In reality, you might not be too far off. To me, it seemed that Paris did try to maintain its chic, ’20s-era image that fills black and white pictures. It was a time of new excitement after the war when anything was possible, but when a certain longing and sadness hung in the air.

Paris is expected to be perfect. My friend Celia recently posted an article by a British journalist that talks about how there’s an unspoken agreement to always paint Paris in a positive, dreamlike light.  “Oh, you’re going to Paris!” people will say with jealousy when they find out you’re going. And it’s true. People don’t speak of other cities that way. After all, no one tries to hide the fact that London can be grey and dreary.

As I stepped off the chunnel after a two-hour ride through the French countryside and under the English Channel, I expected a city full of people wearing chic clothing while riding bicycles. Maybe even a sighting of Pierre, the stereotypical French teen from my textbooks.

I, too, expected the dreamlike Paris.

Instead, I saw a very different Paris.

Am I allowed to report what I saw? Don’t get me wrong; Paris is beautiful. If you just look at the buildings, Paris is tres belle. Most of the architecture seems to embody a French-Classicism style and living spaces are lined with intricate wrought-iron gates. There are also spacious parks paved with large gravel pathways and endless cafes lining the streets.

Look a little closer and you’ll see graffiti. There’s graffiti everywhere. Not street art, like in London (although we do have graffiti, too) but tags with the names of rebellious vandals who made their mark on the otherwise picturesque city.

The inside was very dim and dark and surprisingly enough, there were TV screens inside. They were put there to help people see the service that would otherwise be blocked by the tall pillars, but having TVs seems to take away from the ambiance of the old church.

The workers also ask for silence, but then charged for audioguides to hear about the history of the church. I know that audioguides are a convenient way to give information to the masses, but it seems a little hypocritical to have noisemaking objects in a place that asks for silence. (Notre Dame isn’t the only church to do this, so I can’t single it out). On top of all of that I didn’t see Quasimodo or Esmeralda!

Afterwards, we walked to Saint Chappelle, which was originally built to house Jesus’ crown of thorns. The crown has since been moved to Notre Dame, but the chapel remains and has the most beautiful stained glass windows in the world.

We then took a long walk to the Louvre. Inside, we saw the Venus de Milo, the Winged Victory and a Sphinx. You would not believe the number of people who race up to these famous pieces, snap pictures and dart away. Or the number of people who take selfies by the works.

And, of course, we saw the Mona Lisa. It was one of Da Vinci’s favorite paintings. He loved it so much he carried it with him until he died. Imagine, being so proud of something you can’t bear to let it out of your sight. And just like the movie says, the most fascinating part is her smile. There’s something about her smile that’s really calm, but seems to hint that she’s thinking about something in particular. Of what we’ll never know.

We spent the evening meandering the streets. We noticed that all of the chairs in the cafes face outward so that you sit next to the people you’re eating with and can people watch. People sit to see and be seen. I personally loved how all of the seats were next to one another. It means that even if you are eating alone, you aren’t really alone. You might remember that people eating alone makes me incredibly sad, so the café set-up really touched me. Maybe it isn’t exactly that amiable in reality, but the Paris café situation seems lovely in my mind.

The next day we went to the Musee d’Orsay, which features works from 1848-1915. We mainly went to see all of the Monet pieces. Monet is my favorite artist, and in my advanced art class in eighth grade I recreated one of his water lily bridge scenes on a shelf. It turned out pretty well if I do say so myself.

I think everyone in my family said “ooh” “ah” and “wow” dozens of times as we looked at the tall beauty when it was all lit up. We didn’t go all the way to the top, but the view was still amazing. While standing on the platform, I could see why Paris is called the city of lights. Tiny glowing dots were peppered in the blackness. I felt almost out of my own body and partly removed from the world as I looked down. Of course, the romanticism didn’t last too long because it was cold and windy and I was surrounded by middle-schoolers taking selfies. Still, it was nice to be momentarily removed and thinking of the world passing by underneath.

The next day I was Belle. Just kidding. I didn’t read a book while walking through the streets, but I would have if I had one. We went to the Sunday Markets where locals were buying huge baguettes, pieces of meat and fresh produce for their Easter meals. It felt quintessentially French, with the specialized stores for fromage and charcuterie.