteen minutes by taxi to the student hostel in Montparnasse. I chose metro, partially because it was less than 2 euro for the entire journey, and also because I knew it would be a struggle, and something to brag and/or complain about when completed. When one successfully maneuvers one’s way through the overlapping wires of the Paris metro, especially while hauling a large, stuffed suitcase, one feels quite accomplished.

There was something terrifying and exciting about being alone in a city that is as labyrinthine above ground as it is at subway level. As a city notorious for arterial streets and never-ending boulevards that is kinder to intrepid travelers than newbies like myself, Paris is overwhelming to the weary. There is not really ample time for second-guessing oneself or for pauses of self-doubt; you just do and try to fit into the Parisian flow of things as much as possible.

Finally I arrived at the student hostel in the early evening; it was a beautiful, century-old building full of character. My room was fantastic: it had typical Parisian windows and original floors, antique desks and a great view of the Boulevard Saint-Michel stretching down to the Jardin du Luxembourg. All of the challenges faced on the way were worth it to open up those Parisian windows and look out onto the street, knowing I was really in the city. By all means I was indeed “alone.” I did not know a single soul at the hostel; had yet to meet my fellow classmates or program coordinator; and was traveling without company. That said; one is never truly alone while traveling, as much as one would like to tout their independence and functionality without the help of others. This is simply is not the case.

You are never truly alone while traveling, even if you are literally on your own, independently making decisions for yourself. The people responsible for ensuring that all of the tiny background details are working are there too: such as metro operators; the kind strangers who offer to help carry your burdensome suitcase with you up and down those steep metro station stairs; and the waves of Parisians moving seamlessly throughout the city alongside you (and Parisians are very forthcoming when asked for help – rudeness is a wild misconception of them).

There is an orchestra of people behind the scenes in a city to keep it functioning and alive, that make is possible for visitors like myself to be independent there. In a city that relies on the participation and work of thousands of people, I came and went about as freely as I pleased. I was independent in making autonomous decisions, yet I was not alone.

Being free can be defined as, simply, competency. I am competent to be on my own with the support of others in a foreign city. I’ve made my own decisions in Paris, but I’ve also received the support and help of others there, too. For example, that first night in Paris, I intended on eating the single box of Kraft Dinner I’d brought with me from Ireland. It turned out that pots were not supplied in the hostel kitchens and I would have to rely on somewhere else to eat. McDonalds, a few minutes walk up the boulevard, became my first meal in Paris.

I look back on my experiences abroad with a redefined sense of freedom, a freedom of not always making the best decisions, and learning from these mistakes. That’s who I am: the imperfect traveler, at times bumbling along; while at other times, mildly impressed with my resourcefulness.

I believe the most freeing aspect of traveling independently in a city like Paris is realizing you are a mere microcosm of a greater network, all of us travelers and locals getting by with a little help from each other.

About the author:
Ashley Harvey is a creative spirit with various artistic interests, as of yet unsure where all of these interests connect. After a few years of creativity-related inertia, she has recently rekindled her love of writing, and intends to make good use of this spurt of ideas.

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