“However, even now I have only the most confused memory of darkness, berets, trains, noise and handfuls of French money” -Janet Gillespie, Bedlam in the Backseat
My flight was delayed until 1 a.m. and when I say I sat for 10 hours next to a crazy person once I boarded, I’m not even mentioning the in flight meal. I was glad for melatonin and the hope for a bright future.
When we landed the fields of France looked green and fresh and the sun glowed in that special way it does when it’s 8 p.m. and has no plans for setting in the future.
Every time I leave an airport it feels like I’m escaping a prison sentence, or passing a test.
A man asked me if I wanted a taxi and I really did. He walked me out the door of the airport and I saw a clearly marked queue for Taxis. He began to walk past it and I stopped, jet lagged, haggard, confused by time. I told him I would get in the line for taxis and he gestured to a dirt parking lot across the street, with cars, without taxis signs perched atop them.
I scorned to step ahead and told him he could pick me up from the taxi line if he wanted me to take a trip so badly. He cried “but it’s the same thing!” I ignored him, feeling abandoned by humanity. He stood next to me and said “let’s go” the entire time I waited. I decided right there that I would take as long as i needed to figure things out in Paris, even if it meant standing in lines. The line was my lifeline now, the official things in life would protect me.
My taxi secured, we drove silently through freeways with modern buildings and graffiti. The taxi smelled like old cigarettes and there was no air conditioning, but the official postings on the windows gave me comfort. I stared at the plants and noticed mimosa trees grow in Paris too. My window was cracked to throw my hair around and keep me from sweating to death. Suddenly we left the modern skyscrapers behind but kept the graffiti. Slowly even that faded away and the buildings were stone, the trees were chestnut. We drove with purpose, swerving, honking the horn with exuberance, cutting people off and cursing those who cut us off. After finally getting into the right lane, we turned and the Eiffel Tower rose suddenly up, with a gold tinted bridge and statues lining the river between us.
I would have said something about how beautiful it was, but I had no words. The taxi driver was French and I have three French words in my pocket that I save for emergencies.
Exhausted, I stumbled from the taxi when we reached the correct street. As I paid him he said “no French?” in surprise. My dark secret exposed, I shook my head sadly.
Maybe I wouldn’t survive, I could barely find a taxi without getting scammed. My brain scrambled for the vision of the Eiffel Tower glowing in the distance by a golden river for a thread of hope. Even if I suffer there will be a reward.
My family was walking down the street towards me when I showed up at the big green door. They seemed comfortable in this alien world, having arrived a week before. Three flights up old curved wooden stairs and I don’t remember the code to the big green door anymore. I am exhausted. It is 10 p.m. in Paris and I think I should go to bed after I shower.
But this is Paris, it’s time for dinner!
We walk a bit to Le Nimrod, with its bright orange awning with artificial flowers and yellow cafe lights. The sun is starting to set and I have survived a flight over the ocean, a taxi scammer and my own lack of words. I order a Cobb salad and an aperol spritz that matches the cafe. The street isn’t crowded but it is lively. A few bicycles zoom past and I’m surrounded by another language and cigarette smoke.
My brain loves the salad with huge chunks of good blue cheese. There is nothing left to think about. For the next week I will stumble around, always lost, always tired. I will not know how to do basic things and I will guess my way through life until I fall asleep at 10 a.m.
They say you should fight jet lag, but I was already battling many other things. Finding my way through Paris, avoiding the pick pocket phantoms I had heard so much about, trying to figure out how to buy ham…I decided to let jet lag win. The best naps of my life happened that first week.
One day we set out to the grocery store and ended up walking to the Eiffel Tower. Money was just as confusing as geography and grocery shopping. It took me days to realize 1 and 2 euros come in coin form. I lived in terror of speaking, my French is impossible. I was afraid of stores, I was afraid of ham, I was afraid I would never make it through the day without sleeping half of it away.
This is how a journey begins I suppose. As my oldest and my husband left for Germany, I felt alone, confused and sleepy. I clung to baguette traditional for 1.40 euros. We would not starve with our daily bread
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brilliant as usual.