#2.1: S'il Vous Plaît

November 12, 2015 was a day that I had been looking forward to for a number of weeks after I had learned that my wonderful fiancé was planning a romantic trip to Paris for us to celebrate the turning of a decade - my 30th birthday.

It was a whirlwind of a week from engagement photos in my hometown, to asking my girlfriends to be bridesmaids in the wedding, to racing back up to PA to pack our bags and head out for Paris!

Chris was quite the world-traveler at this point in his life - me, not so much. In fact, this would not only be my first trip to Paris, but my first trip to Europe all together! AND! Believe it or not, before I met Chris, I had never even been out of the country. That of course changed after we started dating and I’m so thankful that it did. Looking back at all of the adventures that we have taken together over the years, I have to say that they are some of my fondest memories.

So on November 12th- just a few days before my birthday- we packed up our bags and took the overnight flight from Philadelphia to Paris’ Charles de Gaulle Airport. After we landed on November 13th, we were jet lagged, full of excitement, and so thankful to Chris’ Parisian friend who offered to pick us up from the airport to take us to our new ‘home’ for the week - our Air BNB flat with a view of the Eiffel Tower. (Let me just say, my man spared no expense to ensure that this was going to be a birthday to remember.)

I remember feeling so many things at once - exhausted, grateful, the desire to soak it all in. Really, it felt like a dream. (Very much like a Carrie from Sex in the City kind of a moment.)

You must know that Chris’ first rule of international travel was ( and still is): that no matter how tired or jet lagged you feel when you arrive, you HAVE to push through it (without sleeping or napping) so that you can acclimate to the local time as quickly as possible. Though somewhat hard, it seemed reasonable enough. And, that is exactly what we did. 

After we checked into our Airbnb, we were off to see the La Ville Lumière (the City of Light) with excitement that we would return that evening to a front row seat of the sparkling Eiffel Tower itself from our Airbnb ….or, so we thought.

We bounced around from café, to café. From shop, to shop. From site, to site. From brasserie, to brasserie. All the while sipping champagne in celebration of being in Paris, of each other, and of the anticipation of my 30th birthday.

On of my favorite spots was the 'lock bridge'. The lock bridge is a sort of tradition or ritual that is practiced on the bridges of the Seine River in Paris. Couples inscribe their names on padlocks, lock it on the bridge and throw the keys into the river. The ritual symbolizes love locked forever.

We were definitely off to a great start!

As day turned to night, we were starting to really embrace the Parisian culture! I even drummed up enough courage to go to the bar and order my drink of choice in French! (I’m sure it was awful, the only language I ever studied in school was Spanish and don’t really remember a lick.) Despite the bad rap Parisians get for being rude, the bar staff loved it and even tried to help me with my pronunciation!  

We had dinner at a fabulous restaurant, that to this day I swear hands down, has the best escargot money can buy. Blame it on being in Paris, or the champagne, I don’t care- it was my first time trying it and is still the best that I’ve had. And, trust me, I’ve been on the hunt. Every year on our anniversary Chris makes reservations for us at a different French restaurant just so that I can continue my escargot search. 

The BEST escargot EVER

(Funny story - one time I came off entirely too booshie when a waiter recommended the escargot and I replied, “I’m not sure - I haven’t had good escargot since Paris” - Chris and I looked at each other and burst out laughing which was quickly followed by an apology and explanation to the waiter.)

Anyways, after dinner was over, we were feeling the effects of the travel, the jetlag, and to be honest, the multiple glasses of bubbly champagne. Even still, we decided to accompany our Parisian friend for a “nightcap” before heading back to our flat. What could one more drink hurt? Famous last words.

We arrived at the pub, which was full of locals, who were watching the French football match on the pub’s TVs. Our friend knew the bartender and asked him for a round of shots for the three of us. Well apparently, his idea of a “round” was bringing out a platter- yes, a platter!- of Jägermeister shots! This was a first, but when in Rome - or this case- Paris… So, down the hatch they went. 

Little did I know that my life would be forever changed, just seconds after that platter arrived.

Not long after the infamous platter, we began hearing siren after siren on the streets outside. The French sirens are very different sounding than the sirens that we have here in the states, and it is a noise that has become ingrained in my mind ever since.

Quickly after hearing the sirens, the TVs in the pub changed from the football match to the local news (again, in French so at first I didn’t have a clue what was going on).

The changing of the stations was then followed by the bar staff drawing closed the metal shutters on the windows and locking the entrance to the pub. 

This is when my fear crept in. What on earth was going on?! I thought that we were getting a nightcap and then heading back to our view of the Eiffel Tower, but from what I could tell, we weren’t going anywhere!

Thankful for our friend who could translate, he relayed to us the ugly and downright frightening truth of what we were caught in the middle of - what would later become known as the deadliest attacks in France since the second World War...