Dawn?

It's official: I'm no longer a morning person.

But, it seems, neither is the rest of Paris.

While I once cherished the mornings as my most productive time and felt at ease "jumpstarting" the day, it took every once of willpower to drag my sorry self from bed at 7:30am. I need an early start; there are too many things I should've done yesterday but failed to do because of post-Nuit Blanche exhaustion. So Tequila and I took to the streets of Paris just as they were shutting the street lamps off.

And I was shocked to see so few people walking around, heading to work, buying breakfast, whatever. After all, 7:30 isn't really that early.

Nuit Blanche

Paris always has cool things going on.


Nuit Blanche--interpreted as 'Sleepless Night'--is an annual festival that keeps the city alive when it clearly should be resting. Many museums and public spaces are filled with art--videos, music, plays, etc--and the masses roam from one venue to another, soaking in French culture. This year the theme dictated that the best exhibits were housed in the major train stations throughout Paris... which meant I stayed as far away as possible. (Too many people too late at night.)

Instead a friend and I found ourselves in the trendy Marais district, drinking beer and talking. But you can't just ignore Nuit Blanche, so as the stars starting spitting raindrops, we wandered to one of the old charming museums and waited in line.


We waited expecting entry into the museum. We instead gained entry only to the courtyard, where we discovered a couple rows of folding chairs eerily illuminated by red lights. What followed can best be described as a failed attempt at brainwashing.

It failed, of course, because it was all in French. From what I could interpret, the "music" mixed recordings of famous French politicians and key moments in France's history with techno music. Towards the end, the stone courtyard was filled with a particularly powerful voice: "Yes. We. Can."

There is something special about being in this city and believing in Obama.

Afterward we found a quiet café and drank rosé from Ramatuelle, for old time's sake. (I love this life.) We watched the city pass us by. When the metro opened again for the day, we made our way home.

It was 7 a.m. and the sun was beginning to rise. Sleepless Night achieved.