I told Tiffany I would meet her in Paris by the Trocadero. I don't care, I don't show up. I go to Berlin. That's where I stashed the chandelier.

Sometimes things happen that suck hardcore at the time but afterward make for amazing stories.

So Thursday, the night before Nick and Allison left Paris, we decide to meet up at the carousel next to the Eiffel Tower before going out for a fancy schmancy dinner, right?

Meeting at the carousel was my idea of course. I proclaimed that I had all this knowledge about the area, that I knew where everything was. Then, of course, fate decided to kick me in the balls yet again.

Did anyone else know that the Trocadero metro stop is currently under construction? I didn't. And I didn't realize it until the metro told me so... about 10 seconds after we had breezed through what was supposed to be my stop.

So here I am, already late. I get off at the next stop, and where it had been 60 degrees and sunny the last time I saw Nick, this time it is 40 degrees and raining. And I am wearing a skirt. A short skirt. When I come up above ground I realize that I am deep in the heart of the 16eme arrondisement... the richest neighborhood in all of Paris. Gigantic stone townhouses peer down at me, a speck on the dark and empty boulevard. Certainly no taxis are close by. Instead, the wind is whipping all around me as I whip out my Paris Practique... but it's 2 blocks and 10 minutes later when I realize I read it wrong (again) and am heading in the wrong direction.

How did I realize this? I looked behind me and saw the Eiffel Tower at my back.

So cut to me running as fast as I can through the 16e arrondisement of Paris towards the Eiffel Tower. My hair, which had been up and nice and all that, was now damp and falling all over the place. My flats were clacking on the pavement, and my dress was probably up around my shoulders. Then finally I make it to the back of the Trocadero, slide past the mini Eiffel Tower sellers, and around the corner, where I am met with this:



Again, I didn't take this picture myself. And again, a picture in no way does the experience justice. But even so.

So where was I? Oh yes, running though the Trocadero. Across the top, past the restaurant we were going to in the first place (pause for loud groan), down the stairs, past the fountains (okay, I did stop to catch my breath a few times, yes), across the roundabout (whoops), and over to the carousel to meet my friends for some bisous, only 20 minutes late.

Of course, we had to hike back up the stairs to make it to the restaurant. BIG stairs. I was feeling silly and strong at the same time, not to mention hideous after my workout, so I was making silly demands like "we can't go here unless we get all 3 courses because this restaurant is too nice". It was in the freaking Trocadero for crying out loud. But then I recognized myself as the whining Rachael who followed Casey around all those years telling him not to do things, and I said fuck it, and in we went.

Of course, with Nick being fluent in German and Allison possessing only a basic classroom French, I became the translator of the evening. And I pretty much rocked it. The ask-them-their-own-questions method is working better than I thought it would. And as for the English conversation, it mostly revolved around love-lives and juicy gossips, which is nice every once in a while. Also, we spent an absolute fortune, but it was fabulous. Wine, shrimp soup, duck, creme brule... and a wonderful story to tell afterward.

Of course, when we got out of the place it was raining, absolutely freezing, and the metro was already closed. Thus, we had our bisous in the street as the cab pulled out of the roundabout to pick me up. The cab was cozy, too, and I wanted the ride to be longer (I do love me a good car ride). Oh, and yeah, for the record it felt good, as it always does, to have my little French conversations with strangers: Bon soir. Le metro Pereire, s'il vous plait. Non, je ne me souviens pas l'address. Mais, si vous connaissez la rue Laugier? Bon. Merci.

Sometimes Paris is my city.

...

Also, if you don't understand how funny meeting someone at the Trocadero is, watch this. Watch this and then feel ashamed that you haven't seen it before:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jjp3MAcfmps