So, it’s the first day in Paris.
The flight was 3 hours late, so Logan’s Terminal E and I became VERY well acquainted with each other. The flight was overall fine, except of course for the lack of elbowroom. The space next to me was empty, plus point. Minus point, the only movie available was Mission Impossible. The German guy sitting in my block was very pleasant and kept to himself, and I liked him right up to the very end when he started rolling himself a cigarette for the landing celebration.
Note: Having only 3 hours of sleep on a redeye really does make you have red eyes.
Getting off of the plane, I was exhausted, stressed out, and dehydrated. All I wanted to do was get into my shuttle van and get to my apartment. That sounds easy, right?
Nay, dear soldier. You must wait 30-45 minutes outside for the van that you never think will arrive. After having given into my thirst finally, the guy finally came. Good, I thought, I’m almost home.
And then we picked up 4 more passengers.
Not to mention the driver, this short Sri Lankan named Arshad, is trying to hold a completely French conversation with me. I’m laughing all the while because I cannot think in my own native tongue, let alone mingle in the French world coherently. We slowly drop off the other passengers from one Anglo hotel to the next. The last person I talked to was the only French person in the van. I’m the last person in the car.
Did I mention the driver doesn’t know how to navigate through Paris?
So he starts up the French conversation again with me. At first I am just chuckling because I’m not wholly sure what he’s saying and I’m not wholly sure what I’m trying to say but failing at miserably. Then I start chuckling because I realize that, though I’m completely jetlagged and not francophone in the SLIGHTEST bit, this driver is hitting on me. Am I just making this up in my head? Was it just the European kindness being taken too Americanly? Nope. He was asking me out to dinner on my first night in Paris. I said I couldn’t tonight. So he enthusiastically proposed another time soon, then. On the Champs-Elysées, peut-etre?
Thank goodness we reach my flat FINALLY. No matter, he encourages me to write down his mobile and told me to call him in the next day or so.
And that, my dear friends, is the first time Kim’s ever been asked out on a date by some strange man in the most awkward and yet amusing scenarios.
The apartment is adorable and great. So super convenient on the inside, and everything I need outside is only a block away: the metro, a grocery store, a boulangerie (where I get my bread), an infirmary, a police station….shall I continue? I’m very enthusiastic about this place.
My landlady took me in and showed me around before I showered and unpacked. Afterwards, I went out to the grocery store to begin stocking my kitchen with staple foods like Nutella, tea, eggs, bread, wine, and blah blah blah. Unfortunately, it’s going to take a while to get used to the stores here, and I couldn’t find everything I needed, and stumbled upon some disturbing substitutes.
I apparently emit an American aura or something because EVERYTONE has started speaking to me in English, slowing their speech, or just pointing to things that I may or may not need. And I’m really glad they’re doing all of it because I have no idea what on earth I’m doing. At all.
The grocery store is funny so far because they seemingly don’t encourage disposable bags, and it was my first experience buying a bottle of wine and a bottle of honey and slipping them into my purse after handing over my money. Now you know why the big bag is “à la mode” over here.
To stay awake, I strolled up Rue Vaugirard to get a sense of where I was and what was around for me to use. It’s a long road, and I didn’t have time or energy to scale the entire street, but it is just brimming with stores and cafés and other assorted joys. AND! this is the final week in Paris of huge store sales (up to 75%), so I’m going to fully exploit that once I have the ability to breathe and think straight.
While walking, I noticed that I felt severely watched. It came to my attention that the French apparently look at everyone they pass by. Kind of size them up, but briefly and ambivalently. This is very, very odd to me, if you consider New York is the EXACT OPPOSITE. I will have to get used to it, or get down to the meaning of it all.
Dan is coming over tonight to help me stay awake. I’m going to go eat some of the baguette I just bought (and it’s a multigrain one, too!). Ciao!
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