La Grande Entrance

After a whirlwind of a chaotic and unfortunately stressful week, I found myself at the Orlando airport with my parents in tears as I set off for…an indefinite period of time, seeing as I have yet to book my return ticket since I’m not quite sure when I’m coming back or where in the world I will be at the time. Blushing with embarrassment as they hovered near the glass windows behind security, waving hugely and incessantly, I filed through the masses and found myself flung into the open space near the tram. This was it. From here on out, I was alone. Feeling slightly naked but independent I stepped forward with what felt like especial strength. I’ve dealt with being alone, in numerous senses of the word, enough in the last two years that I’ve become somewhat impervious to the sentiment of loneliness and find myself rather grateful for the solitude of my own mind and the sense of confidence I’ve garnered.
A groggy few hours later, I and I was at JFK and longing to hop a cab and explore the city. It felt so strange to be so near, yet so far from a city I’d found easy to enjoy and be myself in. Maybe I just missed shopping in SoHo though. Regardless, after a wander over to baggage claim (I’d bought two separate tickets and had to switch airlines) and a three hour wait for my flight, during which time I found the SWEETEST little Indian toddler who kept wandering over to my seat outside Au Bon Pain. She had the brightest eyes, which would completely light up every time I made eye contact with her and then her whole face would break into a smile…it amused me to no end, little kids are such a thrill, they have such fascinating personalities, so open, raw, untainted…
I couldn’t sleep on the flight, even though I hadn’t slept the night before due to delayed packing and anxiety, and after Slumdog Millionaire, a few episodes of Sex and the City, and a playlist of Kanye, Kid Cudi, and T-Pain, I abruptly found myself in Dublin. Two weeks in Ireland two years ago, and I’d never set foot in Dublin. I’ve heard I hadn’t missed much, but I again found myself feeling cooped up in the airport, longing to explore what was outside it. It was a rather awkward and boring stint, the waiting area was full of briefcase and newspaper laden business men and I had no idea where or what to look at while I waited. During a time killing exploration, a lady approached me asking what gate her flight was at since it wasn’t printed on the ticket. I noted the name of the city and asked if it was in Germany. Her response was, “that’s what YOU call it,” I quickly corrected myself with, “err, Deutschland, sorry!” but she still seemed annoyed and quickly left look elsewhere for help.
Finally the plane took off and I hovered near the window waiting for sight of Paris. An interesting wave of relief washed over me as the plane touched down and I was again back in a city I’d come to love a long four years ago. My last trip marked a major turning point in my life, and I was curious to see what it would be like this time around. I gulped down my nervousness as I pulled out the sheet of paper I’d printed at the last second with a paragraph of directions and small sketch of a street map with a circle where the hotel was supposed to be. That was it, I’d flown a quarter of the way around the world and had nothing but a sheet of paper filled with unfamiliar names and roads that would hopefully get me to my destination. The paper seemed heavy in my hands.
The train seemed to take forever but I managed to find the stop that switched me to the metro. I found the metro and got on the correct direction. Two small victories in my book. Getting off the metro was another story. As I followed sign after sign marked “sortie” I had to tackle staircase after staircase with my heavy suitcase, which seemed heavier with each long haul up a set of stairs. I’d been rather proud of myself for packing just one suitcase, and a regular sized one at that, for two months in a place where I had to bring pretty much every life necessity, and then some, with me. I quickly began going through my suitcase in my head and eliminating all the things that suddenly seemed a burden. Did I really need to pack a scented candle for the room (I would have killed for an air freshener last time)? Did I really need TWO towels? Were four softballs for the neighborhood kids too much? Did I really need shampoo AND conditioner? Oh well. Many, many, infinite thanks to the people who had the kindness to help me up that labyrinth of stairs.
I emerged on street level and was affronted by a whizzing bustle of cars and horns and pedestrians, cafes, restaurants, buildings…it all seemed to whirl around me as I stood there with my suitcase in one hand and the rolled up piece of paper in the other. Rue D’Alesia. Ok, found it. But which way? A droit? Ou au gauche? Droit. Go. And I walked. And walked, and walked. If I passed Rue des Plantes, I’d gone too far. How far away could it be? What the heck scale was this map too? In passing, I caught the eye of a lady in a deserted bouglangerie and made a U-turn to go back and ask directions. Good, she understood my accent, and I understood hers. As much as I hate the Parisian accent, you can’t hate its unornamented understandability. She laughed a bit as she told me I would not find the street I was looking for if I continued in the direction I was going and had a ways to go, the opposite direction, before I found it. Pulling deep for energy, I retraced my steps. At a huge circle round that split off 5 different ways, I went the wrong way twice before finding the correct road. Where were all the street signs in this city? Just give me a road name! PLEASE! Completely exhausted, I crashed on a bench with a bunch of old people to try to regain some strength before resuming my search. I was quickly reminded that the French do not make eye contact as I watched a man stroll by on a really interesting bike. I forget the details of it, I think one wheel was bigger than the other, and received an irked glance as I observed with interest. Whoops.
I got up to continue searching. By this time, I had two pesky blisters emerging on my suitcase hand, and the folded edges of the paper were frayed from my fidgeting. Just a bit more. After passing three other hotels, I found it. Now what? I’d arrived early and Sandra was still in classes. I was planning on crashing on the floor, but sneaking in my luggage was still a piece we hadn’t nailed down. Oh well. Here goes nothing. I walked in and waited to be addressed. I said I was looking for a friend but didn’t know what room she was in. The lady looked it up and directed me to the third floor. Of course I knew she wasn’t there, but I played dumb anyway. I waltzed up with my luggage and found the cleaning lady closing the door on the room I was trying to get into. Shoot. Leaving my luggage in the hall, I went back down. What to do, what to do….well, might as well give it a shot. I told the lady my friend wasn’t in the room and I thought she might still be in her class and could I have a key to the room so I could drop off some things I had in my luggage for her. With a simple nod, the lady handed me a key! Sweet, I was in.
I entered the room and found it eerily still and empty. I surveyed the existing explosion of luggage and plopped down on one of the beds. Shower. I needed a shower. I organized myself in the bathroom and reached to turn on the shower. The hand held shower head was resting on one of the ledges and without thinking, I pulled the lever to turn it on. It came to life as it jumped off the ledge, spraying a swirl of water in every possible direction. My first reaction was to jump back, away from it, but I caught myself and forced myself forward, towards the spraying snake. I grabbed it, turned it off, and surveyed the damage. The floor was glisteningly wet, the walls were dotted with droplettes, and the door had streaking trails of water from top to bottom. Whoops. Good thing I packed two towels after all!
After the highest water pressure shower I’ve ever had and three pairs of wet socks I had to change because I kept stepping in the one wet spot on the carpet (if you know me, you know I make the same mistake over and over again before doing something constructive about it), I crashed on the bed and completely passed out. I awoke with a confused start to the sound of a slammed door and two very confused, unfamiliar faces peering at me. I was incredibly groggy and it took me a second to think of the right questions to get the information I needed and put the puzzle pieces together. The girls were with the study abroad group, but had switched rooms with Sandra and Alice and didn’t exactly know what room they were in, but it was probably either the 3rd or the 6th floor. They seemed a bit disgruntled by the upset in their day, but were polite about it nonetheless. I got out as quickly as I could get my stumbling self out and headed back down to the front desk, who of course told me they could be of no further assistance. I resigned to waiting. Thankfully, Sandra arrived soon enough and after a round of introductions, I was led to the correct room, right next door to the room I had previously made my Goldilocks-esque appearance. Finally, I was officially in Paris.