After arriving safely at my destination in the chic 8th Arrondissement (there are 20 that divide up Paris), I decided to leave my travel troubles behind and see what was in store for me. Like basically every other Parisian, I would be living in an apartment for the next five weeks. But hey, when in Paris…

My bulging suitcases and I rode the tiniest elevator I have ever seen up to the 6th floor and knocked on these beautiful, white French doors. As Madame Lafont, my host mother, opened the door and welcomed me in, I was slightly taken aback. She was probably no more than five feet tall with long blonde hair, dressed completely in white (including white stilettos, mind you), and sporting some stylish Christian Dior glasses and some intense jewelry. I knew at that point that I was in for quite the experience. Oh, and did I mention that she was 88 years old?

I didn’t feel like unpacking, so my suitcases would have to wait in my room until later. She and I went to the foyer to relax and she told me about herself, her husband, her family, her childhood…at least I think that’s what she was talking about. You see, she was speaking completely in French and knew not a word of English. My French wasn’t terrible when I arrived, but I was exhausted and picked up just bits and pieces. Unaware of my skill level, she kept on talking, asking me questions (I could tell by her intonation), to which I mostly responded with a polite smile and a slightly embarrassed laugh. After the two hour conversation (well, monologue), I ignored my exhaustion as my inner-tourist came out: I was in Paris, and I was going to see the Eiffel Tower.

My journey there, however, was anything but direct. I started walking around, amazed by the beautiful apartments and the buzz of city life. One of the best decisions I made on the trip was throwing caution to the wind and letting myself get lost that afternoon. I tried to familiarize myself with my neighborhood, to no avail, when I realized I had absolutely no idea where I was. Then I remembered the beauty of big-city public transportation. I could hop on the métro (the subway) and go anywhere I wanted. Fortunately, the chance of finding a métro station near you in Paris is about the same as finding lint in your pocket. It’s basically 100% guaranteed.

I still remember the first time I saw the Eiffel Tower. I was actually on an above-ground section of the métro. It was just a flash, but it literally took my breath away for a second. I spent about two hours there taking pictures and making my way up to the second level. I couldn’t go to the top, however, because the elevator was stopped due to overcrowding at the top. I figured I could probably find time within the next five weeks to make it up there. I sort of wanted to get home anyway. My exhaustion was creeping up, and I had my first day of classes the next day…