On Getting Lost In Paris

Paris is a great city to get lost in. I know, because I’m an experienced wanderer. The part of my brain that should be able to match reality with labeled squiggles on paper (a.k.a. maps) works only intermittently, and the “instinct” that tells me what metro exit to take is pretty much always wrong. I have a tendency to get lost, yes, and consider myself a bit of an expert when it comes to having no idea where I am. You might think it’s not the best thing to excel at, but hey, it allows me to say with some confidence that Paris is particularly interesting – or overwhelming, depending on whether you are late or not – without a compass.

See, I am from Santiago, which is basically one big grid. The roads go on and on, in perfectly straight lines, which makes them pretty user-friendly and a little boring, I guess. As long as you keep in mind what turns you’ve made, and where, you’re fine. Paris, on the other hand … Well, let’s see: on one of my first days here, feeling adventurous, I pulled out my Lonely Planet and decided to do something touristy (because that’s what you do when you feel adventurous, right?). Under “Paris in a week,” I found a walking tour of Montmartre, the neighborhood of Amelie Poulin and the Moulin Rouge. The map informed me that I was in fact very close; the starting point of the tour was not far from a metro station I knew well, Place de Clichy. Once I got there, I told myself, I’d easily find my way. To bring the Lonely Planet with me would have been to give up any hope of being taken for a local, so I “studied” the map for 30 seconds and set off.

Finding Place de Clichy was no problem, but when I tried to continue in the same “general direction” and found that the street I’d been following broke into two, the confusion started. Suffice it to say, my attempt to go in a straight line, Santiago-style, utterly failed. Just when I thought it was all for the better because I had “discovered” this little gem of a cinema in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere, I found that I had in fact described a perfect circle, and the “hidden gem” was half a block away from good old Place de Clichy. I just had to laugh.

I say it as though my little adventure wasn’t worth it, but the thing is, for the while I was “lost” I almost felt as though I was discovering this slice of Paris anew. I had quietly slipped out of the tourist highway and fancied myself suddenly in a real Parisian quartier, miles away from the crowds and the flashes. Around here, I’d discover the real baguette, nothing, of course, like its overpriced cousin over at Monoprix (the French equivalent of Walmart). Around here, no one would even think of asking me whether I spoke French, and my own accent would adjust naturally to the authentic French surroundings. A few more hours wandering this, the real Paris, and I’d become fluent by osmosis!  Okay — maybe not. But it was kind of thrilling to make my own route, rather than follow the suggested one, even if it meant missing out on the (rather underwhelming, as I’d later find out) sight of the Moulin Rouge. The whole thing was possible thanks to my missing sense of direction and the ubiquitous charms of this city, on or off the beaten path.

Three weeks into my semester abroad, as I rush to class and fervently wish, just for this once, to find my way easily, I sometimes get exasperated at the lack of street signs and the surprising cluelessness of most people I stop to ask for directions (I guess it’s not worth it to learn street names when they change every two blocks). Mostly, though, I remind myself that this, of all places, is one to get lost in — let’s just say I don’t mind being surprised every time I unexpectedly spot the Eiffel tower in the distance. Keep it coming, Paris!