Parisian Chronicles, Jour 1
I feel as though chronicling my adventure in Paris would be passe but, after realizing that I may never get this opportunity again, I should absolutely make the effort to write down as many experiences as I can. I do this, not to gloat or to boast about my escapades but to put into perspective this once in a lifetime experience. I say it's "once in a lifetime" because, everything that's happening to me right now will never happen to me again, the feelings and sensations are so new and invigorating that nothing can or will ever compare to how real this is.
Day 1: Lundi
My plane was delayed for a couple of hours after a malfunction prior to crossing the Atlantic. This, along with the late departure from IAH made me arrive to Paris 4 hours later than anticipated. Without a phone or means to contact my "landlord", I took the risk of getting to the apartment on the simple hope that he would still be there.
I must have looked utterly confused walking around CDG airport as a very tall, dark and handsome man approached me and asked me if I needed a cab. He was well dressed and endearing although, he reminded me a lot of Wayne Brady and something about him made me uneasy. He started taking me down to where the cabs were but my uneasiness made me find a justifiable excuse not to go any further with him.
"Do you take credit cards?" I asked
"No, no cards but, I can show you an ATM..."
"No, that's okay. I'd rather pay with a card"
He looked slightly disappointed but then showed me where the "taxi's that take credit cards" were. This seemed more legitimate and soon, I was whisked away by a chain-smoking, middle-aged Parisian woman who didn't speak English (except for when she said "shit" after some punk on a motorcycle bumped into her car). 30 minutes, 45 euros and two wrong turns later, I finally made it to the apartment...and I still had to pay cash.
Not to my surprise, the apartment was vacant and locked, leaving me outside without a means to contact my landlord. I heard a strange buzzing sound, similar to a dentist drill, coming from the door across the apartment. I peered in and knocked, hoping they would hear me but the buzzing seemed to drown it out. Once more, I knocked and this time, I opened the door slightly, getting their attention.
"Parlez-vous anglais?" I asked, knowing I sounded inauthentic and afraid
The gentlemen I asked shook his head but called to the attention of one of his employees who spoke English just as well, if not better, than I spoke French. After explaining that I was renting the apartment across the hall, my lack of phone and my inability to get in contact with the landlord, he offered to get a hold of him for me. Of course, he wouldn't answer the phone. After about 20 minutes of this, he remembered that he may or may not have a key to the apartment (which sounds fishy and rather unsafe but, at that moment, I didn't care and just want to go inside).
After trying his keys, I finally made it into the apartment and found that the landlord (Daniele, from now on) had left my keys on the table, which was a complete and total relief. After noticing that, I took a moment to look around the space and, to be quite frank, it didn't take very long. The apartment is about the size of my bedroom, if not smaller but, it comes equipped with a kitchen, enormous windows and a pullout couch with a very lovely light hanging overhead. It wasn't until I stepped into the bathroom that I realized what the term "water closet" meant. It's unlike anything I've ever seen, so tiny and minimal to every degree but, it's lovely and it's mine for an entire week.
After showering and making myself at home, I decided that after being in an airplane for 14 hours and dealing with the stress of being lost and locked out, it was time for me to take a walk.
I left the apartment and decided to start walking down the Avenue De Gobelins, until I saw something that I could remember; a marker for when I want to get back. There were tons of stores, bistros and boulangeries on every corner but I felt it would be too reckless to jump into the first one I saw so, I kept walking. As I was turning on a corner, the smell of something heavenly caught my attention, something I know all too well. It was the scent of butter caramelizing on a hot grill. I came across a creperie and immediately knew what would be my first meal in Paris.
"Une crepe de formage et jambon s'il vous-plait"
While it was delicious, it wasn't as brunette as I was used to. It was soft and chewy, the cheese completely melted with a hint of nuttiness and the ham was just the perfect amount of saltiness to balance it all out. With my first meal of the day in hand and the sun shining brightly overhead, I kept walking.
A few steps away from the creperie, I found a tall black gate that led into the Jardin Des Plantes, the city's botanical gardens, that I read about in my guide book. I thought it was dumb look that I came across it and so, I wandered in, crepe in hand, headphones and music in full blast. There were so many gorgeous flowers, plants and trees, it was stunning. It reminded me of the gardens in San Francisco but more homely, the kind of things I would find in someone's backyard. I thought of my mother and how I so badly would want her to have something this beautiful. I always said that,one day, I would build a garden in her honor, something vast and glorious just like what she had, just like what was in front of me.
I walked out of the jardin and onto the streets, wandering across traffic and avoiding tour buses and speedy motorcyclists and found myself on the left bank of the Siene. The water isn't as pleasant as I had hoped and, while there is trash and graffiti all over, there is still some beauty to it all. I walked and walked, looking around me and seeing all the beautiful buildings and bridges, admiring the way the sun shined over the water and just melted into the idea of being where I was.
I crossed the Siene and stumbled into the Ile De St. Louis where there were more magasins, bistros and more tourist shoppes than you can imagine. Berthillion, the famous ice cream shoppe I had heard so much about, was closed so I felt a bit disheartened at being there on that day. There were so many wonderful things to see on the Ile; the cheese shoppes, the buildings, the narrow streets, all of it. I felt a hint of envy at the people enjoying their sorbets et glaces from the Berthillion stands but, I feel that there's something magical about waiting in line for my first taste of this legendary treat.
Walking across the other end of the Ile, I found myself in front of Notre Dame. It was as majestic as I every imagined it and, immediately, I felt compelled to run inside and have my life turned around. However, the line to get inside was absurdly long and so, I continued walking, knowing that if it could withstand the test of time for almost 700 years, it would be there for one more day.
Retracing my steps, I found myself back through the Ile, down the Siene and through le jardin, passing by the creperie and back up to Avenue De Gobelins. I felt that one more stop would be appropriate as, it had been over 4 hours since I had my first meal in Paris and so, I walked into a boulangerie down the street and bought my first baguette.