When London Is Actually Paris, and New York Is Actually New Zealand

I remember my first visit to Paris.  I was 21, and had dropped out of college two years prior, caught in a spiraling travel addiction.  It all began at age 16; my parents let me go visit Argentina one summer, and I was bitten by the travel bug.  I saved up all my money in high school so as to have a blowout, gap-year trip upon my graduation from the drudgery of teenage education.  I didn’t tell my parents, but that summer after graduation I secretly deferred from Columbia University, bought a one-way ticket to New Zealand, and told them a mere week before I left.  My father nearly had a coronary, and my mother just shook her head sadly.  I was pretty much out of their lives for the next five years, as we had to make peace with each other.

My nearly year-long trip to New Zealand spoiled me.  I had the time of my life, but that is for another time.  When I finally showed up for school the next year, my heart wasn’t in it.  I survived a year, and then left directly from JFK airport for Dar Es Salaam.  I vanished for the entire summer, and somewhere along the line ended up in Providence, Rhode Island, working at an independent bookstore.  It was a strange time in my life; it is always funny how things turn out.

However, Paris is the topic in question.  I still had some close friends from my disastrous first year at the University.  I knew from email communication that two of them were studying abroad at Oxford that term.  One week, sitting in my dingy, moldy, shag-carpeted Providence apartment, listening to the neighborhood children fornicating in the adjacent park, I realized that I had enough liquid cash to buy that plane ticket to the United Kingdom.  Due to a no-longer remembered holiday, I was able to take a four day weekend with only one day off work.  I went ahead and bought the ticket, figuring that it would be a fantastic surprise for my friends.  I would tell them when I arrived in Heath Row, or such was the plan.

Upon my touchdown at Heath Row, I alerted my friends to my presence…..only to discover that they had decided to spend the long weekend in Paris.  Luckily, intra-Europe flights are actually pretty cheap….about the same price as taking the train from Heath Row into downtown London.  Eight hours later I was touching down in Paris.

I was, strangely, not entirely looking forward to this trip.  I had imagined a long weekend of crashing on friends’ tiny couches in Oxford.  Instead one of my friend’s mother was there, and I was crashing in a $500 euro/night super fancy hotel. Knowing the wealthy, as it turns out, does have some privileges.    Still, this wasn’t the nonstop lager and zinfandel booze cruise through Oxford I had planned.  Instead, we saw the usual sights, the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, got into expensive jazz clubs, and went to fantastic bakeries.  I’ve never been much the city girl, and a lot of the people on the Metro were exceedingly rude, but even so, I was remarkably impressed by Paris.  My only regret is that I did not have the time to take some day trips from Paris.  I never did get out of the city.

So what is the moral of this story, boys and girls?  Travel can take you many places, and they are almost always unexpected.  I never understood the people who try and plan every last aspect of their trip.  The whole point of travel is to embrace the unexpected!  I had never planned to go to Paris.  I thought it too chic and touristy.  Yet I ended up having a fantastic time in all the finest places with all the finest people, complete with the finest free accommodation!  In hindsight, the trip was definitely more edifying than slurping down low-grade wine at the local pub in Oxford.

But this is not just about Paris.  On a deeper level, sure, I was addicted to travel.  At one point I thought it had destroyed my life.  I dropped out of university for a total of four years to work low-paying jobs and blow the money on weekends to Canada.  Yet in the end I returned with a newfound appreciation for education that was reflected in my stellar grades.  Employers generally been extremely receptive to the experience I’ve gained through my travels, and they like that I’m not a cookie cutter candidate.  As in all things, yes, travel has to be done in moderation.  But never say never, don’t give up on your dreams, and sometimes, yes, do something deliberately rash, stupid, and exhilarating.  You never know where it may take you.

About the author:

Samantha Berkin in no way shape or form recommends doing the stupid travel things she has done in the past. They are dangerous, and will get you hurt. Her motto, however, is nothing ventured, nothing gained. She is saving up money for an overland trek of Siberia in a Unimog.