Ella in Paris

That's right. She's been off again. She's got the bug. She can't sit still... Although this time, my three days in Paris has somewhat curbed the craving to travel; or at least made me re-consider my position as an English Tourist.

First of all, we flew on the Friday of the Queen's Jubilee (also the time of mass flight delays and cancellations) so even at 5am, Bristol airport was absolutely rammed. I have never seen the airport so busy, and what with all the post-covid fear of crowds, it was a flustering sight to lay eyes on first thing in the morning.

Once we were in the air and on our way to foreign ground though, I could feel my troubles melting away into a pool of buttery pastry goodness (as a dabbler in the dairy-free lifestyle, I'm sure you can imagine how hard this was to avoid in the Capital City).

Paris of course, was wonderful.

We spent three days wandering around and taking in the views, sitting outside and drinking cocktails, wearing berets and getting in everyone's way. Typical tourism; I live for it. In that sense, it was everything I expected.

However, there was an air to the city that I did not quite expect. Romance turned to intimidation; being a tourist felt like a vulnerability, being a woman more-so, when all we got were leering looks from men in their cars.

On our last afternoon, we took a wrong turn towards the canal in search of a nice bar for lunch. According to Google, we were on the right track. According to the vibe of the place, there was a mighty shift. I don't mean to play on stereotypes or push any boundaries here, but when I say my friends and I were the only women in the area, this was the case for at least half an hour of our walk.

Near enough every man had their eyes focused on our chests or bums - a man on a path slightly lower than mine literally crossed the pavement to stare up my skirt - it made my skin crawl. People walked too close, stood clumped on street corners, shuffling money or gesturing at us in a language I was clueless about.

It really had me questioning my actions as a tourist. I came to this place, the apparent City of Love, but felt completely out of my depth with the amount of looks given to us as females. There were uncountable warnings of pick-pocketing from our friend who has been living there for 5 months, making me more aware of my belongings than I have ever been, even in rougher places back home.

The thing is, it didn't make me feel bad that the area I wasn't the romanticised Parisian lifestyle I'd dreamed of - believe me, I had more outdoor cocktails and French bread than I can count - it made me feel bad for being so ignorant.

Yes, we'd learnt the basics in French to get by for the weekend and everyone knows that as a tourist, you should be more careful about your belongings when you're in a place you don't know, but this feeling was so intensified. I felt bad for not considering safety before travel, or learning more of their language, or not knowing that there were places we really shouldn't be in. I knew, but hadn't really thought about it.

Of course there are going to be places that are rougher than others, as they are at home. Petty crime will be aimed at tourists who stick out, but the difference here was night and day. Turn right out of our accommodation and you reach a beautiful stretch of open bistros and cafes; turn left and you've never been more aware of your pockets or having your legs out. That being said, I don't feel I should have to consider whether I was wearing enough layers in the baking sunshine; had enough pockets, or if it was safer to turn down a quiet street just to get away from the staring.

Eyeballing aside, if you put on your brave face and long trousers, Paris is a lovely place to visit if you want some sunshine and bread, which is what holidays are about for me. We spent about £200 just on food and cocktails, navigating by foot to save on transport costs. I just wouldn't go or advise going without the prior knowledge of security risks or at least a whole lot more French lingo in my vocabulary.

What brought our trip to a poetic close was that on our way back to the airport, our train broke down and, as luck would have it, our Uber app wouldn't connect. We were stuck with the choice of being stranded on a station or getting lost on a bus route that would've made us miss our flight.

At the last minute, a man asked if we wanted to share his taxi, so we took a punt and lived to tell the tale.

It felt poetic and ironic and awful that after all the bad juju, he ended up being nice enough to pay for the taxi and sent us off on our merry way back to prudish ol' Blighty.

Paris was an experience, to say the least.

It is definitely one I would recommend for sight-seeing the stunning architecture of the Eiffel Tower or Arc de Triomphe, the bougie streets of Champ de Elysees or the classic shiny diamonds of the Louvre Pyramid; but also one that makes you think beyond the boundaries of avoiding cliche tourist traps and taking hundreds of mini-Polaroids. It's a challenging culture that had me questioning whether I was ignorant, actually at risk or simply unexposed to such a diverse and intense environment; fears heightened by stereotypes and nervous energy of others.

I'd like to take this time to thank the man who paid for our taxi and got us safely to the airport on time, thus cancelling out the fear of strangers we were facing and giving me an even more poetic stance to contemplate.

If we're looking at from a real fresh angle, I suppose it has given me much more to write about that my classic 'top five things to do in Paris' (which, if anyone is interested, would be: Buy fresh bread from a boulangerie, walk underneath the Eiffel Tower - avoiding the cafes there as they are MEGA £££ - drink cocktails outside a restaurant in the early afternoon, visit the arty streets of Montmartre and find a quiet spot like La Guafrerie for a nice little coffee).

However you experience Paris, I wish you safety on your travels.