My first trip to France was delayed when a man claimed to have a bomb in his shoe. It was only a few years after 9/11 and we were still hypersensitive to any threats — especially in New York.

It was a typical sweltering New York summer but Europe had it far worse. People, especially the elderly, were burning up and some dying — it was the worst heat wave in history. Still, my ticket was purchased and I was determined to go visit my friend and her family was in the South of France. An artist’s world etched to life.

We were shuttled to a hotel to spend the next few hours before our flight the next day. My navy blue shirt would be the only clothes I had for the next few days, stale and stuck to my body from the heat. Many hours later my glistening friend and her friendly parents greeted me in Toulouse where we shared crunchy baguettes and rich coffee before taking a train to the countryside.

The one goal I had was not to stay in Paris.

I lived in New York most of my life, and my fantasy was to run freely in lavender fields and paint by sunflowers — not be in yet another oversized city.

My first stop was Boudreaux, the hotel did not have air-conditioning and with the windows open, I could hear the people next to me having sex. I left in the middle of the night to find a hotel with AC, an expense I had not planned for. I went out to eat with one of the employees. I toured some vineyards, but I was still in need of more beauty. I took a train to Arles to be in the city that served as the muse for Vincent Van Gogh. I smoked myself silly. A French woman with bouncy curls asked me my thoughts on American politics.

“My president (Bush) is an idiot,” I replied.

She inhaled her cigarette slowly, her face stuck,

“Oh, you shouldn’t say that out loud,” and we stopped talking.

I passed an endless field of sunflowers, camera ready, to get the quintessential shot. To my dismay, the flowers were burnt and crispy from the blazing sun.

My trip was off-kilter and I decided to call my former roommate from Brooklyn, now married and living in Paris. Within seconds she agreed to host me and I took the fast train to meet her. Seeing her warm familiar face at the train station made me wonder why I hesitated to make this infamous trip.

She grabbed my rucksack and we walked the cobblestone streets to her flat, located just steps from the Eifel Tower. The city was still. A warm breeze filled the streets, but the oppressive heat was left behind. The locals fled for the summer, leaving the streets walkable and the air crisp. This could, in fact, be the perfect city I thought.

Photo by Augustin de Montesquiou on Unsplash

We went out that night to dinner where she ordered steak tartare, and we sipped wine and strolled the avenues. The rues were colorful and each corner felt like a scene in a movie, waiting for a handsome young man to run up and give me a movie star kiss.

The days that followed, I hopped on and off double-decker buses and without assistance meandered through the Louvre, hiked Notre Dame, picnicked by the Seine. Ending up at the Eifel Tower — able to see the copper wires up close. I did not want to leave.

My time in Paris was the most memorable of my fantasy trip.

When your travel plans often go astray. The more flexible you are, the better your trip will be. Sometimes the places you never intended to visit become the ones you treasure forever.