To the land of Baguettes and Cheese

"The city of love."
The last time I went to Paris, I went solo.
That was in 2010 during a multi-city trip by myself across Europe.
Paris was my fourth stop after Barcelona, Pamplona and San Sebastien.
I stayed near the sultry and tacky windmills of the Moulin Rouge, a clown busker tricked me into kissing him on the lips, a boy who was "trying" to help me in the subway after I was lost and train service had shut down held my hand after he saw me staring at the Metro map, dumbfounded. Within five minutes, we were holding hands while walking down the Champs D'Elysees and I was even more confused. "This is how they do it in France," I supposed.
He took photos of me in front of an expensive car dealership on the strip and in front of a MAC make-up store. It was awkward. But I went along with it, because "this is how they do it in France."
We continued walking, still holding hands. I tried to speak to him in broken French. English was not in his vocabulary.

I told him I had "un petite chou chou" back home. I had meant to say I had a boyfriend back home, because I did at the time and vaguely recalled this was the translation of that. But I later realized I basically told him, "I have a small cabbage in Canada."
This is my favourite part of this little encounter.
He kept telling me, "Je ne comprends pas" – I don't understand – and continued to lock mitts with me.
I started to worry. If "this is how they do it in France," I'm going to end up at this strange dude's apartment insisting I keep small cabbages in my refrigerator back home.

So, a phrase I learned in Grade 7 French class magically popped into my head at a time when I needed it most – I threw up my hands and shouted, "Zut alors!" and ran to the nearest cab.
 
Was it the classiest thing I could've done? Probably not. For all I know, this guy could have been a nice fellow who just wanted to hold hands with a random tourist. But he also could've been an axe murderer. Not just any murderer – but an axe murderer.
This time, though, I have company.
Travelling solo or with a partner has its benefits and downfalls – I think it will be a test. If we don't kill each other after 10 days, it will be a win. I have a feeling we will survive, though. My French sucks.
 We have a lot of cool stuff planned – The Catacombs is one of them, a dinner at the Eiffel Tower, lots of walking around at local markets and my attempt at making a "poulet de bresse," apparently the world's most delicious milk-fed chicken in our AirBnB rental.

Flight time: T-minus seven hours.