I’m sitting in our Paris apartment, sipping water. To my left are two door-sized windows that look out at Parisian roofs and windows. My bags are packed and in one hour the shuttle comes to take me to Charles DeGaulle to fly to London.
Click “read more” to read about my adventures in the final night of Paris.
Last night was a memorable one.
Vera organized a group of people to meet below the gold flower pot near the Museum of Modern Art. After, the group decided that we would all go and smoke hooka.
I had never even heard of hooka before coming to Paris, and at first I thought it was something that is illegal in the United States. But alas, it is just tobacco, as legal as cigarettes.
Ten of us had a jolly time in the basement of a hooka bar, in a room that we mostly had to ourselves. Alcohol wasn’t served in the place because it was run by Muslims.
At first I wasn’t going to try to smoke that stuff. I don’t smoke cigarettes, and it looked too much like a bong – so I just felt like I was doing something wrong.
After a while though, I let go and tried it. What the heck. Even Suzelle was doing it. (haha you know I love you girl!) And so did Sara, who also doesn’t smoke cigars or cigarettes.
Ethan was a hooka pro – blowing smoke rings all over the place. The rest of us tried to mimic him – I blew rings on my first try. I am my father’s child.
At one point, someone in the group decided we should thank Jack Doppelt, the Medill professor who runs the Global program. So Ethan made this hilarious sign, and the guys all posed beautifully for the picture.
“Thanks, Jack.”
After hooka, some went home and the rest of us went to an Irish pub. I know, I spent part of my last night in Paris in an Irish pub, even though I was going to London the next day. C’est la vie.
The conversation at the pub was superb – but at the risk of offending my friends, I can’t relay what we talked about. But if you were there, you know what I’m talking about.
Also at the pub, Sara did her first shot. Ever. In her whole life.
At 2 a.m., Suzelle and Will decided to go home. The metro had stopped running so they had to take a taxi.
The other Will, Matt, Sara and I decided to go hang out at the Eiffel Tower until sunrise.
Maybe we were young and giddy. Maybe we didn’t want the Parisian night to end. Or maybe we were too cheap to cab home.
I suspect it was a little of all three.
So we bought a bottle of red wine, laid in the grass under Le Tour Eiffel and toasted life, travel and growing up.
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