Paris: My Birthday Weekend That Felt Like a Dream
Pinch me — Paris is real, and yes, it’s just as magical as you’ve imagined.
Most people have a fantasy about Paris. The Eiffel Tower, the sparkling lights, the wine and cheese, the sound of an accordion drifting through the streets. For me, Paris wasn’t just another city to tick off my list — it was a dream that came true, and it happened to land on one of the most special weekends of my life: my birthday.
I had met my friend “Frenchie” years earlier in New Zealand, and when the chance came to visit her in her hometown — Paris — I didn’t think twice. I booked a three-day weekend and hopped over to France, ready for adventure.
When we finally reunited at the bus station, it was a full-on “whoa girl!” moment — screaming, hugging, laughing, and drawing a few stares from passersby. We dropped my backpack at her parents’ house right in Paris and immediately jumped into city life. No gentle easing into the weekend — my very first stop was a protest at a maternity hospital. The government was shutting down the ward, and locals were not having it. I couldn’t understand the chants, but I felt the energy — the raw, passionate Paris most tourists never get to see.
From there, we wandered up to Montmartre, winding our way along cobblestone streets to Sacré-Cœur. The view stretched across the rooftops of Paris, bathed in soft afternoon light, while somewhere below, the sound of an accordion floated through the air like a soundtrack. For a moment, it felt like I had stepped into a movie. Later, we ducked into a local bar for happy hour, clinking glasses of French wine before heading back to her place.
Happy hour in Paris — because exploring is thirsty work.
Getting around Paris was a whole adventure in itself. Luckily, Frenchie was my guide the entire time. We took the metro everywhere — and she handled the ticket machines and spoke with the station staff, since my French was apparently so bad that I was told I just… shouldn’t try. (Fair enough, lol.) The first time I actually heard accordion music was in the metro, drifting through the tunnels while we rushed to our next stop.
The next day — my actual birthday — was one of those “pinch me” days I’ll never forget. Seeing the Eiffel Tower for the first time in real life gave me goosebumps. Frenchie and I even had lunch inside the tower, and when the staff sang “Happy Birthday” to a co-worker, I closed my eyes and pretended it was for me too. (In my mind, it was.) We wandered the gardens, rode a carousel nearby, and then made our way to Notre Dame.
Wine, cheese, and the Eiffel Tower — the Parisian way to celebrate a birthday.
Frenchie told me we had to go because the cathedral was celebrating its birthday. She thought it was turning 350 years old… but it turned out to be 850. (Minor miscalculation!) Either way, it felt special to be there during such a milestone.
Of course, I couldn’t resist slipping into character. I made Frenchie snap a picture of me pretending to be Esméralda from The Hunchback of Notre Dame, arms stretched dramatically as I called out “Sanctuary! Sanctuary!” to get inside the cathedral. I may have even kept glancing up, half-expecting the gargoyles to blink to life. Spoiler: they didn’t — but the magic of the place made me believe they could have.
Serving my best Esmeralda energy at the doors of Notre Dame.
On Sunday, Frenchie’s family threw me the most beautiful belated birthday spread in their Parisian garden. A table full of French cheese, bread, and wine. Laughter, sunshine, and that feeling of being welcomed as one of their own. They even surprised me with gifts: a blue scarf patterned with stars and a little cocktail recipe book — in French, of course. I still have them both today.
At one point, I made a comment about how my birthday often gets overlooked back home whenever it falls on or near Father’s Day. Without missing a beat, Frenchie’s dad smiled and said: “I get to celebrate Father’s Day every year. But your birthday only comes once a year.”
That simple sentence hit me so deeply. For the first time in a long time, I felt truly celebrated on my birthday — not as an afterthought, not as an inconvenience, but as someone worth pausing the day for.
After lunch, we made our way to the Louvre, meeting up with two of Frenchie’s friends. We spent the afternoon exploring, and while I loved wandering through the Egyptian section the most, of course I had to make the pilgrimage to the Mona Lisa. The crowd around her was chaotic, cameras flashing, everyone pushing for a glimpse — but I still got mine. That night, we wrapped up the day with the most un-Parisian of meals: KFC. And honestly? It was perfect.
Balancing art, history, and a little bit of fun in front of the Louvre.
Monday morning arrived with a thunderstorm rolling over the city. I said my goodbyes, grabbed my bag, and boarded the Eurostar back to England. Man, that was so much quicker than taking the boat over. In just a couple of hours, I was back in London, heading home to Brighton — but part of me was still sitting in a Parisian garden, scarf around my shoulders, glass of wine in hand.
As a girl who grew up in the Canadian countryside, I never imagined I’d one day spend my birthday in the Eiffel Tower, joke about being Esméralda at Notre Dame, and be embraced by a Parisian family. But that’s exactly what made it unforgettable.
Paris wasn’t just a trip. It was a reminder that travel can give us things we never expect: friendships that last across oceans, experiences that feel like magic, and moments that stay in our hearts forever.
The city of lights, laughter, and carousels.
