Alors, j’ai eu la journée la plus française de tous les temps

Oui, c’est vrai.

Pourquoi?

Why? Well, I awoke and went to meet my friend at midday (as planned) for coffee and a cigarette and lunch and more coffee and wine. We met at Les Halles, which is an amazing shopping “mall,” and quite cozy in this cold snap we’re having, but also one of the more confusing Métro stops ever. Sometimes it’s hard to find your way out of this stop, and when you do, it’s usually the wrong exit for your destination, and you end up adding 1,000 more steps to your daily count.

I was on time until I stopped in a cute shop, which I passed because I took the wrong exit out of Les Halles. (I have to go back!)

Hélène and I caught up at Saint-Eustache, and of course I lit another candle, and so did she. We had giggled in church like school girls when we first spotted each other going into opposite directions – then doubled over stifling laughter as we crossed pews and aisles to try to reach one another for that long-awaited hug, American style. We hadn’t seen each other since summer, but it felt like only yesterday. We linked arms and were off, hoping there were no nuns to catch us with cigarettes in our bags.

Whilst enjoying our 2nd or 3rd café stop, my phone suddenly buzzed. It was a message from my American friend who lives in Paris but is currently in the States whilst I’m staying in her Paris apartment. You might need to read that again? I’ll pause. Anyway, my friend got an alert from the ballet that I had not received. Tonight’s performance was cancelled. WHAT? Yes. And this is where it gets so French. Why was it cancelled?

Because they’re on strike!

It doesn’t get any more French than that. I had to laugh and applaud the situation. I was so impressed. Now that’s a union! OK, change of plans, I can linger longer, and so I did.

Les Halles – the station – is massive and confusing, as I mentioned. The “mall” part or this area is the same. Thankfully, there are signs everywhere, and Hélène told me you don’t even have to exit the building to take the Métro home. Wow! (Remind me I said that.)

I picked up one or two tiny (!) things for Christmas – remaining judiciously aware of my suitcase situation. Just a few small, flat paperback books for my little French students back home (two are Christmas stories), and one card game we can play together maybe during Christmas week, instead of a lesson and packet.

I digress.

So many stores! I had gotten lost in the book store, and now I was in the midst of what felt like never-ending halls to more stores. Three, maybe 4 levels, I’m not even sure, but it spread out in all directions. It was overwhelming, but in all the best ways. I mean what a place to get lost in, right?

Finally, when I was ready to make my way back to Saint Paul, I headed for my Métro line 1. It was crowded like crazy. At this point, I tuned into the métro workers calling out for Line 1 people to exit the building* because it was too crowded. I guessed (correctly) that that meant I had to leave, and find another station.

(*Remember I said, remind me I said that? Yeah, well, so much for being able to stay indoors to catch my ride home!)

I followed the crowd not knowing where it was going, if I’m honest. But I also knew I was two stops from home, and if worse came to worst, I could walk if I had to. I repeated this to myself as I walked through the cold, and it began to drizzle. I pulled up my hood and pulled out my phone to look for the nearest Métro, and when I looked up, I was in standing in front of one.

(Note: always, always, always have a hooded jacket with you in Paris, year-round.)

I finally made my way onto the platform. A train pulled up immediately and every car was (over)crowded, but I squeezed on board. Two stops, pas de problème, I said to myself. First stop, Hôtel de Ville, where one person got off, and like 164 got on. OMG, I was buried deep now. How am I going to make my way to the doors for the next stop? This is where the word, “Pardon” comes in handy, and I used it liberally. People moved. They know the drill. A few hopped off the train to allow me to exit, and all was well.

I stopped at the local boulangerie in Saint Paul to buy my daily bread (une tradition) to go with my wine and hummus, and decided to sit for a spell after all that shopping and walking. I’d spotted une tarte aux cerises, and ordered un part along with another coffee. (I may be up all night.) What a lovely treat! It tasted like it wasn’t made with any sugar whatsoever. Wonderfully understated. The only sweet parts were those scrumptious sour cherries. Heaven. And, dinner. (Hey, I had a salad for lunch!)

I took the stairs, of course, as is my regiment – especially after la tarte aux cerises, some 51 steps later, I’m in the apartment with the portable heater by my side.

Tomorrow, I will see Hélène again in the evening. And Wednesday, I will see Nathalie and the cats! Thursday is open, so I must plan something. Friday, I’m back with Hélène and her husband for drinks, and from there, I will have only one full day left of this trip. I don’t know yet what I’ll do, but something.

It’s been amazing, so far.