As a child, I was often told I resembled a giraffe. I suppose I agreed, with my height and long neck, and the way I'd chew slowly and deliberately when eating. I rather liked the comparison, thinking, “That’s a clever observation.” Perhaps it’s why I’ve always felt a strange kinship with giraffes.

Recently, a friend living in Paris told me, “You can see a stuffed giraffe up close at the National Museum of Natural History in the 5th arrondissement.” It’s rare to encounter a giraffe so close, even at a zoo. The desire to go surged within me. Wanting to see my friend as well, I impulsively decided to visit Paris in mid-October.


Every street in Paris, no matter how small, has a name, indicated by signs on buildings. I love walking while comparing these street names to my map. The stone buildings of Paris, with their street names and cityscape largely unchanged for centuries, create a peculiar sense of time travel as I walk.

I walk on the cobblestones, map in hand. The pleasant clicking sound echoes, making the walk enjoyable. One moment I'm in the 1st arrondissement, the next I find myself in the 3rd. It truly strikes me how compact Paris is. Apparently, all 20 arrondissements combined cover an area roughly equivalent to the area within Tokyo's Yamanote Line.



The National Museum of Natural History was about a five-minute walk from Monge Metro station. Upon entering, a giant whale skeleton suspended from the ceiling greeted me. Intimidated by its sheer size, I cautiously moved to the next exhibit. Looking up, I found the glass ceiling and the large atrium, filled with natural light, to be surprisingly open and calming.