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City Two: Paris, France
City of Catcalls

I can’t understand why it is that “Falling in Love” is said to be the essence of Paris. I spent two days in the city and found not love, but rather unrelenting harassment. The unsuspecting girls wandering the streets are continually subjected to the constant catcalls of sexually frustrated French men.

On my first night in Paris I found myself indoors, fearful of the streets surrounding my accommodations. The Parisian men had been attacking me with shouts of “Hello pretty lady!” The most vital lesson I learned became apparent within minutes: do not look at them. If I so much as looked in their direction, they would continue to harass me.

 

"On March 17th, two brave, attractive, and daring students, Shawna and Amy, embarked on 18 days of nonstop backpacking across Europe. Both players were involved in the New York University study abroad program in London, England, and decided to spend spring break taking advantage of how ridiculously cheap it is to travel in Europe. They set out on an amazing quest to find one thing: Men in Kilts (not to be confused with Men in Tights, as in "Robin Hood Men in Tights," a comedy favorite of both travelers). Shawna writes about the history, the food, the catcalls, and the revelries the two ladies found on their journey through six cities: Dublin, Paris, Venice, Florence, Rome, and Athens. Read on to find out if they were successful in their quest to find kilted men…
In spite of this particular downfall, I do love Paris. I had visited the city two years earlier and completed the gamut of obligatory “tourist” activities – visiting the Tour d’Eiffel, the Arc de Triomphe, the Louvre, Notre Dame, and the Sacré Coeur. I took a romantic nighttime cruise along the Seine and posed for a photograph with the Mona Lisa. I strolled down the famed Champs Elysees, marveling at the sights and fending off the leering men.

This time around I indulged in the pleasures of vin chaud, or hot wine – an ingenious idea. (ed. Note: Didn’t the Japanese invent this? Sake anyone?) I went out to have the fundamental expensive French dinner: fresh oysters and coconut-encrusted scallops. On my last and favorite day in Paris I had delicious pints of Kronenbourg at a café near Sacré Coeur. I then spent the afternoon wandering the Louvre (and rebuking the advances of the museum’s guards.) Finally I made my way to Laduree, an elite bakery in the Madeleine district. I’d heard that it was the home of the best macaroons in Paris. I was not disappointed.