My trip begins!

The big day arrived. I was flying out of Dulles airport in DC at 10:45pm on March 20th. I would arrive at Charles DE Gaulle about 11 am on the 21st. My husband and I left Blacksburg about 9am because we planned to stop in Richmond and visit his mother who is in a nursing home. I chose to fly out of DC because that was the nearest airport offering a non-stop flight to Paris. I planned to sleep on the plane and hopefully be able to get on Paris time quickly.

We arrived at the airport at 8pm with plenty of time to spare. I told Kamal to go on home because he had a long drive. I made it through security without incident and found my gate. There was a bar close by so I decided a drink would help me sleep. I ordered a bourbon and called my friend Gloria to pass the time. After that, I found a seat at the gate and began reading one of the 5 novels I brought with me. I bought used paperbacks to take with me so I could discard them as I read them, thus not having to carry many books all over France or search for English language novels. Eventually, the flight began to board and I found that I had not been assigned a window seat as requested, but a middle seat. I was determined to sleep, so I just took the window seat as if I were clueless. I very large man sat in the aisle seat, taking up more than his share, but a young male college student from Germany was our other seatmate. He seemed not to notice that I had his seat and took the middle seat without complaint. We conversed as the plane was preparing to take off, as it took off, and until reaching cruising altitude. I, then put my pillow against the window, covered myself with the blanket and tried to sleep. I have restless legs syndrome and the space for my legs was very cramped. My legs just couldn't get comfortable, so I kept moving them, trying not to be too annoying to my seatmate. An hour into the flight, I was still awake and the flight attendants began serving a meal. I decided to eat, and then try sleeping again. To make a long boring and uncomfortable night shorter, I will just say that I may have slept an hour but no more. By the time breakfast was being served, I had given up. So, I arrived at CDG sleep deprived but excited.

CDG is a large sprawling airport. It took me an hour of following signs, going up and down escalators, riding trains, and walking on moving sidewalks to get to the baggage area. I knew in a few minutes that I had brought too much luggage. My shoulders hurt, and I hadn't even picked up my checked bag. I stand in a very long line to show my passport. Finally, I reach the baggage area in a very tired haze. I wait for my bag but forget that I am looking for my husband's (Kamal) bag instead of mine so, I let it go by twice before grabbing it.

I have directions from my first host on the best way to get to their apartment. I find a place to buy an RER ticket with a credit card. I find my way to the proper gate. I ask a couple from Canada if this is the right place to get the train to Paris. They have done this before and assure me it is. In a few minutes, the train arrives, and I muscle my bags and myself on board and to a seat. I get to the Saint Michel stop and try to change trains as per Helene's directions. Somehow, in my very tired state, I end up leaving the station instead of getting to the right platform. I call Helene hoping that she will offer to come and get me or tell me it is not too far to walk, but she tells me that the only thing to do is to go back in and buy another ticket. I would take a taxi, but I have not yet exchanged my money to Euros and see no place open to do that. So,I go back down into the station, use my credit card and buy another train ticket. I try to discern which train to take, and think that I have. I jump on and begin to ride. A few minutes later I figure out that I am on the wrong train, heading out of town to Versailles. I will say in my defense that I am so tired that I can't think straight, and have forgotten all the French I learned. I get off at the next station, and find that it is not one where you can board another train but a dead end. I call Helene, and her husband Pierre answers. When he finds out where I am, he tells me to stay there and they will come and get me. I have never been so happy to hear those words in my life. Carrying all this luggage all over town, up and down stairs and escalators is hard. Add the stress of trying to navigate public transportation in a city where you don't speak the language, and it is almost worth crying over.

After getting me settled in the nice guest room at Pierre and Helene's apartment, we ride across town to a polling place that is in a district where my hosts use to live. I am surprised to see that the voting is much the same here as in the US. There are the same older ladies checking id's and the same curtains to go behind to vote.

I was delighted to go with them to their old neighborhood. We walked to the top of a hill where we could see Montemarc and Sacre Coure, a beautiful view. Helene had been instumental in starting a community garden on this hill and on this pretty spring day, there where many people tending it. Each family had a small plot and made excellent use of it. I sat down and watched the activity and was glad to be in Paris at this place and at this time.