Rain poured in sheets as I put the last few items in my suitcase. Ella, my 2-year-old furbaby, stared at me with those beautiful amber eyes. I could see the sadness. I tried to hide my packing from her, but to no avail. My husband and I drove our two dogs, their crates, food, toys, treats, etc. up the street to our neighbors who were going to watch them for two weeks. I hate saying goodbye.

“We’re just going on vacation,” my husband said.

“I know.” But I would miss them. I miss them when I’m in the office for work. Yes, it’s only 10 hours I’m away, but I still miss them.

Taking a deep breath, I petted each of them (though they didn’t care since they were preoccupied playing with our neighbor’s dog) and left.

When we got to the airport, security was a breeze. So much that we had 3 hours to kill. If you’ve never experienced the Atlanta airport, just know that it is the busiest airport in the world. However, on this day, it wasn’t crazy…at least in the international terminal. Our flight was at 4pm and we were to land in Paris at 7am (Paris time). I had only been on an 8-hour flight once in my life, two years ago when I visited Ireland and Scotland, so I knew I could handle this. I would just sleep on the plane. No big deal.

I could not sleep at all. The plane felt like a literal sauna. My husband couldn’t sleep either. I read, watched movies, read some more, tried to write, but my mind was in a fog.

When we finally landed, we got through customs quickly. The lady didn’t even ask why we were visiting. We got our bags and had someone pick us up. I barely recall the drive to our rented apartment. We entered the building, through the courtyard, and into another building. The elevator was TINY. It claims it could hold 3 people, but it barely held me with my luggage. Okay, I had a large suitcase, but the weather was rather finnicky and I wanted to be prepared. Once I got off the elevator, the apartment owner met me and showed me the 1 room apartment. There was a bed, a tiny kitchen, and a bathroom with a washer/dryer. We didn’t need a lot, so this was perfect. We freshened up and set out for the day.

It probably didn’t hit me that I was in Paris until we visited the Eiffel Tower. But even then, I felt like it was a dream. Very surreal. I had always wanted to see Paris, and now that I was there, I couldn’t believe it.

I was born in a small Alabama town, Cullman, and I loved to travel. My brother and I would travel often with our grandparents to Florida to visit Mickey or swim in the ocean; Colonial Williamsburg to experience the past; the Smoky Mountains to savor the beauty. Everywhere we went, I collected hundreds of brochures of places or things I wanted to see. I loved hearing about their own adventures in Niagara Falls, the Grand Canyon, and the Rocky Mountains. Paris was always on that list of places I wanted to see, but I never for one second actually thought that I (little girl from Cullman) would see Paris.

But there I was: climbing to the top of the Eiffel Tower, sipping wine at a quaint café, and indulging in some of the most amazing food. I rode a riverboat on the Seine, floating past the Pantheon, Notre Dame, and the Louvre, where I even befriended a Pomeranian.

I marveled at works by Claude Monet, Vincent van Gogh, Auguste Renoir, and Leonardo da Vinci at the Louvre and Musée d’Orsay. Feeling like a kid at Disneyland as I strolled through Aurora’s castle and screaming in the Tower of Terror. Admiring Monet’s gardens at Giverny and standing in awe at the grandeur of Versailles.

With each day we stayed in Paris, the more I fell in love. It’s also important to note that nothing I ate upset my stomach. The tap water they served tasted like drinking Evian. I felt alive, amazed, empowered. I could see myself living in Paris, sitting at one of those cafés writing a book.

Alas, our time in Paris had come to an end. We traveled by train for three hours to Montpellier, a city in the southern coastal region. Along our journey, we marveled at pink water, witnessed the beauty of wild flamingos, explored fortresses built in the 1200s, admired Roman structures dating back to 40-60 AD, and immersed ourselves in vibrant communes. As we strolled through Arles, we could almost feel the same artistic energy that inspired van Gogh’s masterpieces. We joined locals in celebrating Victory in Europe Day (the end of World War 2) and had a barbecue with friends who were quick to inform me I have an expensive pallet for wine. (A girl likes what she likes.) Our excursion to Marseilles led us to Chateau d’If, a place where Alexandre Dumas delved into research for The Count of Monte Cristo. However, our visit was not without incident, as seagulls launched an unexpected assault, cementing my hatred of birds.

As the last day approached, I felt a pang of sadness knowing that I would have to say goodbye to this enchanting place that fueled my imagination, that immersed me in a captivating culture, that sparked a newfound interest in French cuisine, that will always hold a special place in my heart. At Charles de Gaulle airport, (by the way the bougiest airport), there is a sign that reads “Paris will never forget you.” I smiled, snapped a picture, and said to myself, I will never forget Paris.