Je vais à Paris!

My bags are packed, and I’m ready to go.

I’m going to skip ahead, here, because a lot happened between 30dec22 and 31dec22.

What a fabulous flight experience! My son Thomas and I were upgraded to First Class, and were pampered accordingly by American Airlines’ wonderful staff. Champagne while taxiing, etc.

I mean, who among us couldn’t get used to that!

The flight was nonstop to Paris on AMERICAN Airlines. I mention this fact again because during boarding, some passengers came down the aisle towards me and immediately started speaking to me in French. (I don’t know, maybe they thought everyone on board was French), but we were still in New York, and so was my head. Anyway, I took it as an opportunity, so I responded en français and had a little chat. One of the Flight Attendants observed all this, and asked Thomas if I was French. C’était magnifique! Things were heading in the right direction. I was just helping the passengers decide where to store their carry-ons. (Old habits die hard for former FA’s.)

And on THAT note, when our assigned FA greeted me, asking for my dinner selection, he leaned in and said, “Do you work for us? Are you a Flight Attendant?” I laughed and said, “No, but I actually used to be.” His reply was priceless. “Oh, I knew it! I could tell! We just have a certain vibe, don’t we!” I agreed! We were besties from that point on.

The meals were delicious, and I’m not kidding. I had shrimp with an amazing sauce for the entrée (appetizer), and a delightful pasta dish as the plat principal. When did this happen with airline food? It was restaurant-level cuisine. Thomas and I enjoyed it all whilst nestled in our individual sleep pods. We had remotes for our private screens, a reclining chair/bed, blankets and pillows.

After dinner and a movie — and chats with Thomas — it was time to nap, which is usually easy for me. White noise extraordinaire! We had serious tail winds, so the flight would be relatively short.

Before long, they were waking us with breakfast. The scent of serious caffeine circulated through the cabin, as we all stirred and looked sheepishly at one another, fixing our bed head hair. We arrived in Paris in complete and total darkness. The sun sure does love to sleep in, here.

Thomas would be staying in the Third Arrondissement with a friend, and I am again staying in the Sixth. We skated through Customs at Charles De Gaulle Airport, got our passports stamped, and immediately found a cab. It was all so seamless.

Remind me I said that.

So Thomas was dropped at his hotel in Le Marais quartier, and the driver took me to my apartment. This time around, I’m in the older part of the 6th, known as the Latin Quarter, with the imposing 17th Century l’église Saint Sulpice being a neighbor. She casts quite the shadow, being the second largest church in Paris (after Notre Dame). Her bells fill the senses, adding to the old world charm of this quartier. Her architect was Italian, and my very narrow cobbled street bears his name, pronounced with a decidedly French accent, bien sûr!

The driver taxi didn’t speak any English, which is frequently the case here, so after we dropped Thomas off, I decided to practice my French an initiated a conversation. I felt a little rusty. I felt like my understanding of le français parlé (my weakness) might have improved a little since my last stay. (That would be awesome.) He was quite impressed that Thomas was an airline pilot at the tender age of 25, and said I looked too young to be retired. God, I want to live here. These are my people!

While I did catch some z’s on the airplane, I felt a little dizzy in the afternoon, with the time change, but I forced myself to stay awake. I still can’t believe I’m here. I thought I might venture over to the Champs-Élysée or la Tour Eiffel for the New Year’s Eve festivities, but all the metro lines were overburdened, as they were free for the evening. Meanwhile, my distant “cousin” in France has been writing to me, and she told me she plans to watch it all on live TV tonight. Honestly, I didn’t want to be a stick-in-the-mud, but I didn’t think I could get near the attractions, even by foot. We shall see. It’s not close to where I’m living, and I wasn’t sure I was up to a 40-minute walk after being up most of the night. I had time to think about it.

Oh, so, as I hinted above, my entry into the apartment was not so smooth. We had already arrived a day late because of all the airline cancellations/delays/snow/etc. In the U.S., so communication with my new landlord was a bit choppy with a lot of 6-hour waits between replies. I had given them last-minute notices about my flight changes, AND we got in early, AND it was New Year’s Eve day. I was not getting into the apartment at that hour. No way, no how. Still, I hadn’t heard a peep.

I was literally waiting outside with my two suitcases. Nothing was open. Just me at some joggers were all that was happening.

After a really long wait, a sweet young couple appeared and headed towards my apartment’s front door. I approached them, carefully taking inventory of what I looked like and how I might come across. I continued anyway, rolling my suitcases across the very cobbled narrow street, speaking French with frozen lips. They could not have been kinder. I showed them my paperwork, and they let me into the building so I could at least stay warm as I waited.

I won’t bore you with all the details, but I had waited outside for a long time, and when I finally got into the vestibule, I waited more. There wasn’t great cellphone reception in the hall, so I had to go outside to get 5G or WiFi on my phone in order to text and send messages, and then I would come back inside to warm up. And I didn’t want to get locked out, so I stood halway in and out, using my foot to keep the door propped open. I started to think I might need a hotel for the day/night just until I could touch base with the apartment people. I wasn’t panicking just yet, but only because I wouldn’t allow myself to think about the situation I was facing on a holiday where there’s no room in the Inns, and I didn’t know where I might end up. I was beginning to weigh my options.

Because my school paperwork didn’t come in a timely manner, I couldn’t rent from my usual service. This time I was renting via Airbnb, and I didn’t know what to expect. Well, at this point, I called to involved them, and they went on full alert mode. From their perspective, they had a woman alone with nowhere to go/sleep, hunkered down in the building’s lobby with two suitcases and a cellphone. They were issuing me vouchers, telling me to go to a café and warm up while they tried to reach the landlord. They were also searching for nearby rentals for me, sending me links and asking me if I preferred any of the units. They were ready to refund my money and allow me to apply it to a new place. I was truly impressed with their genuine care and concern. Unexpected, truth-be-told.

Well, it turns out, the key was always within my reach. Yes, Dorothy, I always had the power. Sort of. The key was inside the (unlocked) mailbox bearing the owner’s name. Yes, I had peeked inside, but there was a realtor-styled lockbox inside and nothing else. It required a code that I didn’t have. But guess what? The code was already set! I just had to press the button and voilà the little door opened and the key and fob magically appeared. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t figure this out on my own. One of the owners finally awoke and started to respond to my messages in real time.

Still, if it weren’t for that nice young couple taking pity on me, I’d still be outside. I couldn’t discover the mailbox and keys until I gained access to the building. And I didn’t know which apartment was mine; they’re not exactly numbered. OK, they’re not numbered at all. Anyway, don’t let anyone tell you French people aren’t kind. They are actually among the kindest I’ve ever met. Quite a few people inquired and wanted to help this strange woman in the hall with suitcases. My suitcases are unique. Memorable.

Remind me to tell you how beneficial that was for me on 30dec22.

All warmed up, unpacked and Thomas just texted. He’s been to the Louvre already, and is eating “Snails and enjoying a Negroni.” Me? I just returned from the grocery store, where I bought eggs and essentials. Mother and Son. I had created a line delay <la cringe> while in line because I had to go back to weigh my fruits and vegetables. Twice. Oh mon dieu! I’m out of practice.