A fence was the catalyst to my backup dancing career. 

Well, almost. 

Light rain pitter-pattered against the top of my umbrella. The unpredictability of the rain only added to the adventure, to the movable feast. Now, the rain and the strong winds had stopped. 

I saw a gap in the only thing separating me from a clear view of the Eiffel Tower: the fence. 

The wind had blown part of the fence down. This was my chance. As I lifted my foot to step over, I remembered…

the pizza. 

Right when we arrived in Paris, we jumped in a “cab.”

He spoke quickly in French. We smiled, nodded and pretended like we understood. 

Then, Jake coughed. 

“Coronavirus!!” said the cab driver, and we all laughed.

That was the one word we had in common. It was still kind of a joke then, a distant problem for other people. 

It was late and we were hungry, so we ate at the first pizza place we saw. We asked the chef what his favorite kind of pizza was, ordered a large and ate it all. While we were devouring the mystery pizza, we received the news that changed almost everything. 

All of the TCU students in Italy had been sent home. 

Suddenly, my appetite was gone. 

We looked at each other in silence. 

Our days were numbered, and we knew it.

With that moment in mind, I leapt straight through the gap in the fence and strode confidently onto the grass. 

My European future wasn’t promised; I had to start living like it. 

I marveled at the Eiffel Tower. Nothing separated me from its base except a long stretch of green grass. 

Elena was hesitant, understandably. But I noticed two guys who were edging closer and closer to the fence. 

I looked left. Then right. Then, I pushed the whole thing over. It was on its way down anyway… 

People began to cross over the fence into the grassy area to admire the Eiffel Tower as it should be, without any barriers. 

(I honestly think someone has to push the fence over every day, because we saw it down the next day too. Someone just has to be the one to do it, I guess.)

The two French guys crossed the fence and immediately started filming a music video. 

It was a rap song in French. One was the cameraman while the other was obviously the star of the show. Elena and I couldn’t help but try to sneak in a few of their shots, which spurred a conversation. 

We took self-timer photos in front of the Eiffel Tower, became Instagram friends and waited patiently for their music video to drop a few days later. We didn’t make the cut. It was devastating. 

I loved making new friends in Paris. 

The very first thing we did in Paris was not admire the Eiffel Tower or climb the Arc de Triomph or walk by the Seine.

We rode a carousel. 

Next, we descended 20 meters below Paris (the height of a five-story building) to the Catacombs to see the bones of six million people. 

Our first day was a chilling dichotomy between life and death. 

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Before our descent into the open graveyard, we made friends with a couple in line. The man was from Paris, so naturally we asked for a local French bar recommendation. 

After we sprinted back up the steps to the real world, we headed for the bar they recommended down the street. The bouncers greeted us at the door.  

One was holding a Nerf gun. The other was holding a club. 

So, this is the authentic Paris bar experience? 

We stepped inside and our mouths dropped open.

Everyone was dressed head-to-toe in extravagant costumes, dancing behind an instructor who was leading the group in a choreographed dance. We bought crepes from a random man (the only crepe I had in Paris) and joined the choreographed dance without thinking twice. 

I didn’t hear one English word, but Jake and I danced for hours with complete strangers in strange costumes. In those moments, I decided asking for the local recommendation was my new favorite question. 

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At the Louvre, new friends were crucial. 

The day after my brush with French fame, we woke up to arrive at the Louvre right when it opened. I was running late, so I decided to meet the group there. I didn’t have cell service in France, but I found the Louvre and jumped in line knowing they were probably around the corner. 

Our tour time came and went without any motion. Finally, a security guard came out and announced something in French to the international crowd. 

Then, we were all playing a big game of telephone with multiple languages on the line. 

There was a group clustered together trying to translate French to German, Italian, Spanish, English, Chinese, and spread the news down the line. 

When the translated announcement reached me, I heard that there was a strike but also maybe a meeting? 

At this point, you probably think I jumped the fence and snuck into the Louvre. I wish, except I would be writing to you from French jail. 

Instead, I made two friends from Puerto Rico whom I talked with for the next three hours. I finally used one of their phones and found my friends.

The Louvre closed that day for the rest of the weekend over coronavirus fears.  

Also, I would be remiss not to add a photo of Versailles, since it is the French version of Arkansas. It’s true.

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Paris, I’ll be back– in costume next time.