A few weeks before Valentine's Day we decided to head down to the city of love to celebrate the weekend. Ended up the train tickets we way too expensive, so we rented a car and drove down (which was surprisingly way cheaper than the train). The five hour drive flew by (although I'm sure Jack, who was driving, would disagree) and within no time we were in the bustling traffic of paris. We had purchased parking in a garage on the outskirts of the city, but when we got there we had no idea how to get into the structure. After about 15 minutes of pressing buttons, letting other cars enter, and being stared at by some sketchy looking folks who inhabited the neighborhood sidewalks, we finally figured out how to get in by using hand signals to talk to the gas station attendant who apparently also ran the parking lot. Sketchy. Needless to say the first few hours in Paris were uncomfortable and stressful. We finally made it to our airbnb in the neighborhood of Canal St. Martin in the 10th arrondissement and discovered the place was in an extremely old building that smelled like chemicals, was much darker and dirtier than the photos, and had minimal heating. Not exactly what we expected, but what can you do. We set off the explore some neighborhoods and ended up walking in some more sketchy areas and super touristy locations, and finally finding our dinner reservation restaurant and was able to finally relax with some steak frites. It was yummy and we felt almost like locals, until we heard a few other tables talking in english about how they had found this place through the New York Time's article about the best places to go in Paris. So much for the "locals only" vibe we got.








































