So now that my English class is over, I feel like I can actually put this up. This was the second paper I did, a Descriptive Essay. Naturally, I embellished a few details here and there, inserted bits that didn't actually happen, all so that the paper would be the best. As usual, it was thrown together at the last minute, and I hadn't been expecting anything higher than a B.
Instead, I got an A on this paper, and a note written by my professor asking me if I would allow him to use it as an example of a good essay for his other classes (for extra credit too no less). I wanted to put this up sooner, but feared if I did then he might look up some bits of it, find it on here, and believe I was stealing someone else's words. Without further ado, here's the paper.


During one of my last Christmas breaks I was able to experience an amazing, once-in-a-lifetime event. I got to go to Paris, France and spend the holiday season in a city oceans away from my own. The trip to Paris was a magical experience. The sights! The sounds! The French holiday traditions! It was a dream come true.

I left with my mother on December 23rd from O’Hare, and couldn’t get a wink of sleep during the nine-and-a-half hour flight. I was too excited; not only would this be my first time out of the country, but it’d be to a place I’d never dreamed I’d get to see – and there was also the chance to spend a week with Zoe, the woman I’d been dating on and off for a little under two years, but that was beside the point. The plane landed at exactly 8h30 – that’s 8:30 a.m. in France – and the only thing to put a damper on the excitement was the hour and fifteen minute wait to get through customs, but once we finally managed to get out of the gate and onto the subway with Zoe, it was like I stepped into a dream. The trip on the train alone was amazing. The colors rushing past our car from the houses and graffiti covered walls – art that not only reminded me of home, but that seemed to be the work of true masters – blended together in a magnificent combination of reds and blues, yellows and greens, brilliant shades of honeydew and violet, all arranged in unique ways to mark the style and signature of the artists who covered their concrete canvas. A man came into the car and began to play a rather interesting instrument I’d never seen before – it looked like a combination of an accordion, a keyboard and a trumpet or tuba. Whatever it was, the melody he played sounded nothing like the clashing chords I’d expect from such a device, rather each piece melded together in a way that rivals some of our traditional holiday tunes.

Paris off the train was even more interesting. Despite the varying shades of grey painted across the sky throughout my week in the city, the Parisian sights looked even more spectacular than any picture I’d ever seen. The Christmas street fairs on every major road in the city stretched from one side of the Louvre to a mall far past the Eiffel Tower. The smell of freshly baked bread, scrumptious cinnamon croissants, delectable Danishes drizzled to perfection with chocolate and caramel, roasted almonds, and various other mouthwatering treats I’d never seen filled the air whenever I came near the stands. Christmas carols in about five different languages, including, from a translation Zoe provided for me, a German rendition of Dominic the Donkey, rang through the streets.

I wish I could provide a rather clichéd tourist’s account of Paris, but I had been determined to find out what life for normal Parisians was like, and thus Zoe and I would traverse the roads and undergrounds of the city while my mother visited all the standard tourist attractions. I can remember perfectly one particular experience Zoe and I shared. It began with her meeting me in the apartment her mother was able to get my family an excellent deal on. She refused to tell me where we were going that day, but had promised I’d love it. After a fifteen minute trip through the various subway lines, we arrived at a crêpe restaurant one of her friends had recommended. It was a small shop, no larger than a small chain coffee shop, and the menu, which I needed some help understanding, though small, had a wide variety of dishes. After one of the most delicious meals I have ever had the honor of tasting, she led me through the shops and streets of the city, laughing whenever I’d stop to snap a picture of a seemingly trivial sight, from morning to night.

We went past the Louvre, which was crowded with what seemed to be hundreds of people of varying nationalities, towards the Arch de Triumph, pausing for one of her Christmas presents to me – my first ride on a Ferris Wheel, which had been set up just across from a brilliant obsidian obelisk. Naturally, I used this chance to capture several pictures of the streets and buildings around us, along with a few of Zoe after she reluctantly relented and allowed me to do so.

Afterwards, she led me around and around until night fell, my feet ached – which I began to complain about with more and more frequency – and I became certain that we were lost, before she finally revealed the reason for our trek. She brought me to a stone balcony, filled with dozens of people, once the sky had been covered in black, and, covering my eyes, walked me carefully to the edge, answering my queries regarding what this was about with a simple “You’ll see.” The minutes passed as we stood outside in the rapidly cooling night until, finally, she removed her hands. There, standing proudly across the street in all its glory, was the Eiffel Tower, covered in a brilliant display of yellow lights. As I took it all in, the tower lit up like a sparkler as a canvas of twinkling lights covered the famous structure. They remained there for exactly five minutes, making it seem as if it were built of stars, before winking out. Zoe explained later that during the holidays the tower would light up every hour on the hour at night.

Truly, Paris is a magical city indeed.