There’s so much to see and do in this city that I was starting to feel a little overwhelmed.

Living in a city where you barely understand the language is stressful in a whole new way, too.

Ordering a drink, asking for food, or even wondering where to buy a belt or a watch takes on a whole new feeling of vulnerability that I’m not used to.

I’m good at English. I am not good at French. When classes began, with their drills and homework, they managed to get the rusty gears of my brain working again. Just in time, too.

I really do need to buy a belt. I think I managed to lose some weight with all this walking.

I have become the king of the metro. I take that thing everywhere. It’s an amazing triumph of engineering with labyrinthine tunnels, high-speed service and ubiquitous maps.

It’s almost too easy to use. I find myself seeing less of the city when I can whiz along underneath it to precisely the place I want to go.

It reminds of the first time I took the metro in San Francisco.

Having grown up in little towns most of my life, it seemed like magic that I could exit the Mission with its tiled Latin-inspired mosaics and bricked intersections and pop up in the Sunset with the salty ocean wind in my hair.

From the Porte D’Italie with its high rises and concrete I’m whisked to La Marais with its Jewish temples and tiny side streets that hide cafes and restaurants of endless variety.

Hidden in the corridors of the metro you can find musicians, too. The concrete halls amplify and carry the sounds of opera singers, blues guitarists and string quintets who park themselves at intersections of tunnels busing for change or simply recognition.

I’ve been taking pictures of them and tossing my franks into their cups. I don’t know what the natives think, but for us visitors it’s a beautiful accompaniment to our wandering.

For all my wandering I haven’t indulged in many monuments yet. I figure I have a few more weeks to see it all. I’ve passed by the Arc de Triumph, the Tour Eiffel, and the Louvre but I have yet to go in any of them.

Our group from Foothill De Anza took a boat ride down the Seinne, the river that bisects Paris and saw some of these things, but for some reason I’m reluctant to go. Oh, I will, just … not yet.

Maybe I’m still looking for native Paris and will do the tourist bit when I’m satisfied that I’ve caught a glimpse of it.

I have found a favorite haunt that I return to again and again despite the ack of ventilation there.

It’s called the Web Bar and, as it’s name implies, it offers Internet access and wine access at the same time. With three levels of moody lighting and a good looking, youthful crowd, it has managed to draw me back again and again. Located near the metro stop Republique on rue de Picardie it even offers food in the afternoon so you can nosh with friends and then take a glass of red wine to the second floor and fire a few emails. Dress lightly though, or at least dress in layers so they can be peeled off as you type.

Former La Voz Editor-in-Chief Chris Pommier is participating in the De Anza College Study Abroad Program in Paris.