Bonjour de Paris!

Translation: Hello from Paris!

Day 1

The flight over wasn’t too shabby. United Business tends to keep things classy, so on my Boeing 747, I had a seat that was quite roomy, even with the large man seated next to me. On my first flight I was turned around backwards, facing the tail of the plane which was completely different flying experience than I had ever had before, especially proven by take off and landing – I think I was happier on the second flight when I was facing forwards on the second flight after my connection in Chicago. On both flights, the seats came equipped with a personal TV screen with on demand movies, TV shows, music etc., cushy headphones, a pillow, and white comforters that are now replacing the thin and scratchy blue blankets. The seats themselves reclined as far back as one would like, and even into a completely flat bed. Like I said, not too shabby! Even the food was good, but that’s probably because I requested a gluten free meal with my flight reservation.

I landed at Charles De Gaulle 15 minutes early and found my way to baggage claim quite easily in terminal one. To my happiness, BOTH of my bags made it all the way to Paris. I’m almost positive I was standing at the same exact carousel two years ago waiting with my family for my bags to come out, when to our surprise they had been left in Frankfurt, Germany.

Aziz, a 23 year-old Parisian, was there to pick me up on behalf of the transportation service my Grandma had hired to get me from the airport to my hotel. He was an engineering student who had just finished his Thesis last week, but was still working two jobs to save up money to go to a more advanced university next year and maybe take a trip to the states. Along the drive, we talked about stereotypes of the French and the Americans, and somewhere among the laughs we decided that I would be his first American friend, and he would be mon première ami français.

We arrived at my hotel, to find that my room would not be ready until 1pm; another two and a half hours, and coincidentally the same amount of time Zizou had for his break. We got back in the car, and he drove us to the end of the Champs Elysées, where it meets the Arc de Triumph. We walked down, with a grande latte glacé (iced) from the ever-authentic Starbucks, and he explained to me everything about Paris he could think of. What type of dress was appropriate in what arrondissement, what was the significance of that building, why all the architecture surrounding the obelisk is perfectly symmetrical, where I could find the American Embassy. He graded my French and I helped him with his English. We talked about TV shows and movies, and what type of bars we prefer to go to. When it got closer to 1, we headed back to the hotel. He refused the tip I tried to give him when I was about to get out of the car, but left his phone number with me in case I needed anything or just wanted to go out with him and his friends.

After a glorious shower in my air-conditioned room, I found myself sapped of nearly all the energy. It was only 2 o’clock in the after-noon, but I knew that getting dressed and doing my hair was out of the question, so I just laid on my bed watching BBC, as the rest of the channels were English movies dubbed in French and their mouths moving at different times and in different motions caused too much strain on my exhausted brain. Despite the peanut butter m&m’s I was eating to stay awake, I could feel my eyelids getting heavier and heavier; slowly I was losing sight of the top of the TV screen. At one point I just let them close, just for a few seconds – it would make me feel better. The eyes closing lead to sliding further beneath the covers and soon I was in perfect position for what surely would have been the best nap ever; I even went as far as to set an alarm to wake me up 15 minutes later. I nuzzled into my pillow with a deep breath followed by a happy sigh sure that soon I’d be dreaming – instead I jolted myself awake, “NO! No naps!”, I lectured internally. I got out of bed, giving it the stink eye for being so comfortable. What could I do to stay awake? I needed to get my blood flowing a little bit. I spotted thesmall hallway between the door to my room and where the bedroom began. It was nearly long enough for me to lay down flat on my back in, perfect for crunches. I did about 15, decided that I was already bored and flipped over for some girl push-ups. I decided I was going to do 15 of those too, but I remembered that I never got my breathing right when I do strength training – aren’t you supposed to exhale when you’re doing the hard part? That always seemed backwards to me, but while I was trying to figure outhow to do that, I ended up losing count of my more-than-15 girl push-ups. Being the weakling that I am, I figured it might be a good idea for me to stop so I wouldn’t get more tired or cause myself to be sore the next day. What else could I do? I wandered around my room brainstorming and found myself fiddling through my make up back – Voila, tweezers. My eyebrows were in bad shape; tweezing would definitely wake me up!

An hour later, with well tweezed eyebrows and slightly increased definition of my abdominals, I found myself laying on the bed again, watching BBC and stuffing my face with peanut butter m&m’s, counting down the hours until I could go to sleep. I was much too tired to go find myself food, so I ordered room service instead. My delicious poached halibut with rice came at about 7:45, and by 8:03, I’m sure I was out cold.

Day 2

Since I let myself go to bed at 8 pm like a 4 year-old (actually my 4 year-old sister might stay up even later than that), I woke up quite early as well. 5:36… AM. I laid in bed, tried to convince myself that I was still sleeping, and finally around 6:30, I gave up. I opened the curtains to my balcony, just to see what was going on, and to my delight I found one of the most beautiful sunrises I’ve ever seen.

It made my whole experience more surreal, but also more concrete at the same time. There was something about it that really calmed me, but also reminded me of the adventure I just begun and gave me faith that this really will be one of the best experiences of my life.

By 8 I was downstairs eating breakfast alone, watching the various people that were sparsely spread among the tables that early on a Sunday morning. I drank my coffee – lots of coffee – and ate everything that I could, canned fruit, bacon and juice. I let myself sit there for a good hour, catching up on e-mails, checking facebook and all other websites, anything I could do to keep a little busy because I had no idea what I even had the option of doing so early, the city was still asleep, but to add to it, it was Sunday – almost everything is closed!

I knew housekeeping would want to get into my room soon, so I decided that I’d go walk around. I walked to where I knew I would check-in to school the next day, to see if I could do it with all my luggage. Once I arrived there, I was so close to the Bastille that I figured I could check that out too, but when I got closer I found something that interested me even more than the French symbol of revolution – the Sunday market.

Just on the walkway of Boulevard Richard Lenoir, a long line of awnings were shading tables, which collectively displayed almost anything imaginable. Variety of cheeses, rotisserie chicken, the most perfect bundles of roses I’ve ever seen, olives, shimmering and colorful pashminas, saffron colored authentic Spanish payaya, hand painted dishes, delicious fruit, African beaded jewelry and fresh Italian pastas. It was like walking though a dream with its display of colors and its array of aromas.

Watching the old women with their rolling baskets full of baguettes and fromage, overhearing the explanation of the perfect spices for chicken, and the buzz of “Bonjour mademoiselle! Allez-y” from all the vendors I passed; I didn’t think France could get any more perfect until I heard a man playing an accordion just on the other side of the fountain from where I was walking. Between the haggling and the scents of crepes and the starfish cut cantaloupes, I couldn’t keep myself from plastering a happy smile on my face.

Day 3

Move-in day. I woke up to find that, il pleut, the forecast predicted rain. I again went downstairs to enjoy my breakfast, returned to my room to pack my things, and just as I was about to leave my room to check-out, I noticed that it was in fact raining outside. I waited for a few minutes, then saw that it had stopped, and figured that I should probably try to make it to school before it started up again. This leg of the journey was successful – I made it to school with all my things, and without a drop of rain on me, but thanks to Parisian humidity, I was red in the face and sweating from lugging my two very large, very heavy suitcases, accompanied by my large back pack, and electronics bag for the past 4 or 5 blocks. In reality, that isn’t so far, but when you’re carrying about your own weight, and are trying to walk quickly/run to avoid being rained on, it ended up being quite the work out.

Later however, I wasn’t so successful. I had had to wait a few hours for the room at my new hotel to be ready, and so when the time finally came for us host-family option students to check-in to our hotel rooms, it had begun to pour rain again. We waited it out a little, and after about an hour, the rain had stopped. Myself and six other girls grabbed all our luggage and decided to go for it, knowing that the new hotel wasn’t too far and that we would probably make it alright. We were just over half way there when it started pouring again. All we could do was laugh and avoid the splashes from cars speeding past us at the crosswalks. We would take cover for a few minutes, map out our next move, then all run in a line down the sidewalk to the next stop we could all fit under – there weren’t very many. At one point my bag slipped from my hands, falling to the ground, and sending my electronics bag that had been resting on top of it flipping into a giant puddle. I groaned as I bent over to pick it up, at which time my water bottle slid out of my backpack and when it hit the ground it exploded open under a small cafè table where two French men had been enjoying an afternoon cappuccino. “Iz it your first tyme in Pari?”, one asked as he laughed at me. “No, it’s my second!” I replied, sharing a laugh with the two men before I head back out into the downpour.

By the time we got into the hotel lobby, we were quite wet. We saw two boys our age sitting there, and they seemed a bit flabbergasted at our memorable entrance. “You look like you’ve just stepped out of the shower”, one of them said to me. I could only laugh because I’m sure I did look exactly that way as I desperately searched the breakfast area for a paper napkin to dry off with, leaving puddles of water on the linoleum floor wherever I went.

It was an eventful beginning to my time here in Paris nonetheless, one that I will surely never forget. The rain did raise some concern, especially for my electronics bag that had decided to take a swim, however all ended well. We and our clothes dried nicely, and we were out and about again in an hour's time, walking the then sunny streets of Paris, soaking up the surroundings that would become our home for the next 4 months.