Paris

2026Looking Back from 2026

I still hadn’t found my journal at this point, yet this day has remained one of the clearest in my memory. If I did have my diary, this is what I would have written.

By the time I reached the Louvre, I was already emotionally full from the long walk along the Seine. But nothing could have prepared me for the sheer scale of what waited inside.

Before I even made it to the first gallery, I had an experience that has stayed with me ever since.

After buying my ticket, I approached the information booth to ask for directions to the Mona Lisa. Standing just ahead of me were two older American women — loud, demanding, and speaking in thick southern accents. They walked up to the French attendant and barked, “Where’s the Mona Lisa?” The woman behind the counter answered curtly in French and pointed. As the two women walked away, I could hear them loudly complaining to each other about how rude French people were.

Then it was my turn.

I had spent enough time traveling by this time in my life to know that being a guest in another country meant making an effort. So I pulled out my little translation dictionary, did my best with my broken French, and said as politely as I could, “Mademoiselle, I think I have the same question as those women… can you tell me where to find the Mona Lisa, s’il vous plaît?”

The attendant, a pretty woman a few years older than me, looked at me, smiled warmly, and answered in perfect English. She gave me clear directions, handed me a map, and finished with a playful wink.

That small moment has never left me. Since that day, I have always tried to learn at least a few basic phrases in the language of wherever I’m traveling. I’ve found that even a clumsy, sincere attempt to speak someone else’s language is almost always met with kindness — often more kindness than I probably deserve.

It was a good lesson to learn so early in life.

From there, I made my way into the galleries.

The Louvre is not just a museum — it is a city within a city. Construction began on the Louvre in the 12th century under Philip II. Remnants of the Medieval Louvre fortress are visible in the basement of the museum. Due to urban expansion, the fortress eventually lost its defensive function, and in 1546 Francis I converted it into the primary residence of the French kings.

In 1682, King Louis XIV chose the Palace of Versailles for his household, leaving the Louvre primarily as a place to display the royal collection, including a collection of ancient Greek and Roman sculpture.

During the French Revolution, the National Assembly decreed that the Louvre should be used as a museum to display the nation's masterpieces.

The museum opened in 1793 with an exhibition of 537 paintings, the majority of the works being royal and confiscated church property. Because of structural problems with the building, the museum was closed from 1796 until 1801. The collection was increased under Napoleon.

The Musée du Louvre contains approximately 500,000 objects and displays 35,000 works of art in eight departments with more than 652,000 sq ft dedicated to the permanent collection. It is the world’s largest museum.

From the moment I spotted the famous glass pyramid that leads to the entrance to the final moments before it closed and I had to leave, each room left me more in awe than the previous.

Walking through its endless galleries, I quickly understood why people say you cannot see it all in one visit. I had only a few hours, so I moved with purpose toward the two works I most wanted to see: the Mona Lisa and the Winged Victory of Samothrace.

The Mona Lisa was smaller than I expected. After walking past enormous paintings that filled entire walls, her modest size behind thick protective glass felt almost surprising. The room was packed with people pushing forward, many holding cameras above their heads. It was difficult to truly see her. Still, standing there in front of a painting Leonardo da Vinci created nearly 500 years ago, I felt goosebumps. In that moment, I flashed back to sitting in that college classroom six months earlier — lost, depressed, and deciding I was going to drop everything and go to Europe. Now I was doing it, and I knew this would always be one of the very special days in my life.

Since kindergarten, art class had always been my favorite class in school, and when I was old enough to learn specific historic artists, Leonardo da Vinci had always been my favorite. There I stood, 23 years old, gazing into his masterpiece that he had painted nearly FIVE HUNDRED years ago! I get goosebumps thinking about it now.

A short while later, I stood at the base of the Winged Victory of Samothrace. Created around 190 BC, this massive Hellenistic sculpture towers over everyone who climbs the grand staircase. She is enormous, dramatic, and breathtaking. After the delicate, almost hidden presence of the Mona Lisa, her bold scale felt like a completely different kind of power.

Eventually, I made my way to the top floor and found a window overlooking the courtyard. Through the fading evening light, I could just make out the Eiffel Tower in the distance. I pressed my camera lens against the thick, dirty glass and took several photographs. The conditions were poor, but I didn’t care. I wanted to remember that view.

Closing time in the Louvre came much faster than I wanted. When the announcements came that I had to leave, I reluctantly put my camera down and stepped back out into the Paris evening. I walked down the Champs-Élysées as the city lights began to come on, then descended into the Metro and boarded a train. My day at the Louvre was over, but my night in Paris was just beginning.

I was heading towards the Eiffel Tower.