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I had never been to Paris before. I'd never been anywhere. Not on an airplane. Not alone. And certainly not to a different country—much less a continent. This trip would present many firsts. I was buzzing with excitement from the moment the plane left the tarmac at O. R. Tambo up until the moment it touched down at Charles de Gaulle. I had already spent the day in an airport lounge, patiently waiting, each time it was delayed, for the moment I would finally board the plane for what would surely be the most exciting trip of my young life, but I didn’t sleep a wink on the nearly 12-hour flight. How could I? Passing through customs was perhaps the most unnerving feeling; I kept expecting they’d say something—anything isn’t in order and send me home before I could even get a taste of the Parisian journey I had craved for so long, but, perhaps predictably, it was routine and I was on my way. I had taken a taxi to a hotel, I hadn’t even been sure which arrondissement I was going to, but after I showed it to him on my phone, the driver, Bernard, knew exactly where I was going. Bernard wasn’t a very chatty fellow, he asked a few questions; why I was here, where I was from— the usual but that was about it. He dropped me off at the right place and I was in and out in a hurry, desperate to begin my adventure as soon as I possibly could. It wasn’t until the moment I stepped out of the hotel I realised I had no idea where I was or where I was going; the only place I actually knew of specifically in the city was the Eiffel Tower but it wasn’t as if I’d had the slightest clue how to get there. I could feel the anxiety building in chest. I was in a foreign country, where I had friends or acquaintances to say the least, I hadn’t even the slightest idea how to call a taxi; was I supposed to call an Uber perhaps? Who would I ask? I was too unsure of my basic French to approach anyone. Too embarrassed to try communicating with Google Translate. So I began walking. I’m not sure how long it was until the first drop of water fell onto my head, it come out of nowhere on clear summer afternoon, but before long, I was drenched. I didn’t mind more the water rushed through my hair, the clearer everything became— it was as if it had washed away all of the angst in blood. I entered a small coffee shop at the end of the street, it was empty. Other than the girl on the other side of the counter, I was the only one there. She smiled warmly, she seemed to want to laugh as I trudged in through the door, my boots heavy, the rain following me. I sat down by the counter and she patiently waited for me to get my thoughts together. Eventually I found the words to say after a few moments of carefully evaluating my decisions. “I’m going to be honest with you,” I blurted out, “I have no idea where I am, my French is less than decent and I’m really hoping that your English is much better. Parlez vous anglais?” I asked desperately. She looked at me for a moment barely able to contain herself. “Oui.” She burst out laughing. “What can I get for you?” She smiled delightfully. I pondered my decision. "Hot cocoa." I said as surely as I could. She nodded, "One hot cocoa coming right up." She said in a lovely French accent, something about the way she said 'hot cocoa', finally reassured me that this could still be the adventure I hoped it would be; I was in a cafe in Paris with an attractive French girl. I was also soaked in rain. If this wasn't the European summer dream I had, what was? When she returned with my drink she casually sat across from and uttered something in French that I couldn't make out. She giggled. "Welcome to Paris."