The Art of Travel

Dreams are uncomfortable. My first one occurred at three years old. Crying in the waiting room of Burton School of Dance with my Mom, I kept pointing at a framed newspaper of dancers covered in sequins intricately posed surrounded by confetti. All I wanted was to be like them. Finally, my Mom said “Ok, if you wanna do that, you have to go to class.” I understood. I stopped crying, went in, and lived that dream for fifteen years. 

Now, at twenty-one, I understand for dreams to come true, we need to step out of our comfort zones and deal with the unfamiliarity of these dreams. This summer, my dream of existing as a young writer in Paris, France came true– with all of the uncomfortableness I expected. From the trip’s initial cancellation due to Covid-19, my first international flight, a lack of routine, and homesickness– nothing about this trip was easygoing, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Leading up to this program, I was comfortable surviving. The impact of Covid-19 on everyone’s college experience was unimaginable. I remember when I saw the flier for this trip, I didn’t believe it would happen, but I reluctantly applied and was accepted. Slightly excited, I bought my plane ticket, and doubtful yet delighted, I packed. At the airport, I anticipated something keeping me in the U.S. 

But nothing did. 

I awkwardly fell asleep on a Boeing 777 and awoke looking at the digital map in front of me, and I was in Paris! I sat in awe of my dream finally coming true, even though my body felt odd. My legs swelled up and my neck hurt. Arriving in Paris physically tense prefaced the uneasiness I’d encounter these next five weeks. 

To begin, the length of the program felt peculiar to me. Five weeks was not long enough to “Live,” in Paris, but not short enough to be a vacation. This middle ground made it difficult to cultivate friendships with new people and establish a routine. When I settled in my dorm, I quickly met people on my floor from all over the world. We’d greet each other and make small talk, but I would’ve loved to get to know them more. A busy and spontaneous schedule also prevented this. These five weeks were packed with museums, tours, class, and trips. I went from planning every minute in my Google Calendar to waiting for texts from my professors to know what we were doing the next day. It was nice to detach from a strict schedule, but I missed a routine. And I eventually missed my people. 

At the end of the second week, I got homesick. But this was a different type of homesickness. Not only did I miss my family, but I missed my friends too. I learned I’m used to missing my family when I’m in Austin. But when I do, I spend time with my friends who are also from the valley, or I cook home food, or watch the movie Steel Magnolias. And when I’m in the valley and I miss my friends, I FaceTime them, or talk my Mom’s ear off about how great they are. In Paris, I didn’t have either community to offset the yearning for the other. This dose of unfamiliarity coupled with a lack of a routine created a newfound Parisian middle ground. 

I experienced Paris in this duality of loving every stroll along the Seine and completely missing Lady Bird Lake. I giggled over trying escargot for the first time, while longing for a quesadilla. I went to the movies and danced with my new friends in the program, while yearning for a long walk with my best friends.

By the middle of the third week, I grew accustomed to this duality. I am no stranger to the middle ground, and I have found it is the only way to truly experience life. And in the end, that was my dream. I wanted to exist as a young writer in Paris. And this existence meant observing old women sketching outside of cafes, and trying an aperol spritz, and getting tired of French food. It meant debriefing a night out over fresh croissants and espresso at five in the morning before going to the Eiffel Tower. It meant having your professor draw you and your peers who are now your friends, and finding a love for collaging and watercolor after years of fearing drawing. It meant feeling in awe of castles that are actually called chateauxs, and feeling drained in the city but refreshed in the countryside. 

Every piece of wonder on this trip was accompanied by something uneasy. I think that’s how dreams work. When imagining, we only fathom the pleasantries. We might ponder the difficulties, but experiencing them in conjunction with the dream itself might make it anti-climatic. In the end, I wouldn’t change anything about my Paris dream come true. It was refreshing to live this dream in all of its uncomfortable fullness. And I’m ready for the next one. 

To be honest, I was pretty nervous signing up for this summer abroad program. Ever since I was a kid, It’s been hard for me to step outside my confront zone. Although every year, it’s been getting easier and easier for me to step into unfamiliar grounds, I still struggle to give myself that initial push into the unknown. Once I got accepted into the program, I knew there was no going back. Throughout the spring semester, I knew I was going to Paris in the summer, but it never felt real. I kind of tucked it away in the back of my mind. As June 4th got closer and closer, I had to mentally prepare to be in a foreign country for a month with a group I hadn’t met before. Once the day came, the plane was lifted off the runway. It didn’t feel how I thought it would, I wasn’t scared. I was facing my fears head first and I wasn’t scared. I couldn’t sleep on the flight and it was a struggle to stay awake after landing.

I barely remember my first day, but once I met everyone and had finally slept in my new bed, I finally felt energized. The morning after, I had woken up at 5 am and I remember I made a promise to myself the night before that I would go see the Eiffel Tower first thing in the morning, alone, and that’s just what I did. I noticed that there were lime bikes scattered across the city and I already had the app downloaded, so getting around was no problem. As I began riding around I noticed something strange. Not a person or vehicle was in sight. I rode and rode, and didn’t see anybody around. I thought this was so strange. It was about 7 am when I left my dorm and the whole city was sleeping. I began to see cleaning trucks and people getting their shops set up for the morning, and even people getting out of clubs after partying the night before. The city began to move. Once I got to the Eiffel Tower, it felt pretty special to be there without any other tourists, just an empty field and myself. I sat there for a moment, taking in the beauty of the city, then set off for my next adventure, breakfast. It was quite the learning experience going out alone. I had to learn through experience that breakfast is not common in France, and nothing opens till at least 9 am.

The whole month I was in Paris, I was learning. Learning about a new culture I wasn’t familiar with. But more importantly, I was learning a lot about myself. The more odd situations I put myself in, I learned ways to adapt. I wasn’t used to this kind of change. So being in a completely different country for an entire month with people I’ve never met before enabled me to step outside my confront zone. Being in a group of mostly girls, I had to match their energy throughout the trip, and at some points, I got a bit exhausting, but I tried my best not to come off as rude or negative in any way. I would just go off and do my own thing for a while. I found myself doing this often. Some of my favorite moments during my time in Paris, I was alone. I find myself getting lost in thought and just wandering around. I had no guide, no one to talk with, just myself. It almost seemed as if time moved a bit slower, as I didn’t have many distractions. I learned that once you learn to be alone and not feel lonely, you get one step closer to finding true peace.

Photo essay