Basically, after taking a ridiculous red-eye (yet sleepless) flight to Iceland, I land in Paris. For those of you who are unaware, I'm not living in Paris- I live in Reims (pronounced Rrrraaanh-sssss) which is a decent sized city about an hour from la ville de l'amour. Since I'm here for the entire year, I brought two extremely large suitcases which both exceeded the maximum limit of 25 kilos each.
Once I landed in Charles de Gaulle, I had to get to Reims.. but how?
I ended up taking a airport tram to a metro, then to another metro, which lead me right into Paris where I had to go to a main train station and get on a commuter rail. Turns out none of the metro stations have escalators or elevators. Fun stuff. It seemed as though desperation and exhaustion oozed from my pores, and a few people aided me in moving my gargantuan pieces of luggage up and down stairs, trains, hallways, and elevators. After a few tiring hours, I end up at the train station in Reims.
I take a taxi to the dorms at my new university. The driver helps me get my luggage out of the car, and then asks (in french, but uv courze) if I know where I'm going. I reply, "non, j'ai aucun idee" (nope, i have no idea). Now, my mission is to find the housing office and retrieve the keys for my studio. A chinese boy was passing by, and the cab driver immediately called him over to us. It turned out he knew where the housing office is. Perfect, right? Well, not really. The chinese boy, who introduced himself as "Jerome" (his chinese name is too hard to pronounce, so apparently the French just call him Jerome- which I find hilarious), proceeds to tell me that the housing office is normally closed right now. Fantastique! Yet, he offers to lend a hand, help wheel one of my suitcases to the main office, and check to see if the woman I need to speak with is still there. He runs up the stairs, and I wait. After a few minutes, he comes running back down saying "She's still here! She's been waiting for you!"
I go upstairs to the housing office. Pardon my French, but she's pissed. I apologize profusely (even though I shouldn't be) and she demands to know why I was so late. I explain that I literally just arrived, and that I had emailed her at least 3 times to confirm that someone would be there at the time I specified. I think she began to pity me once she saw that the bags under my eyes were as big as the luggage I brought with me. She grabbed my keys, and brought me to my new home.
She quickly ran through the entire studio, explaining while she inspected each and every thing. My bed had sheets on it, with two very itchy-looking blankets folded atop. Later on, I found that looks, in this case, are not deceiving. It turns out that my apartment was missing chairs, cutlery, and pots and pans. After finishing her inspection, she asked what I was going to eat for dinner. I shrugged my shoulders and responded "j'ai aucun idee." She gave me a sympathetic look and told me that there's a market about 5 minutes walk from the apartment.
After walking for what seemed to be years upon end (but is in fact really only a five minute walk when you aren't completely sleep deprived) I entered the market. Immediately, I was faced with an entire row of baguettes, croissants, crepes, pain au chocolate etc.. I picked up a 50 cent baguette, found a wheel of camembert, selected a nice Cabernet Sauvignon, some pre-seasoned couscous, olives with feta, and a bottle opener, and trekked back home. With no chairs, questionably clean plates, and no utensils, I sat on my floor. I finger-spread delicious mounds of camembert onto the ripped chunks of baguette, drank my wine right from the bottle, and ate my couscous with a giant wooden spatula that I found in the cupboard.
With a full stomach, I changed into some pajamas. Because the blankets were actually that itchy, I ended up wearing long socks, exercise pants, and a sweatshirt. I stuffed the one square-shaped pillow I was provided into my fleece jacket, and drifted off into a pleasant coma.
...and that, ladies and gents, was my first night in France.
What an adventurous beginning! When I studied abroad in 1969, I shipped a steamer trunk (like 4 big suitcases), and an Arab old man who weighed about 75 lbs. himself carried it on his back! And you had to schlep on the escalators...Have you replaced your itchy blanket with a cozy one? Where did you find a corkscrew that first night?I look forward to more stories. Love, Barbara
ReplyDeletela vie n'est pas facile. it seems like you've had quite an intro to france, and living abroad in general. my story pails in comparison. i can't believe you took transit to reims, lol you are INSANE! but it worked. and you treated yourself to wine. that is the most important thing.
ReplyDeletetreating yourself...not necessarily wine :)