We arrived at the Gare du Nord at 10:30 p.m. after, spending a few hours tottering on the brink of sleep on the Thalys train, and talking in a muddle of French and English with a middle-aged Parisian woman who was on her way to England to go dancing with her sister. During the trip, my boyfriend taught her how to play Sudoku in between her bouts of frantic arm waving and gesturing in an attempt to tell those waiting around that the lavatory nearest us was, in fact, out of order.

Used to the compactness of Dutch cities, we decided to walk. Twenty-five minutes later, after arguing over a map, pausing only momentarily under streetlights since I insisted that we walk fast so as not to get mugged and have our luggage stolen, we made our way to my grandmother's vacant apartment on Rue Charlot. Having last been here maybe six years ago, I couldn't exactly remember which door was hers. But, after waking up a kind, old Frenchman by accidentally trying the wrong door, we found the right one with his helpful suggestion to "essayez le clé dans la porte." It was not only left unlocked, but open, and we spent a good deal of the night making sure the apartment was not full of murderers.

Needless to say, most of the next day was spent sleeping, and the rest of it was spent walking about in search for a phonecard. During our search, we walked by the Centre Pompidou, which houses the museum of modern art and whose postmodern exterior looks a lot like colorful blue and red scaffolding covered with a series of exterior escalators. The building is surrounded by crowds, street performers, and music. Nearby is an elaborate fountain full of colorful sculptures, such as the head of a skeleton, an art deco bird and a busty mermaid that squirt water. We passed all this on our way to Les Galleries Lafayette, a series of elegant department stores, which, as we found out, sell everything but phonecards.

On day two, we headed to Notre Dame where a crowd of maybe thousands waited in line to tour the famous church, and where Quasimodo posed for pictures outside. The church sits on the Île de la Cité on the Seine.

We then made our way to Le Panthéon, a Romanesque building in the Latin Quarter that contains the remains of some important French citizens. And finally to the Jardins du Luxembourg surrounding the Luxembourg Palace that currently houses the French Senate. The gardens are enormous and contain about one hundred lovely sculptures and fountains, including the beautiful Medici fountain.

Most of day three was spent at the Louvre, traipsing through the lavishly decorated quarters of Napoleon III. We snuck a peak at La Jaconde, or the Mona Lisa, from behind a picture-frenzied crowd. The picture itself, although given an entire wall, is pretty small, so the experience was a bit disappointing. From there we took the metro to go see the Eiffel Tower and, of course, take those corny required photos with the monument in the background.

On our last day in Paris we went to La Pere Lachaise Cemetery, the largest cemetery in Paris, and the resting place of many important people including Oscar Wilde, Jim Morrison, and Frederic Chopin. The cemetery is packed with beautiful graves and tombs. On the tomb of Oscar Wilde is a modernist angel that unfortunately had his genitalia broken off. It was later used as a paperweight by graveyard employees. The tomb itself is covered in kisses. Literally. There is a container of red lipstick right next to a plaque that reads, "Respect the memory of Oscar Wilde and do not deface this tomb."