“I walk my ass off when I’m visiting a city,” I heard Elizabeth Gilbert say in a recent interview. Me too, girl, I thought. Me too. When I was back in Paris this February, that’s exactly what I did. It was my first time to back in the city on my own since 2012 and we had a lot to catch up on.

My plane landed at CDG around 3 or 4 which meant I had just enough time to take the train into town, switch to the metro at Chatelet (oh lalaaalalaaalala, that is not the station where you want to be reintrouduced to Paris metro) and check into my hotel before dark. After hoisting my suitcase to the seventh floor (this is France, after all), I sent quick texts saying I had made it and then I was back out the door — first to L’As du Fallafel (as it should be) and then … ? Wherever I wanted! That was the incredible beauty of this trip; I had six and a half days to do whatever I wanted in my city. Why? You don’t like me telling you Paris is my city? Well, I know the world loves Paris, but it’s something special to me. Ok, I know many people say Paris is special to them, but it’s beyond sentimentality or memories of a really great trip. It has seeped into my bones, my spirit — I love its corners, its people fascinate me and how the light constantly transforms the city doubles me over. I love how empty the streets can get at night and how the city becomes something that only you and she know. Ugh, I could write a book on it. I could flush and blush for days. Actually, I’ll probably spend a lifetime doing it, so let’s just get on with today’s topic, shall we?

And so, with fallafel in hand, I took off … down Rue du Roi de Sicile and cutting over through the plaza in front of the Hotel de Ville, Paris’ city hall, to the river. I was chasing the sunset, though it was nearly gone. I weaved back to the right bank, decided to take advantage of the Louvre’s courtyard gates still being open, plodding across what feels like ancient stone to what I knew waited for me just in the next open courtyard — the famous pyramids, glowing in the dark with the city push out just beyond; crazy Champs-Elysees far enough in the distance to look peaceful with its glowing lights of traffic. Because it was my first night back in the city, I decided to take me time, turn left, cross the river and visit my old street, wind back through the streets between the far end of the 7th arrondissement that lead to the 6th. I passed the park where the benches are open books, looked in the windows of the many antique stops, furniture stores and art spots on rue Jacob. I even passed the gallery where Owen Wilson and I once made eye contact while checking out the same painting in a window. Everything felt almost just as I had left it, although of course, in seven years much was sure to have changed. That night though, it was just us — strolling the city, shops mostly closed but the streets open and quiet.

All in all, I think I walked 81 miles on the trip — and by the end, my legs felt it. I had to take breaks the last few days because I had pushed myself so much. It was something I almost couldn’t help though — the walking was like taking deep gulps of air. I couldn’t get my fill. Every block had something new to show me, remind me, point out to me. It was all I could do to keep up with everything it had been waiting to tell me. And so, yes, I had a list of places to go, spots to try, food I wanted to eat but mostly? Mostly I walked. Mostly I listened and took in my city. I fought the urge to say “What the hell am I doing here alone for six and a half days with zero plans?” and instead walked, listened, watched, remembered, prayed, read, was delighted by how God met me in unexpected ways, I let myself be and move and order as many cafe cremes as I wanted, allowing God and the city to do the rest of the work in me.

This post originally was going to be full of the places I went, things I saw, but as I’m now here on the page, sifting back through the memories it has turned into something else. Or maybe I want you to know that the trip was much, much more than hopping for one place to the next to see all that I could see. It was a celebration, it was a remembrance, it was a rededication. So, I’ll tell more about what I did next time but for now, here are some photos.