I stood on a bridge over the Seine Saturday morning watching the sunrise. Two friends and I had stayed up all night — hopping from one bar to the next, meandering about random, forgotten churches, stopping for a quick 3 a.m. crepe — and the sun rising over the Seine was to be the culmination of our night. But a weeklong storm had just passed over the city and the sky was still covered by clouds. So when the sun finally rose, all we saw was a sliver of light pass through a crack in the shimmering pink clouds.

It was, perhaps, the most anti-climactic sunrise of my life. But at that moment, I felt a weird appreciation for the city. The steeples of Notre-Dame rising above the roofs of Ile de la Cite on our right, the fountains of Hotel de Ville trumpeting on our left, the imposing outline of the Louvre behind us and the Seine rushing under our feet — everything seemed more natural.

We were the only people on the bridge at that point and, for possibly the first time, the city center seemed like more than a giant tourist trap, a shell of reality. Had the city given us an elaborate and breathtaking sunrise, with bright colors mixing in the sky, illuminating the grandiose 18th century architecture, it would have lived up to every Parisian stereotype and every photoshopped postcard. But as it was, with the feeble light and the grey sky, the sunrise showed us a city laid bare, stripped of all pomp and vanity, revealing Paris for what it really is. It was indescribably beautiful.

Admittedly, it took a while for Paris to grow on me. Maybe it was the cliche of its reputation, maybe it was my unwillingness to look beyond its facade. But now I realize that although on first glance it may seem stuffy and old, it has a quirky and exciting personality. With things as simple as a metro stop decorated like the inside of a submarine, a statue of a giant thumb at La Defense, or an open-air market at the Bastille that stays open until the wee hours of the night, there are delightful surprises hidden throughout this ancient metropolis.

As soon as I started branching out and visiting slightly more unusual and less famous spots, I began to love the city more and more. There is, for instance, the Arenes de Lutece — a Gallo-Roman amphitheater nestled in the middle of the busy Mouffetard/Latin Quarter area. While nowhere near as impressive or well preserved as the Roman ruins one would find around the Mediterranean, the Arenes has been transformed into a lovely park. The theater, which is surrounded by buildings, has been completely integrated into the city around it, with one of the entranceways going through a passage in a building facing Rue Monge. The stage of the amphitheater is now filled with playing children while Parisians lounge on the steps, reading, sleeping, picnicking. It was one of the loveliest and most unexpected parks I have ever visited.

And, of course, there’s the 20th arrondissement. Hidden in the eastern corner of the city, the 20th is apparently home to Paris’ new alternative scene, with plenty of live-music venues, eccentrically decorated bars and youths with angular hair-cuts.

But I’ve even grown to love the familiar and expected in the city. Nothing brings me more pleasure than being able to find my way from the Jardin du Luxembourg to Notre Dame without giving it a second thought, reading a book at “my cafe” facing the fountain in front of Saint Sulpice or eating the best falafel in Paris, possibly in the world, in a small park hidden between some buildings in the Marais.

I spent three of the last four weekends away from Paris. And while I loved nearly every city I visited, on my final evening in Barcelona all I could think about was how much I missed Paris. Coming back felt like coming home. Which is why the thought of leaving in just two short weeks is absolutely heartbreaking.

But I guess this carefree, Hemigway-esque life could only last so long. Maybe it’s good to get back reality. And who knows, maybe my romantic dream of dropping everything, moving to Paris and making my way as writer, journalist or waitress will one day come true.

If you have any suggestions for how Vicky should spend her last two weeks in Paris, email vickyd@stanford.edu.