PS: Consider these travel stories as entries from my journal. Written in haste, I hope you find enjoyment in their spontaneity and rawness.
It’s Paris. We had just disembarked from the metro at Opéra and found ourselves walking into Centre des Nouvelles Industries et Technologies (CNIT), a shopping mall in La Défense, Puteaux, west of Paris, France when we followed the music to a group of people who had just turned the space into a stage. It was the most spectacular sight I had seen since entering Paris two nights ago. I was curious, so I asked a spectator also watching the dance what the group was about, and he said they were random people who started dancing when the music started playing. They were dancing to ‘Rock N Roll Is King’ by Electric Light Orchestra, a catchy, upbeat tempo and retro style music that reels people in to start moving their bodies. But we didn’t join in. We felt too restricted, not knowing the dance steps.
We were there to hang with Chisom (Som), my friend from Nigeria. I had informed her of my visit to Europe through a WhatsApp message and had arranged to meet at La Défense, but we were now at La Défense, and her phone wasn’t going through. My messages only showed a blue tick, which signalled that she hadn’t received my messages since two hours ago when I sent the first message that we were on our way.
So, we watched the dancers with glee and awe-inspired curiosity. The dancers comprised women and men in their dandy and young ages, dancing to the beat, letting go and having fun. They danced like they did not worry about the world. I wondered how a passerby could just be walking past a space and suddenly start dancing to music, or could they have been part of the different establishments in the mall, and when the song came on, they danced towards the stage? Was it a routine they’d formed?
Nevertheless, I find myself reflecting on the experience with the dancers who’ve left a lasting impression on me, and that’s what truly matters. They may not have been professional dancers, but in that moment, they embodied dance itself. Chuba and Chine, my friends from my community, often say, ‘If you claim you are something, then you are.’ Watching them dance so freely yesterday, they seemed exquisite to me. As a young lady from Nigeria who happened to be in the same space as they were, it felt as if nature had staged the most beautiful performance just for me. It made me ponder how I wish to leave my mark on this world — performing, to live and be remembered, and leave the world better.
Som was still not responding to her messages. I didn’t have her French phone number, but I tried calling her Nigerian line. It wasn’t connecting.
The air smelled of Christmas, with the lights in the mall casting a warm glow and forming a candescence with the already installed Christmas trees. We walked past the dancers, sad that it would bring an end to a memorable experience, and I kept straining my ears to catch the music and ran up the other side of the building just past the elevator to see if I could catch them one last time; I didn’t.
We were pressed for time, as we had a tour at 3:00 PM, so we walked about La Défense and strolled into what we would later confirm was the Christmas market. Two policemen stood at the entrance for security and let us pass after they scanned our bags. They did that to everyone who walked through that entrance.
The complex ran on as we walked on. There was a whole world out here, and as we walked, we saw more people show up from the stalls, from the back and everywhere. The air felt chilly, with different exotic flavours mixing to create an indistinguishable aroma — light but not strong, and it almost went as it came. The smell of roasted beef with plantain hit us, and we followed to find sausages grilling on an open stove; it was a kiosk with three men: one was bare-chested and was by the grill, frying eggs and a mixture of what seemed like pork and vegetables. Satisfying our curiosity, we journeyed on.
There were stalls set up with different products showcased on the front. Food sellers exhibited varying foods on paper plates on a counter advertised to passersby, and we stopped by a kiosk run by black people because I saw a black person engaged in a discussion with one of the sellers. I was curious to hear their language and see if I could find something closer to home, but they spoke French. One of the sellers came to us, and Shalv asked if he could get some beignets in broken French. He paid 4 Euros for 3 beignets, and we continued our journey.
One area of the complex was tagged ‘Marché Artisan’; we didn’t go there, but our tour guide later shared that the artisans sold the best wine. A section was available for the passersby to eat whatever they bought at the Christmas market. Long stools were available for anyone to eat their meals, and there were different trash bins at the edge of the sections tagged with the relevant waste material.
A food kiosk named ‘Bokit’ caught my eye. I stopped to decipher a food on the plate advertised. It looked like plantain, but it wasn’t. It was pork. I bought rice, beans, shredded chicken, fried red potatoes, and veggies. We stood at a stool in the section available for the passersby to eat their meal.
Som had not yet responded to my WhatsApp messages. We walked some more around the Christmas market before we left to explore La Grande Arche de la Défense, a monumental building in the business district of Paris. We counted the stairs as we walked up the flights. Upon arriving at the top, some people were taking photographs; a man was photographing a little girl dressed in a blue dress and black coat before they went back down the stairs.
Some people were just sitting and talking; most groups were in twos. We wanted a photograph together but didn’t find anybody around where we wanted to take a photo. The people we saw were either in twos or occupied with their phones. People came out of the elevators on either side of the La Grande, and we wondered what was going on over there, so we thought to take a look.
We got into the first building on the left and saw a sign that directed visitors to the reception. We went back outside and got into the second building. The revolving doors led us into a building, and when my eyes left my phone, they landed upon a man in a dark suit whose eyes quizzed mine. I looked at the door and saw a bunch of words in French, with the word ‘ecologie.’ I wondered if we had landed upon the Ministry of Ecology in France, which, after a few Google searches, we realised might be the Le Ministère de la Transition écologique et solidaire.
I mumbled, ‘Wrong building,’ and we left, laughing at our mistake. We finally found someone who took a photograph of us. Som still hadn’t responded to my messages, so we left for our tour after I sent a voice note asking if she was okay. The tour lasted 2 hours and 30 minutes, with us exploring the Notre Dame, Hôtel de Ville, Pont Neuf, and Louvre, and ended at Tuileries Garden. Som finally responded, and we agreed to meet at the Eiffel Tower, and thus, we started another journey of about 40 minutes on foot.
Our journey to the Eiffel Tower and the places we stopped at unfolded spontaneously. Our trek to the Eiffel Tower was the climax, a blend of anticipation and fatigue. As we reunited with Som, our exhaustion melted away, replaced by the warmth of friendship’s embrace. She apologised, and I reassured her it was more than okay. After all, things happen, life happens, work happens, but most importantly, we were together, healthy and well, in that precious moment.
We were tourists who had ventured out seeking an experience and encountered a wealth of experiences beyond our expectations. Every moment was worth it: from the impromptu dance at La Défense to eating at the Christmas Market and seeing the grandeur of La Grande Arche to our walking tour, filled with unexpected pleasures, like happening upon random musicians by the Musée du Louvre and the vibrant streets that led us through Tuileries Garden.
Yesterday’s expedition wove a rich tapestry of experiences. If not for those, I wouldn’t have confidently approached a café to use the restroom, recalling the lesson from the working tour to say ‘Bonsoir. Merci, may I pay to use your restroom?‘ The attendant let me in and asked me not to pay.
I share the highlights of my adventures in Europe on my Instagram stories. You can follow my time in Paris through this link.
The winged time traveller 