by Jen McConnel
I only got lost once when I left the subway in search of the hostel I’d circled in the guidebook. The streets weren’t all labeled, so of course I walked right by the little alley that hid the shortcut I’d found on the map. Eventually, though, I got myself straightened out. It was hot carrying the heavy backpack up and down the narrow, winding streets, and I made a mental note to thank Shauna for making me clear out some of my clothes and wear a dress to fly in. I would have died if I’d been in jeans!
The hostel was halfway up a hill in the center of the Latin Quarter, and when I got there, I hesitated, staring at the tiny storefront. The guidebook claimed the place had over thirty beds, but from the street, it looked too small for even three. I lugged my backpack inside and dropped it in front of the cramped reception desk. The slender woman at the counter looked up at me and smiled.
“Where’re ya from?” Her accent was twangy and strange, and I realized that she wasn’t French.
“America. What about you?” I handed her my passport.
She reached for it and barely glanced at the information. “Australia.”
“What are you doing in Paris?” It was a rude question, but I couldn’t help myself.
She just chuckled. “I’ve been here four years. I was just traveling through, and then one thing led to another,” she shrugged elegantly, “and now I manage the desk.”
“So you got a job after staying here? That’s so cool!”
The receptionist eyed me up and down. “Do you think you might stay on?”
I shook my head. “No. Just traveling around for the summer.”
She laughed. “That’s what I thought, too!” She reached for a key behind her. “There’s a bed in dorm seven, on the third floor. Bathroom’s on the second. We don’t have food or anything in the mornings, but the patisserie on the corner has amazing sweet rolls. Oh, and leave the key at the desk whenever you go out, and just ask for it when you come back.”
My brain raced along with her words, trying to take everything in. “Okay. Leave the key, no food, dorm seven. Got it.”
She smiled. “Welcome to Paris!”
My own smile had slipped by the time I made it up the treacherous stairs to the third floor. The hostel wasn’t very big on the inside; it was tall and narrow, and my room was almost on the top floor. God, I’d be too tired to leave once I found my room! The dorm was cramped, and at first glance, it didn’t look like there were any open beds. The five bunk beds packed in the room like sardines looked crowded and claimed, but then I realized that the mattress under the small window was empty. There was a funky stain on it, but I quickly threw the sheet the receptionist had given me over it and tried not to think about the stain.
I dropped my bag to the floor and looked out the window, hoping for some beautiful and inspiring Parisian scene, but all I could see was the brick wall of the building next door. I sighed, rubbing my neck. If I wanted to see Paris, I’d have to leave the hostel, but after a day of travel, it felt good to just stand still for a minute.
Finally, I picked up my messenger bag and slung it over my shoulder. For a minute I thought about changing my dress, but then I remembered that Shauna had made me pack way less than I needed, so I figured it wouldn’t matter if I were a little smelly and travel stained. At least I didn’t look too bad; the black dress I’d flown in had a simple wrap neckline, and it had weathered the trip amazingly well. Popping a stick of gum in my mouth and retying the pink paisley scarf in my hair, I turned and headed out to explore the city of love.
Chapter Six
I hadn’t totally been lying to Mom when I called the trip an independent study project; I’d brought along my trusty 35 mm camera, a sketchbook, and my drawing pencils. Hopefully, I would find an inspiring spot to camp out and sketch for a few hours before I decided which museum to visit first.
Without my backpack weighing me down, it was easy to walk the rest of the way up the hilly street. I kept gawking at the cute cafés and shops I passed, and even though I was tempted to browse, I reminded myself that I’d have time to go shopping later. Right now, I wanted to get a feel for the neighborhood where I was staying.
Shauna had suggested the Latin Quarter, and when I read the description in the guidebook, I’d agreed. The streets around me certainly fit the “quirky, charming, and unique” bill, and I was really glad I’d decided to stay in this part of Paris. Suddenly, the street widened out into a large square, and I stared up at a huge yellow stone building with a dome. Glancing around the street, I stopped dead.
The Eiffel Tower was just visible through the buildings, the iron top poking up in salute. For a minute, I felt like I’d fallen into a dream.
Oh my God, I’m really here.
I stood there gaping at the tower until a car horn blared from behind me, jolting me out of my tourist haze. I scurried across the street, still looking at the tower, and crashed headfirst into something solid.
“Ouch!” The sharp, familiar voice pierced my reverie, and I turned away from the beautiful landmark in disbelief. The jackass from the airport was standing there, glaring at me.
Annoyance turned to recognition as he stared at me, and then the guy burst out laughing. “This is just too bizarre. Are you following me, princess?”
I took a step back and glared at him. “Why in the world would I be following you?”
He grinned. “It’s been known to happen. The ladies can’t resist me.”
I snorted. “Well, this lady is doing just fine resisting you, thank you very much.” I started to move around him, but he blocked me.
“Listen, I’m sorry about earlier in the airport. Clearly, the universe wanted me to apologize, or else we wouldn’t have run into each other again.”
I eyed him skeptically. “I wasn’t trying to steal your bag, you know. You almost got me arrested!”
“That’s why I stuck around; after the cop came over, I realized that he might actually suspect you of something.”
My cheeks got hot. “Only because you told him, very loudly, if I remember, that I was a thief!”
“Look, I said I was sorry. And you got your bag, and they let you go, so can’t we just start over?”
I glared at him. His five o’clock shadow was actually kind of charming, in a messy, unkempt kind of way, and his dark-brown eyes looked friendly. “Fine.” I offered him my hand. “I’m Camie.”
“Hunter.”
His grip was firm, and I was sort of disappointed when he let go of my hand. “Why’d you think I was stealing your bag, Hunter?”
“Teeny little girls like you don’t usually come to Paris schlepping a hiker’s pack.”
Who did this guy think he was? “I’m not teeny, nor am I a little girl, thank you very much.” Annoyed, I stepped around him. “And the bag is my roommate’s,” I called without looking back.
He fell into step behind me, but I forced myself to keep walking. “You are short, though. You gotta admit you’re too small for that bag. How many times have you tipped over wearing it?”
Annoyed, I stopped and looked at him. “Why are you still here?”
He held up his hands. “Okay, jeez, I get it.” He looked up at the clouds. “I apologize,” he said, talking to the air. “That’s all you wanted, right?”
I couldn’t fight back a giggle, and Hunter’s lips quirked into a half smile. “Are you talking to the universe?”
“Shh.” He waved his hand at me. “I’m listening.”
I suppose I could have walked away and left him standing there like a crazy person, but as much as Hunter annoyed me, there was also something about him. Now that I had the chance to study his lanky frame, he was cuter than I’d realized in the airport, and there was something kind of charming about his ham-handed attempt at an apology.
Finally, he looked away from the sky and smiled at me. “The universe says we aren’t done until you have coffee with me.”
I laughed. “Oh, the universe said that, huh?”
Hunter nodded. “We’d
be fools to ignore the will of the cosmos.”
I sighed, pretending to consider, but my heart sped up, and I didn’t want to say no. “Well, I guess you’re right. One cup of coffee and then we’re done!”
Hunter grinned at me. “I wouldn’t bet on that. The universe told me this was just the beginning.”
I gave Hunter a flirty smile.
“Coffee is all I’m promising. The universe has been wrong before!”
Chapter Seven
Hunter led me three blocks over to a corner café with an array of petite wooden tables and round-backed chairs out on the sidewalk. “How’s this?”
“Looks good to me.” Actually, it looked perfect, like something out of a movie, but I didn’t want to tell Hunter that. I had a feeling he’d tease me, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to give him any more ammunition.
“Grab a table out here, and I’ll order. What do you want?”
“Whatever’s caffeinated, I guess.” I was suddenly aware of how tired I was, but it was barely after noon; I needed to kick my jet lag and make my first day in Paris as normal as possible. And that meant caffeine.
“Got it.” Hunter disappeared inside before I could think to offer him any money, but I shrugged and chose a table. I didn’t usually let guys I’d just met buy me things, but I figured one cup of coffee wasn’t too much to expect after the scene he’d caused at the airport.
As I waited, I looked around the street with interest. Like the other parts of the Latin Quarter I’d wandered through earlier, the café was on a quiet street. There weren’t a lot of cars, but every now and again, pedestrians walked by. I pulled my camera out of my bag, trying to be unobtrusive. Shooting from the hip was my favorite way to take pictures; my first photography instructor in high school had also been the journalism supervisor, and she advised us to shoot from the hip so we could get better candids. Basically, I just focused the camera at a midrange setting and held it down near my waist, clicking the shutter and aiming the lens into the street. I always got surprising shots when I did it this way, and I couldn’t wait to see what would develop from the beautiful Parisian neighborhood around me.
A cup of brown-and-white froth appeared in front of me, and Hunter sat down at the table. “Spying?” He gestured to my camera.
I laughed. “Nope. Art student.”
“Ah, I figured you were a student.” He said it as if he wasn’t used to being wrong, and I bristled.
“What’s wrong with being a student?”
He shrugged. “Nothing.” He took a sip of his coffee, but I noticed that he was still smirking.
“Seriously, what?”
He rolled his eyes to the sky. “I just get tired of the college kids traipsing around in the summers, thinking they have a clue what it means to travel, that’s all.”
I sized him up, mentally recalculating his age. “What, is there a wrong way to travel?”
“Drinking your way through the European capitals doesn’t really count.”
I snorted. “Not my plan, thank you very much.”
He studied me. “That seems to be the only thing college kids do when they come to Europe.”
I shrugged. “To each her own, I guess.”
“But if that’s all they’re going to do, why bother coming to Europe at all?”
I rolled my eyes. “And what, you’re the expert on international travel?”
He nodded. “I’ve been doing the backpacking thing for the past three years.”
“That doesn’t sound very stable.” I took a sip of my coffee and frowned. “What’s in this?”
“Coffee and a little milk. What’s unstable about it?”
“I mean, don’t you have a job or anything?”
He shrugged. “I work when I need to. It’s a hell of a lot better than some suit-and-tie prison back in the States.”
“So you just sort of wander around Europe?”
“Not just Europe. I spent six months teaching in Bali last year, and I’m planning to head over to China next.”
I stared at him, amazed. “Seriously, how do you afford it?”
He shrugged again. “Like I said, I work when I need to. Once you’re in Europe, it’s pretty cheap to get around. Airfare is the worst part of travel, so I try only to fly once every six months or so. Otherwise, it’s all overland.”
I sipped my coffee, thinking about it. “And you’re annoyed by college kids because why again?”
“Like I said, travel isn’t about spending a month drinking in as many European cities as possible. It’s about living on your own and taking risks. It’s the people you meet, the memories you make.” He stared at me intensely. “It’s about being lonely, and that being okay, and it’s about being surrounded by strangers and feeling safe. It’s so much harder than you’ll ever understand.”
My coffee tasted bitter, and I glared at him. “Just because I may not have been as many places as you doesn’t make my trip any less worthwhile. We all hit the road for different reasons,” I offered, trying to sound like I knew what I was talking about.
Hunter raised an eyebrow. “Then tell me, princess, what’s so worthwhile about your summer trip?”
“Getting free coffee from assholes, for one thing. That’s different than I’m used to at home.”
I was surprised when Hunter laughed. I’d been trying to provoke him again, but he seemed so much more at ease now that he’d had caffeine. “I’m not picking on you. I seriously want to know why you think this trip is worthwhile.”
I paused. “I don’t know. I’ve never left the States before, so I’ll be seeing new things, and I’m really excited to visit all the museums and stuff . . . ,” I trailed off, embarrassed. “It’s travel. Why does it have to be worthwhile? Can’t it just be fun?”
He shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat.”
We finished our coffee in silence, but the longer I sat there with him, the crankier I got. Who was he to decide whether or not my trip was a waste of time? Finally, I stood up. “Thanks for the coffee and the . . . enlightening conversation. Enjoy your travels.”
Hunter stood up, too. “I’m sorry if I pissed you off, Camie. I’m just trying be honest.”
I shrugged, even though I had to work hard to resist the urge to slap the superior smirk right off his face. “No, you’re just trying to tell me that I’m not doing this trip the right way. But it’s my trip, and it’s up to me how I handle it.”
Hunter started to say something, and then he shut his mouth.
I glared at him. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Seriously, Hunter, what?”
“You’re just reminding me why I’ve tried to avoid Americans for the past three years.”
I stared at him, astonished. “You’ve known me for what, ten minutes, and you’ve suddenly decided I justify all your crazy, high-horse ideas about college students and Americans in general? That’s rich.”
“Just calling it like I see it, princess.”
“Oh my God, stop calling me that.” I turned around and headed into the street without looking back.
Hunter called after me, “Enjoy your trip!” I didn’t turn around. Was he serious? The guy had just bought me coffee, bashed me into the ground, and then decided it was time to be nice again? I shook my head. Hot or not, the dude was seriously bipolar. Struggling to push his snarky comments out of my mind, I rounded a corner and stopped, startled. I’d reached the river, and Notre Dame was floating in front of me like a dream, and just like that, I forgot about Hunter.
Gargoyles leered out from every corner of the church, and saints and kings stood over the doorway, looking down at the crowd in front of them judgmentally. I stared up at the facade, astonished. I’d seen Notre Dame in my art history textbooks for years, and I’d read all about the artistry of the architecture and the different rose windows, but now, standing before the old cathedral, I couldn’t remember any of the facts or figures, and I didn’t care.
I’d never seen anything so bea
utiful in my life.
Chapter Eight
Reverently, I lined up behind the clump of waiting tourists and headed inside the church. Mom had raised Susie and me as nominally Lutheran, but my reverence wasn’t about entering a place of worship: it was about entering a living work of art. As I crossed over the threshold, a shiver raced down my spine as I realized I was now standing inside the oldest building I’d ever been in. Cold air whispered across my skin, despite the summer warmth outside, and for a moment, it was as if I’d stepped back in time.
The interior was dark and vast, and even though I was surrounded by other tourists, I felt like I was alone in the void as I tipped my head back and stared at the vaulted ceiling high overhead. Candles glistened around the church, and the hanging chandeliers were lit with strange blue bulbs, giving the church an eerie, almost haunted feeling. Lowering my eyes to the floor, I moved along behind the crowd, pausing now and then to glance around at a small alcove with the statue of some saint. The windows lining the top of the church looked like they were made out of wild confetti, with tiny fragments of color blended together to create hypnotizing pinwheels that almost seemed to move the longer I stared at them.
When I finally emerged into the daylight, blinking like a mole at the sudden change from dark church interior to summer sun, the crowds had dispersed. It had been just after two p.m. when I left the café; I glanced at my watch and realized with a start that I’d been inside the church for over two hours. As if in response to the time, my stomach let out a loud growl. A sign by the cathedral promised tours of the bell towers and the crypt beneath the church, but I decided that dinner was more important. I glanced over my shoulder as I walked away.
“I’ll be back,” I whispered. Never mind that I was talking to a building; that church felt like a living thing, and it was easy to believe that it heard my promise as I walked away.
Grabbing an egg salad sandwich from a street vendor, I wound my way back in the general direction of my hostel. I wanted to explore some more, but jet lag was really catching up to me, and I figured I could get a fresh start the next morning if I called it an early night. Back on the familiar slanted street of my hostel, I realized I hadn’t called Mom like I’d promised. I hadn’t brought any calling cards with me, but the hostel probably had a phone.
