Perhaps it was the smell of weed emanating from the various coffee shops, but something about Amsterdam made it feel different from the cities I had been in so far. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t have time to explore what other differences there were, not after arriving so late the night prior, or with my next train departing so early in the day.

I arrived at the station moments before departure, though unlike my other trains, this one required a reservation. No exceptions. Luckily, the train wasn’t overbooked, and buying my first reservation of the trip, I was soon leaving the Netherlands and enteringBelgium. After a stop in Brussels, the train sped along, reaching near 200mph. Paris arrived in no time.

Walking out of the Gare du Nord, I headed towards the night’s lodging. I checked in to the hostel and climbed the eight flights of stairs to my room. The steps were steep, but not nearly as steep those in Amsterdam. I dropped off a few of my things, then headed back into the city. 

As I walked towards the metro, I couldn’t help but notice how familiar the city felt. I knew it’s layout, and I knew where I was within it. Even though it was my first time in Paris, I felt as though I was no longer in a foreign place, something I attributed to the years of high school French classes.