Shelter me from this habit I can't break.
I started travelling yesterday evening. Took a flight from SF to Switzerland before transferring to Paris which means I have a stamp in my Passport now that says "Zurich". I watched two people, one in a blue parka - one in a red parka, have a conversation in the middle of a white field of snow as my plane from San Francisco buzzed their heads.
Security was more like a place for giggles and hellos. It seemed optional for me to take off my shoes. My belt buckle was admired.
When purchasing a water from the kiosk, I spoke about 5 languages at once. I don't speak French, unless you count "merci". I find myself saying 'ehh' in what I assume is a European accent. I spoke German to the teller. He answered me back in French. I thanked him in English.
Hodgepodge.
It took over an hour for our bags to finally come around the turnstyle. After I got situated, I tried to find the way to the trains. I had this vague recollection of another terminal & a shuttle. Turns out I was right. Terminal 3 via airport shuttle takes you to the Paris Train. I got a bit flustered when my first credit card wasn't recognized by the train station's automated ticket kiosk. I only had paper Euros & the machine only takes coins. "Okay, don't stress. Step outside."
I smoked a cigarette in the same place I did last January when my flight out of CDG was cancelled due to weather/mechanical difficulties. Charlie and I waited in that spot, for what felt like lifetimes, for a hotel shuttle to come pick us up. After someone finally did come fetch us, they dropped us off at the wrong hotel. Another shuttle ride later, we had free dinner at the hotel restaurant & a solid few hours of sleep. The hairdryer in the bathroom looked like something out of a 60's science fiction movie.
My phone does not work here at all, despite Sprint telling me it would. Liars. I just see an X where bars should be. It's almost like I have AT&T. < / snark > Thank goodness for the 15 minutes of free wi-fi (French pronounce it wee-fee, but all together as if there is not a hyphen. Weefee. I much prefer it.) because I was able to send my parents a message saying I was alive & Joseph, whose flat I am renting, a message saying I was on my way sans phone.
I navigated the train, the Metro, and the Parisian streets all on my own. Surprised how that happened the way it did. I got a bit turned around out of the Metro, but still worked it out. When I got to the door, I realized I had no code to get in & no way to call Joseph who was waiting for me inside the flat. I waited outside for all of 45 seconds before the door opened. It was Joseph. He had the same realization. Bless his heart.
He took me upstairs to the flat, showed me the basics (it's super tiny, so not much to explain) & then invited me out to dinner with his friends. Normally, I would say "no". I am not all too adventurous when it comes to adventure outside myself. But I am trying to be more outgoing with stuff like that. I went & it was amazing.
I had dinner at a compact & vibrant restaurant where I had to squeeze and finesse my way in between the table and a chair. The owner, Gigi, was bellowing out Italian and French operettas. There is a sign on the wall that says "Gigi promises to not sing past 10 PM, the neighbors have requested such". He disobeyed.
Afterwards, his friend Etienne invited me out for a drink and a walking tour of the city. I agreed. I saw the lights (and the ferris wheel) on the Champs-Élysées. We walked along the river & around the city. He is an architect, so he has finite and impressive knowledge of the city. He gave me clues on how to tell if something was built in the 18th or 19th century.
After the walking tour, he gave instructions to a cab driver on how to get me home. This had to be the most difficult part of the trip. The cab driver, darling man, spoke only a handful of English words & I speak even less of French. Trying to explain where I am going & offer opinions on which direction to turn is not the most ideal of situations. He said a lot of words to me that I believe he thought were English, but really they were just French. And even then, I am not an expert on if those words truly were French. He started speaking Portugese to me, that didn't help. I don't speak Portugese. He then switched to Italian. Nope, can't speak that either. "Sprechts du Deutsch?" I asked. "No, no Doitch." Well sir, we are at an impasse.
A few turn arounds, pulling over to the curbs and Frenglish conversations later, we were on my street. My fare was 14 Euro. I gave him a 20, he gave me a 10. Bless you, doll. You change my opinion of cab drivers. I gave him 4 Euro as a tip. I footed 3 short blocks in one direction before I realized it was the wrong direction. 6 blocks back & I was at the apartment. I walked past the red door. I couldn't find the light once in the pitch black corridor. I walked up every flight of stairs that was not my flight of stairs before finally finding the staircase tucked behind another staircase. I learned that French locks are really fucking difficult to open. I don't recall ever feeling relief as intensely as when the door opened.
I am now in my new flat, feeling as if I am giddily somersaulting through the silent contrails of a jet.
Tomorrow is a keyhole and I am picking locks.
Security was more like a place for giggles and hellos. It seemed optional for me to take off my shoes. My belt buckle was admired.
When purchasing a water from the kiosk, I spoke about 5 languages at once. I don't speak French, unless you count "merci". I find myself saying 'ehh' in what I assume is a European accent. I spoke German to the teller. He answered me back in French. I thanked him in English.
Hodgepodge.
It took over an hour for our bags to finally come around the turnstyle. After I got situated, I tried to find the way to the trains. I had this vague recollection of another terminal & a shuttle. Turns out I was right. Terminal 3 via airport shuttle takes you to the Paris Train. I got a bit flustered when my first credit card wasn't recognized by the train station's automated ticket kiosk. I only had paper Euros & the machine only takes coins. "Okay, don't stress. Step outside."
I smoked a cigarette in the same place I did last January when my flight out of CDG was cancelled due to weather/mechanical difficulties. Charlie and I waited in that spot, for what felt like lifetimes, for a hotel shuttle to come pick us up. After someone finally did come fetch us, they dropped us off at the wrong hotel. Another shuttle ride later, we had free dinner at the hotel restaurant & a solid few hours of sleep. The hairdryer in the bathroom looked like something out of a 60's science fiction movie.
My phone does not work here at all, despite Sprint telling me it would. Liars. I just see an X where bars should be. It's almost like I have AT&T. < / snark > Thank goodness for the 15 minutes of free wi-fi (French pronounce it wee-fee, but all together as if there is not a hyphen. Weefee. I much prefer it.) because I was able to send my parents a message saying I was alive & Joseph, whose flat I am renting, a message saying I was on my way sans phone.
I navigated the train, the Metro, and the Parisian streets all on my own. Surprised how that happened the way it did. I got a bit turned around out of the Metro, but still worked it out. When I got to the door, I realized I had no code to get in & no way to call Joseph who was waiting for me inside the flat. I waited outside for all of 45 seconds before the door opened. It was Joseph. He had the same realization. Bless his heart.
He took me upstairs to the flat, showed me the basics (it's super tiny, so not much to explain) & then invited me out to dinner with his friends. Normally, I would say "no". I am not all too adventurous when it comes to adventure outside myself. But I am trying to be more outgoing with stuff like that. I went & it was amazing.
I had dinner at a compact & vibrant restaurant where I had to squeeze and finesse my way in between the table and a chair. The owner, Gigi, was bellowing out Italian and French operettas. There is a sign on the wall that says "Gigi promises to not sing past 10 PM, the neighbors have requested such". He disobeyed.
Afterwards, his friend Etienne invited me out for a drink and a walking tour of the city. I agreed. I saw the lights (and the ferris wheel) on the Champs-Élysées. We walked along the river & around the city. He is an architect, so he has finite and impressive knowledge of the city. He gave me clues on how to tell if something was built in the 18th or 19th century.
After the walking tour, he gave instructions to a cab driver on how to get me home. This had to be the most difficult part of the trip. The cab driver, darling man, spoke only a handful of English words & I speak even less of French. Trying to explain where I am going & offer opinions on which direction to turn is not the most ideal of situations. He said a lot of words to me that I believe he thought were English, but really they were just French. And even then, I am not an expert on if those words truly were French. He started speaking Portugese to me, that didn't help. I don't speak Portugese. He then switched to Italian. Nope, can't speak that either. "Sprechts du Deutsch?" I asked. "No, no Doitch." Well sir, we are at an impasse.
A few turn arounds, pulling over to the curbs and Frenglish conversations later, we were on my street. My fare was 14 Euro. I gave him a 20, he gave me a 10. Bless you, doll. You change my opinion of cab drivers. I gave him 4 Euro as a tip. I footed 3 short blocks in one direction before I realized it was the wrong direction. 6 blocks back & I was at the apartment. I walked past the red door. I couldn't find the light once in the pitch black corridor. I walked up every flight of stairs that was not my flight of stairs before finally finding the staircase tucked behind another staircase. I learned that French locks are really fucking difficult to open. I don't recall ever feeling relief as intensely as when the door opened.
I am now in my new flat, feeling as if I am giddily somersaulting through the silent contrails of a jet.
Tomorrow is a keyhole and I am picking locks.