To The More Real Experiences

It was my second day in the city that is so big, you wouldn't be able to see %5 of it in seven days. Paris! That day, our spot was the enormously big, metal thing known as Eiffel Tower. Everybody was so excited, gathered together like a bunch of cute retired tourists. And I was excited too. Think about a 17 year old boy, who is out of his city for the first time and he is in PARIS!
After the hardest subway adventure –warning, Paris subway is itself a city- we ended up near the tower which was 15 minutes away, so we walked. While walking, Parisian teachers were talking about Paris and Eiffel. We were looking around, mesmerized by the things we see; buildings, trees and Seine River. The things we only thought we’d see in movies were lying in front of us. I had to remind myself that it was real. I was thrilled with joy, not knowing that it’ll collapse in five minutes.
On our 10th minute of walking, suddenly, Parisian teachers stopped talking. The people who bragged about how culturally rich Paris was, started walking faster, looking down, acting like they’re thinking. Me and couple of students looked at each other, wondering what might’ve happened.
I remember clearly that we were passing by a bridge-like path but there wasn't Seine down under, there were gypsies. I froze. I slowly shooke my head, trying to understand the situation. Almost ten houses made out of cardboard or pieces of wood were placed in a row, people sitting outside, bare foot and ripped clothes. Children playing with sticks, laughing, just the opposite of the Parisian teachers who had serious looks on their faces.
Those people were never mentioned before by the teachers or movies, not that I know of. The houses had one room, some of them occupied by old men, resting. One of them was a kitchen that had dirty cups and pans. Opposite of the Paris image. The city of love and good wine.
At that moment I understood the meaning of “painting a city”, that any country can be center of love; if you know how to paint it, how to hide the imperfections. Because what I saw there was a reflection of my town. And where I was born is not quite known for it’s wine.
That image was more important and real than Eiffel. It touched me in a very special way. It was the principle of unifying. Not hiding, showing everything…
Parisian teachers never talked about that place and their serious expressions flew away when we arrived to Eiffel. And once again we started to hear about how culturally rich Paris was.