Je suis là ! À Paris!

I’m sitting here munching on a baguette, dipping it into the most fabulous garlic/pesto hummus on the planet.

(Remember I said that because it took awhile to get here.)

So yes, I have returned to the city I love. No one who knows me is surprised. (I wanted to squeeze in one more visit this year.)

My flight left from New York on Sunday night (last night), and I had booked myself into a cozy little window seat with an “empty” next to me. Or so I thought. Because at the absolute last minute, a woman came down the aisle indicating to me that it was her seat.

Darn, I thought, quickly hiding that emotion. I was really disappointed to lose the extra sleep space, of course, but wasn’t going to be a brat about it. I watched this woman in amazement with all the many gyrations she was going through to prepare herself before she actually took the seat. Everything was calculated and she was clearly a seasoned traveler. Nonplussed. Dressed super casually, but with a style of her own. She was wearing shiny silvery “Chucks,” and her scarf had similar threads. We were both quiet, and exchanged polite smiles. Soon she was seated and covered in layers of blankets, pillows, and whatnot, ready to nap at any given moment. Me? I couldn’t find the outlet for my phone. She noticed this, and silently handed me her plug which worked in the USB outlet in front of us. I thanked her, and later found the outlet I needed way the hell UNDER my seat. You needed to be on your head to SEE it. I found it by touch.

During this short exchange, I thought I detected an accent from the woman, and asked her if she was French. And she said she was. Wow, I thought, the Universe definitely put her next to me. <smile> I immediately started speaking in French — and shared with her my journey of studying French. What a way to start my trip! She felt as limited by her English vocabulary as I did with my French vocabulary. Neither of us felt we adequately express everything we were feeling in the other’s language. A perfect match. She said she would fall asleep right away, and not to worry if I needed to exit our row and climb over her. I could tell she meant it; she was a woman who did and said what she meant. We had nice conversation and politely gave each other some quiet time.

Sure enough, as we were delayed while taxiing, I turned to see she was indeed asleep. Chin forward, lights out. I never before met anyone who fell asleep faster than me. Who IS this woman?

Nathalie. Her name is Nathalie, and I know that because before long, dinner was served and she awoke and we were conversing again. We both ordered the chicken, which was not delicious, but was interesting and edible. I honestly don’t know what the side dish was, but neither of us touched it. And here’s where I cringe, because I was actually embarrassed by the bread that was served, sitting as I was, next to a natural-born Parisian bread connoisseur. The feeling of shame lingered as I later stared at our bread rolls, rejected and abandoned in their plastic trays. And for the pièce de resistance, there was a cookie/cake thing for dessert and it was God-awful. Definitely NOT edible.

My seat mate again fell asleep immediately (!) while I listened to some of my French on tape. When I did feel like I should try to sleep, I realized I was just not comfortable, which is unusual for me. I tried every position that fit within that seat frame (without disturbing my neighbor), and nothing worked. Finally, in a desperate move, I pulled down the tray table, put the pillows on it, and sleep arrived.

When we next awoke, Nathalie started sharing some images from and exposition at the Whitney Museum in NYC that she had seen whilst visiting her daughter. So, I opened my phone and shared all the photos from my January trip to Paris — sharing all the exhibits I’d seen. (She’d seen a few herself, and we bonded over that.) We both oohed and aahed over the photos. Our photo rolls were insanely identical, filled with artworks. We continued scrolling through our photos laughing at how alike we were in this. By the time we landed we had exchanged phone numbers and emails and she made herself totally available to me, saying if I had ANY troubles or problems while in Paris, she would help me. She meant it. So earnest, so generous. Amazing woman! We became immediate friends.

After deplaning, we were separated by nationality, as I made my way to the US/UK/Canada line, and she went to the France passport line. And they were long lines too, because the computer system was down. It moved super fast, though, and after I was officially stamped into France and emerged on the other side, I heard my name called, and turned to see Nathalie. We met like old friends — she grabbing my hand in a momentary tight squeeze of friendship, as we walked for a moment smiling like old friends meeting by chance. We found the baggage carrousel from our flight and she helped me get my big suitcase off the fast-moving belt. She was impressed I had only one suitcase. This from a woman with a backpack and a very much ready-to-go attitude. Again she said we were definitely going to get together to hit some museums! Then, we parted, knowing we’d meet up again.

I made my way to the taxi queue, which was also long, but again moved constantly. During my two other trips, I had landed so early in the morning that no one was around (or awake) at that hour, and there were no lines anywhere. When my turn came, my cab came forward and the gentleman driver assisted me with my bags. He didn’t speak any English, which I have found to be typical. So, here we go, I thought, but with considerably less apprehension than in the past!

I had been given very specific instructions for entry to my apartment. First of all, I had to make two stops. The first one was in a different arrondissement, and I was to meet a guy in une épicerie and give him a numeric code that was sent to me via email weeks ago. (I really felt like a spy.) It didn’t work the first time, but it clicked the second time and he smiled and unlocked the magic box and gave me the keys! Back to the cab where I gave the driver the next address. We chatted away in French the whole time, and it was really pleasant, even when we were talking about all the anger and les manifestations à Paris. Still very cordial and polite, just discussing the facts. And then we got to my street.

It seems my part of the block is under extreme construction, meaning there is no street. No access. So he couldn’t drive on it. He pulled over and I now had to exit the vehicle and go to my apartment rolling my large and small suitcases, carrying my tote, purse, and phone down the very public sidewalk. It was daunting because it wasn’t far, but it wasn’t close either. This driver was so kind he abandoned his taxi, and took hold of my big suitcase and started rolling it down the road ahead of me, leading the way. Having scoped it out on Google Maps, I knew where I was. But this guy went above and beyond. I thanked him profusely and had already given him a nice tip for making two stops — which was BEFORE he rolled my possessions down the Paris street in broad daylight.

First test and the fob worked, and I was in the building. Yes! But this is me, and by now you know my trips/entries to Paris are NEVER event-free. And this was no exception.

Carrying my suitcases up one flight of winding, narrow wooden stairs is a given at this point, right? It’s standard. But upon entering my apartment, I realized the scaffolding I’d seen outside of my apartment building came up to my window and there were men walking around on it, inches from my windows. This is interesting, I was thinking. Three gorgeous tall windows align the entire street-side view of the apartment. But those luscious curtains meant to cover them were not. They were folded in clear laundry bags on the chair. In others words, NOT HANGING. Did I mention the ceiling is 12 feet high here? Even if I wanted to hang these heavy layers of sumptuous fabric myself, no way could I. No way. So I made the bed, because that wasn’t done either, and had a moment of eye contact with one of the workers on the other side of the window. This was somewhat uncomfortable, but I gave him a look and he gestured that he was just going up the ladder. And he did just that. I dont know if my look was Philly or France, but it worked.

It was still early in the afternoon, and that’s when I realized I didn’t have electricity. So let’s recap: lots of windows, no curtains, men on the scaffolding, no electricity, fridge not on, no lights, no power for my iPad or iPhone. Check. Now what? I was thinking fast. What to do? I called, texted, and emailed everyone I could who was involved with the apartment rental. When I didn’t hear back right away, I felt a little nervous, but not panicking. Out of habit I kept adding 6 hours to the clock thinking they’re ahead of me time-wise, and then I reminded myself noooooo, you’re here, in the same time zone now, Lisa. Don’t laugh too hard. Cut me some slack. Remember I slept on a tray table.

I decided to plan for the worst and hope for the best. What choice did I have? There was good and bad going on. My apartment is awesome, but the situation was falling apart at the moment, yet I WAS in Paris. So, you know, ups and downs. And wow do I love this neighborhood! I mean the cabbie and I had rolled my suitcases past a lot great eateries, cafés, and a nice-sized market some 300 feet from my front door. I decided I’d do some food shopping. Right after I visit the loo. It’s a long drive from the airport with two stops. That’s when I realized there was no TP in the loo or anywhere else. This place is beautifully furnished, but has zero amenities. Each apartment I rent is different in that regard. Ok then, I told myself I would just dash to the store, get a few things (TP), and continue to try to reach the rental company.

I didn’t buy anything cold (fridge had no power), and shopped very sparingly and strategically (wine, dish soap, baguette… you know, the essentials). As I was checking out, this happened: a young couple who did not speak French were trying to ask a question of the cashier, and she did not speak English. I literally translated for both. What a moment. Day One. Wow. Oh, and I picked up some candles and lighters just in case I had to spend the night without power.

Upon my return to the apartment, I received emails, texts and a phone call from the rental agency. So sweet. Oops, someone didn’t get the email to ready this apartment. Clearly.

So now, the electricity is on. Curtains still wait. But it’s a start. I really do hope the curtains are hung today/tonight because while the guys went home at quitting time, they’ll be back first thing in the morning and I really don’t want to wake to strangers outside my window. That’d be weird, even for Paris.

As I type, I don’t have Internet, so this may post late. But two people just came to hang the curtains, so that’s a good thing. I won’t be exposed to strangers in the morning from my bed. Can you imagine? Lol! I was seriously going to sleep in my jeans.

A tout a l’heure!