It was two-o’clock in the morning in the middle of a street in Monmarte, France. My friends and I parted ways at the Metro station, and now I was alone and lost.
As an American student studying in Oxford, England, I visited Monmarte during Spring break hoping to experience French culture and art. I stayed in Monmartre for four days in a hostel near the famous Cathedral, Sacre Coeur, and often walked the streets in and around the market. However, during my first night there, my friends and I separated after a late dinner, and I took the Metro back to Lamarck-Caulaincourt station. The Metro was supposed to close at two-o’clock and my hostel locked up in a matter of minutes as well. I began to panic. Near the front of the train, a couple drunken men began dancing. They tried to dance with me and a few other passengers. The train stopped, I bolted towards the exit and ran out onto the street. Not completely sure where my hostel was, I dashed in the direction that seemed most familiar. At night the streets were less familiar and welcoming than when I had walked them earlier. I was soon lost. Unable to recognize street names and landmarks, I prepared to sleep on the cold streets of Paris.
The weather that night was in the low 40’s (Fahrenheit). I had a couple long sleeve shirts, a black snow jacket, jeans and tennis shoes. If it got any colder, I could wrap one of my shirts around my head and look for a place where I could sleep under a roof. For now, I would keep walking the unlit streets in hopes of finding my hostel.
As I paced the sidewalks, I noticed people stumbling out of a bar just down the street hailing taxicabs. I began walking in that direction when I heard a loud voice just across the street. A young man with dark hair holding a stick behind his back stared down a parallel street calling to someone. Suddenly, he sprinted down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. I was curious but tried to stay out of the way; as I watched, another man began chasing after the other guy. He carried a bigger stick. I walked in the other direction. Out of the corner of my eye, however, I noticed that the larger man began to make his way across the street. I pulled up my jacket collar and walked quickly to get out of sight. I never turned around. The man must have gone off in search of the other guy.
When I finally looked over the edge of my collar, I noticed I was near the bar. A taxicab was sitting at the curb and it occurred to me that the driver might be able to give me directions to the hostel. I was about to knock on his passenger window when the driver locked his doors and waved me off.
Discouraged, but desperately wanting a bed, I walked another 500 feet and found another taxicab. I sidled up to the passenger door and rapped on the window. The driver rolled the window down. ‘Bonjour!’ I said. That was the extent of my French. I grabbed a piece of paper out of my backpack with the hostel’s address. As he picked up a book that looked like a Thomas Guide, his cell phone rang. He began to have a conversation while leisurely searching for the address in his book. The driver wasn’t taking me very seriously.
As I waited for the directions, a man from the bar wobbled to the back of the taxi. Afraid of what would happen next, I stepped closer to the car praying that the man would leave me alone and the driver would point me in the right direction. The drunken man simply needed to relieve himself. I sighed with relief. Finally the driver got off his phone and gesturing with his hands, he pointed me around the corner and down the stairs. I thanked him and bolted across the street and around the corner.
To my relief, the hostel doors were open. I walked in, walked down the stairs and into my room. It smelled of beer and smoke. My three roommates were already asleep. Exhausted and relieved to have found my bed, I lay down and slept for the next nine hours.
