It had come true, those words spoken to us by those who had lived in France before us. We had expressed our desire to live in Paris. It made sense: It was the capital, what better place to start a new ministry. But we were told, “Everyone thinks they will go to Paris. You will see that it is not as crucial as you think. You will see, its draw over you will wane. Give it time.”

So we certainly gave it time. Two years in fact. Time did its work, with the help of life. We were busy living in the south, finding a rhythm and a flow there. We were getting used to living there, not Paris. We walked around our new city, but not as much as we had walked around Paris.

You see, one thing you never hear about Paris is how eminently walked it is! It seems like every guidebook we read, every review online, they all assumed we would take the metro, just like everyone else. They gave detailed instructions on how to buy the correct type of ticket for the metro, the pros and cons of a booklet, to keep in mind zones, and family options. Until the day we decided to not take it. Why? ALL THOSE STAIRS.

On the map places may not seem far by metro, but it doesn’t take into consideration all the walking you have to do to take the metro. You have to walk to the station, then down flights of stairs, then to the turnstiles for the tickets, then down more hallways and down more flights of stairs to get to the platforms. Hopefully we read the signs right and we at the right platform. Then you stand in the metro car, swaying, hoping the dude playing his guitar doesn’t head your way to ask for change, getting angry when you don’t give him any. (Well, for one thing, we don’t have any change! All we have are cards to pay for things.) Then, you have to get off the car and realize the platform exit is at the far end of the platform, then up more stairs, some winding hallways, more stairs, then the final exit turnstiles, only one of which is working for those leaving, causing a jam. Then, for good measure, one last flight of steps up to the city where you realize… you are on the far side of plaza from where you wanted to be at. More walking.

So with all the walking involved in taking the metro, one visit we decided we would walk. So we did! We walked from the Arc de Triomphe all the way to Montmarte and the Sacre-Coeur basilica. Google Maps says its 4.3 km, just an hour walking. It would take almost that long to do the whole walk-metro-walk routine, so we walked. And we saw bits of Paris that the guidebooks can’t tell you about, because no one has ever walked there! But les Parisiens do. Ever since, we walk through Paris whenever we can.

But last week was my first time back in Paris in over a year. And I was shocked by how touristy it appeared as I walked out of the Montparnasse train station! Glittering lights everywhere! Garish signs! Almost begging me to come and partake of their coffees and treats. All I could think was, “This is not Bayonne! It isn’t even… France!” It had happened. I no longer looked at Paris through the eyes of a dreamer, but through the eyes of one who has walked far less glamourous French streets, the streets Parisiens escape to when they escape the dreaming tourists flocking to Paris, those for whom all the glitter and glamour are displayed. I found I didn’t like; I didn’t need it. I had seen and tasted of a France beyond flashiness, and it was this France I had come to love. Sadly, I had no time to touch that side of Paris. I was only passing through this time.

Maybe next time.