Love at First Sight: My First Time in Paris

Rhonda Dolan
Apr 20
5 min read

Updated: May 5

I never felt a strong pull to go to Paris.

It was one of those places I figured I’d check out if I happened to be nearby. I didn’t imagine it would speak to me—at least not in any real, soul-stirring way.

Saying that now, I have to ask: where did that idea even come from? Probably from a much younger version of me who feared big things. Things I couldn’t control. That makes sense. But it also makes me wonder… what other misguided beliefs am I still carrying?

I have no doubt there are plenty.

As I watch the world cling to biases—loudly, stubbornly—and as I continue to bump into my own and slowly let them go, I’m growing more aware of how little I know. And how much I think I know. That skewed lens robs me of clarity, of joy, of presence. So here I am, stepping directly into my blind spots and breaking them down through actual, open-hearted experience.

The Rude Parisian Myth

Let’s get this one out of the way.

I’ve only been in Paris for two days, but I’ve already had more interactions than I can count: Uber and taxi drivers, hotel staff, waiters, café employees, a tour guide, locals playing tourist in their own city, a restauranteur, and more.

Not one person was rude.

What I did notice was a difference in how people relate—less of the smile-first, overly friendly tone that’s common in the Midwest U.S. But that doesn’t mean unkindness. It’s just… not performative. What some Americans might read as “rude” is often just directness and honesty.

The words are truthful. The tone doesn’t need sweetening.

In America, we’re so used to sugarcoating everything that we over-explain just to convince someone we’re being sincere. And it’s exhausting. Here, I found a refreshing simplicity. A matter-of-factness that felt honest and human.

When I met people with openness and gratitude, they met me the same way. I used what little French I knew, and every time I said, “I’m sorry, I only speak English,” anyone who could, spoke what English they knew—with warmth, effort, and no resentment.

Kindness doesn’t always sound like what we expect. But it’s there.

Paris, You Had Me at Metro

My first glimpse of Paris? A train station. Luggage in hand. Straight into the Metro. Stairs. So many stairs.

I was tired, but not the kind of tired you get from a long-haul flight. The train had been comfortable. And I was determined—before anything else—to get comfortable with the Metro system.

It took less than a day.

The Paris Metro is incredible. It seems like it should be overwhelming, but it just makes sense. I kept thinking I must be going the wrong way… but the signs never lied. By the afternoon, I wasn’t even checking a map anymore.

When the Elevator Breaks

I made it to my hotel, dropped my bags, and lay down on the bed—just for a moment.

Queue the fire alarm.

Down six flights of stairs I went. The fire was handled quickly, but the elevator was out for the rest of my stay. Six stories up, with very high ceilings, meant quite the climb. The staff apologized—sincerely but simply. Not overdone. Not embellished. Just truth.

That tone, again. Not rude. Not sugary. Just real.

Why I Fell So Fast

I’ve been trying to figure out why I felt so instantly connected to Paris.

My best guess? The energy. I felt in sync with it. At home. Balanced.

Paris is surprisingly compact—just over two million people within the city borders and another 10 million in the surrounding suburbs. Yet somehow it presented as mostly quiet. I barely scratched the surface, only experiencing the center of the city, and even then just briefly. But my body and heart knew something: This fits.

In one full day and evening, I walked over 14 miles. I metro’d. I biked. Traveling solo allows me to go at my pace and easily talk to strangers. I also have a skill of experiencing a place without falling into the common tourist experiences of long lines and crowds. This allows me to follow curiosity wherever it leads.

What I Did in One Day

While I have so much to explore and I do not pretend to know Paris, I did feel a very quick connection to it and I was able to experience a good amount in a very brief time.

Here’s what that breif time held:

Visited Notre-Dame and Sainte-Chapelle (where I was the first person inside and had a few quiet, sacred moments alone)
Joined a historical walking tour
Attended a cultural talk with wine and cheese tasting
Walked the full length of the Jardin des Tuileries
Took in the Arc de Triomphe—twice
Had lunch and browsed in Le Marais
Wandered the Latin Quarter
Took a nighttime Seine River cruise
Stood before Monet’s Water Lilies at the Musée de l’Orangerie
Strolled the bouquinistes (booksellers by the river)
Visited two patisseries, one chocolatier, and experienced actual butter-induced joy

I also listened—to stories, to history, to the concerns of others about what’s happening not only in the U.S., but across Europe. I heard sadness, worry, hope.

And I remembered: we have so much more in common than we often allow ourselves to see.

Beauty, and What It Does to Us

Everywhere I looked, there was beauty. In the grand monuments, yes, but also in the quiet corners. The window displays. The way people sit in cafés. The light on stone. The movement of the water. The movement of the people.

To see it all with my own eyes—to stand before things that came before me and will outlive me—was humbling.

Seeing a photo of an iconic place is great. I love photos and the stories we can tell with them. Presence, one to one with a building, a space, a painting, a story is altogher a different experience.

To stand in front of a work of art, even one I have seen photos of, and feel the human behind it… that’s real connection. That’s the kind of moment that transcends time, language, borders. That level of connection stirs something raw in me—empathy, gratitude, compassion.