An American in Paris

[May 6-9, 2012]

I write to you while sitting in the Luxembourg Gardens… and not 10 minutes into my writings, I am approached by an adorable older man, offering me a hot beverage from his kiosk behind me.  It’s an overcast day, and I decide to say yes – partially because I’m a bit cold, but mostly because I’m proud of myself for understanding his French enough to know what he’s offering.  He seems a bit flirtaceous for how much older than me he is, but harmless :)  I put my computer in my bag and follow him to his kiosk behind me.  He gets me un café and asks “au lait?”  - again, proud of myself for understanding, I say “oui, merci.”  After refusing to let me pay, he then comes around to the front, pulls up a chair, motions for me to sit and says something that I don’t recognize, but believe to mean “I’ll return.”  As I’ve already accepted his beverage, I may as well oblige – so I sit. 

He disappears and quite soon, another man comes into the kiosk – and we start talking.  He speaks enough English, and me enough French, that we’re able to hold a conversation of sorts.  He’s friends with my coffee man, and has been helping him with his business lately.  He worked in a nearby hospital for 13 years, and is either on a leave from that job, or he’s done with the job entirely – I’m not quite sure which.  He says it was no good – something about the ambiance, and that he worked near or in the operating rooms?  He’s never been to America, but he’s been to Mexico - Cancun.  His mother was from France and his father from Morocco.  He tells me that business for his friend is not good – the stand made 30 euro yesterday, and only 5 euro so far today.  I feel a bit badly for having accepted a free coffee, but the coffee man had been insistent, and well, what’s done is done.  We chat for a bit longer until his friend comes back - who greets me with a kiss on each cheek – delighted I’ve stayed, and then tries to give me a bag of candied nuts.  I laugh and say “non, merci!”  He somehow is able to make me take a lollipop, which I don’t even know that I will eat – but I didn’t feel like I could say no.  I ask if I can take a picture of them, and they oblige.  My coffee man’s name sounds something like Alain, and I already forget the friend’s name – something like Javarelo… though not that at all.  Alain then comes to kiss my face again and says he’ll be back.  I say that I want to go sit in the sun and type – and he says something that his friend translates – “Will you come back after?” And I say yes.

I hurry off to a bench much farther away from the coffee/snack stand.

I feel obligated to tell you about my bumpy entrance to Paris this time around.  I’ve been here once before – in 2009 with two girlfriends.  It was January, and it was cold – but I fell in love with the city nonetheless.  I took French in high school because my heartstrings were drawn to it – and in my 2009 trip, I loved that I finally had an opportunity to use it.  And boy did I get to!  Since we were there during an off-peak time, a lot of the shopkeepers were not expecting American tourists, and I did my best to speak French as much as possible.  It was sometimes successful and sometimes stressful – but I felt very proud of myself for some of the situations I helped us handle.  We rented an apartment rather than stay at a hotel (in the 3^rd Arrondissement – the Marais), and I loved that I could pretend I was a local Parisian for the week we were here.

In preparing for this trip, I was sure Paris would be fairly easy for me – since I’d been here once before and since I “know” the language.  I bought a phrasebook just in case - and even downloaded a game onto my phone that would help me practice my French.  On my Eurostar ride here from London (which by the way went really well, and I’m glad I’m now familiar with how that works), I’d planned to thoroughly study my phrasebook… but the thing is I was EXHAUSTED because I never once had a full-night of sleep while in London for the week, and as soon as the train started moving, I fell fast asleep.  Once I woke up, I was just 15 minutes away from Paris – and only got that brief amount of studying time in, before I was released in the Paris du Nord train terminal – along with five million other travelers from around the world. 

Lines all over the place – hard to tell which line is for what – Metro tickets, RER tickets, Information, etc.  People taking advantage of tourists whenever possible – a woman trying to bully me into signing something and donating money, young boys trying to get people to pay them to help them in the ticket buying process, etc.  I knew luckily, which Metro train line would get me to my accommodations in Paris – so I decided to get in the automated ticket machine line, rather than the super long people-to-help-you line.  First problem: when I got to the machine it didn’t like my credit card and only wanted coins if paying by cash.  I mostly had paper money, not coins.  I should have expected the credit card issue, because I had it in London.  I guess credit cards in Europe all have chips in them now?  This must be new, because in all my Europe travels (and there have been a few!) – I’ve never experienced this.  So anyway, our apparently antiquated American credit cards require signature, which is a whole process, and requires a person – i.e. no automated machine purchases possible.  So basically, I took way longer at the automated ticket machine than was appreciated by the people behind me in line, and finally after realizing my credit cards were not going to work – I used the couple of euro-coins I had, to get a single-journey Metro ticket.  PHEW. 

So then, it was off to my particular Metro line, which luckily, I was able to find in the chaos of the train station terminal.  I should mention at this point that my luggage has gotten quite out of hand during my travels abroad.  For the London portion of my trip, I needed to pack a number of professional outfits – which is not as easy as a normal wardrobe for a trip – AND I felt the need to buy a number of gifts while in London – so let’s just say I BARELY got my bags closed when I departed London… and let’s just say the weight of them is such that people would be quite impressed with me that I carried them up and down Metro stairs here in Paris.  I took up too much room on the Metro car, but by God, I got myself in there and was proud for it.  I’ll just say it: I’m not quite sure how persons with disabilities get themselves around Paris!  If it’s hard for an able-bodied young woman with luggage to get around, I can’t imagine what it would be like if you were less-than-able bodied.  I didn’t see elevators for any Metro – still haven’t – and I’m not sure if that’s because they don’t exist, or if I just have not been able to find them. 

As you can imagine, my muscles were quite mad at me by the time I arrived at my rental apartment… not to mention my feet, because this crazy broad felt the need to wear boots with heels yesterday, so as to make a fashionable entrance to Paris.  Dumb, dumb, dumb.  Needless to say, today – day two – I am not wearing heels.  Pretty sure my feet would have declared mutiny had I tried that today.

Making my way up the leaving-the-Metro stairs, huffing and puffing was probably quite a sight.  Resting momentarily after that ridiculousness, I got my phone to successfully dial the French-man who was renting my apartment to me, and I then successfully found my way to the apartment, without my phone map (trying not to use 3G because of the data cost).  Samuel the apartment man was very nice – prompt in showing up, and – GOD BLESS HIM – helped carry one of my bags up the stairs (which I apologized to him profusely our whole way up due to the ungodly weight).  He made sure I had everything I needed, before leaving me on my own.  I was relieved that the apartment was JUST as it was advertised online – super cute, and not an inch bigger than I needed it to be.   Plus, in a great location – the 5^th Arrondisement, the Latin Quarter.  Close to the Seine, Notre Dame, the Metro and the RER.  Perfect, perfect. 

I found out from Mr. Samuel that there was a small grocery store down the block, so that was my first stop – to procure necessities such as:  water, Greek yogurt, a few pieces of fruit, wine, cheese, proscuitto, and salami.  I’d like to think that up until I went to check-out, I had masqueraded as a local Parisian – I’d greeted the man at the register with a confident “bonjour” – I was not in jeans, I was a female by herself, I’d brought my own grocery bag (I think they charge you for them here)… but once I got to the register with my purchases, I quickly revealed myself to be the bumbling American I was trying not to be.  The man told me in French that the partial case of water bottles I’d grabbed would cost me more and that I should just go get a full case.  (6 instead of 4).  I only sort of understood his French and it took longer for me to comprehend than should have, but he was kind and said I could leave my other purchases – and let me cut line when I returned.  I then tried asking if they’d take my American Express, knowing that they probably wouldn’t, but then when I asked about MasterCard, he just said Visa, which luckily I had… but I then couldn’t articulate that probably he’d need me to sign for it because I didn’t have the goddamn chip in my card… And I kept wanting to use Spanish phrases I knew instead of French, and there was a line behind me again (lines are just so stressful!)… but somehow – he and I finally sorted out the whole transaction, and I hurried out of the store with my purchases.  Boy oh boy.

I pride myself in trying to live like a local when I travel, but sometimes, it sure would be easier to go to huge chain stores and speak my boorish American English and get poor quality items for more money than should be spent.  Luckily, I’m stubborn in my travel-morals… and am proud of myself for persevering in stressful times.

After a quick drop-off of goods back at my apartment (successfully getting hallway lights to work and apartment keys to open all necessary door s in the building), I was ready to go off on some minor exploring.  I am happy to report that the River Seine and Notre Dame are still as beautiful as ever – even on a weekend day in May with tons of tourists everywhere.  Souvenir shops and restaurants are still plentiful – and the streets are still delightfully narrow.  A new observation – there are so many bookshops here!  I feel like the bookshops in the States are near extinct… and it’s so refreshing to see so many here. I wandered into one that was called Shakespeare and Company, and I fell right in love.  A cute man on a ladder gave me a very nice smile, and I’m sure that didn’t hurt :)  I probably should buy a book from a bookstore before leaving Paris.  I’m sure I will also buy some art.

Once my feet were finished with my wandering (still wearing my heeled boots – WHAT a crazy person), I returned home to dine on my grocery store purchases and get some writing and photo-editing done.  I got as far as eating some food before I realized that my exhaustion level was so intense that the only energy I had left was for a shower and bed.  I retired quite early in the evening and slept in this morning – I believe that’s called body-mutiny.  Sleep was simply commanded of me.  So, while I’m a bit disappointed that I didn’t get out earlier in the day today, I’m quite aware that rest was needed, and at least I’ve been enjoying the surroundings of the Luxembourg Gardens this past midday as I’ve caught up on my writings.  And I’ve made some old-man-friends.  Doin’ good.

I wonder, as I have a little less than two days left in this city, what discoveries I’ll make and what revelations will come to me.  I’ve been a bit down, lately in life – and I had high hopes that this trip to Europe would lift my spirits… but maybe it wasn’t very intelligent for a lonely-heart girl to put herself, alone, smack dab in the center of the city of love.  Even in the time I’ve been seated writing, I’ve already seen a woman sitting on the lap of her lover, the two of them kissing and whispering to each other.  But as much as I long to find my love, I have to remind myself that it’s the wrong goal.  That I should long to love myself so much that I can be content in life without him.  I complain about the trials of traveling to a foreign country without fully knowing the native language or acceptable behaviors, but the journey of loving myself – as I am, as a single individual in this world – that is probably the hardest journey I will ever go on, and the one I most look forward to finishing. 

I hope that with each world journey I undertake, that I am one step closer in that bigger journey.  I hope the pride of witnessing my own bravery so many times over – now, for the first time traveling alone in a foreign country  - I hope that helps further validate my opinion of myself, and also helps me learn a bit more about who I am, by myself – as individual.  It’s funny – my life outlook these days is quite well mirrored by the type of day it is in Paris today.  As I sit and write – the sky shifts from overcast, to sunny, to overcast, to sunny.  It’s cold when the clouds are above – and then when the sun comes, it’s warm – and just as soon as one gets too intense, it seems to switch.  I’m half inclined to ask the sky to make up its mind… but alas, it probably wouldn’t understand my English-French-Spanish word muddlings, and it would also be a bit like the pot calling the kettle black. 

I’m sure the impending age of 30 (in just about 3 months, my goodness) isn’t helping me these days.  I adore birthdays, and I should be excited that another one is not too far away… but I think I’m angry at myself for not being the kind of grown-up I thought I’d be by now.  I realize this is harsh and self-critical, but I can’t help it.  If I ever have children, I have SO many things I hope to instill in them at a young age:  don’t try to plan your life.  Don’t make any mental images of what it will be, because there’s no way you can know.  And whatever journey ends up being right for you isn’t wrong.  Don’t think a relationship will fulfill empty holes within you.  It won’t – it will only make them deeper and more obvious.  Forgive yourself.  Early and often.  See the world – learn as much as you can about people who are different than you are.  Treat yourself well – which sometimes will mean indulging, but will sometimes mean to not indulge.  Seek wholesome and healthy people to spend time with.  Know that it’s okay to pick yourself over others, when it comes time to make a decision.  Decide what your life priorities are, and let them guide you.  Know that it’s okay if those life priorities differ from others and if they don’t approve or don’t understand.  And make art – make art of some kind.  Be it writing, or music, or decoupage, or photos of things that inspire you.  (I’m sure I’m paraphrasing a quote here).  Fill your life with things that make you happy in a healthy way. 

I hope on this trip to define those things for myself – those things that make me happy in a healthy way – and immerse myself within them as soon as I get back home. 

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Well, I’ve made another new friend here in Paris.  Still in the Luxembourg Gardens, I’d switched to doing some work – recapping my work trip to London – and a man came up and asked if I was a writer.  After some broken English and French interactions, he asked if he could sit down next to me.  I decided to let him – probably because I was excited he thought I was a writer :)  His name is Sebastien; he is rather hairy and he is afraid of traveling on planes.  He’s been all over Europe though, and upon learning that I am an aspiring travel writer, he mentioned a travel show that is on TV here that he loves called “Jirais dormir chez vous ce soir.”  Where some guy travels places and asks to stay with people so he can see what life is like there.  I’ll have to check it out.  Overall he was quite pleasant, and respectful when I didn’t want to give him my phone number :)  Not my type – and had just the smallest creeper vibe.  It was nice though, to chat with him –and his English was quite good.  After bidding adieu to Sebastien, it was time to leave the gardens.  Stopping to say goodbye to Alain turned into him giving me his phone number and trying to get me to have dinner with him, and me playing dumb/allowing him to think I’m leaving tomorrow and am busy until then.  Oh my.  I promise you this endearing man was WELL above my age.  Tres amusante.

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I write to you now, on Tuesday, from a café near the Catacombs.  It’s quite idyllic – in a pedestrian-only street with fruit vendors and a man wandering around selling bunches of Lilies of the Valley (one of my favorite flowers – don’t tell him :) ).  I’m sitting in the outdoor seating of a cafe with a croissant and some little complimentary chocolates that accompanied it.  The only sad thing about this whole scenario is that the reason I’m here is that the Catacombs are closed!  I had ventured off to see them – because they’d been closed last time I was here in 2009 – and wouldn’t you know it, there was a “Closed Monday & Tuesday” sign on the doors.  Tomorrow I head out early to catch my flight home… so maybe God doesn’t want me to see them.  Or maybe just not yet?  I’ll have to try again – first thing! – next time I visit this fine city.

Meanwhile, though, I’m enjoying where I am – and am also glad for the rest.  I’ve been wandering the city all day with my laptop in tow, which even though a Mac and small-ish, still quite heavy to carry over time.  I’ll have to re-think my next writing trip plans… because it seems redundant to handwrite my words and then type them up later at home – but a laptop is a bit cumbersome, and a notebook would not be... so, what to do?  (And no I don’t want an iPad or tablet of any sort, thank you :) ).  I think maybe the answer lies in part of the day with it and then dropping it at home for the second part of the day. But – I’m boring you.  Onto my travels.

After leaving the Luxembourg Gardens yesterday, I finally had a SUCCESSFUL language encounter at the Post Office.  I didn’t speak a word of English (all French!) and managed to get some postcards mailed to the States.  Point awarded to the American in Paris!

More wandering – lots of window shopping.  Also I purchased some art – old fashioned Paris ads with pretty women on them, some redheaded :)  Walked along the Seine, crossed the Seine, made mental notes and took some photos of places I want to dine and/or stay when I have more money one day.  Stopped in a park – fought off potential suitor number three (Ahmed – he wanted a light, and when I didn’t have one, he wanted to walk around the park with me).  Got a bit of a bad vibe from him (plus it was starting to get dark), so I hustled off to meet “mes amies.”  NOT to scare anyone at home, but at one point I thought he was following me – which may have been my imagination getting carried away, but it was then that I decided I officially would not go exploring later that night once actually dark.  In general, I’m rather optimistic about my safety – much to the frustration of my friends at home – but probbbbbly alone in a foreign country, I shouldn’t take my chances.  So I went home, put some dinner together – got my London writings published – and then had to go to bed – super tired.

This morning I overslept (typical me) – but it was partially due to a horrid nightmare I had that I just couldn’t get out of until it was resolved… and even when resolved, it was still traumatic enough that it cast a shadow over my head.  Isn’t it funny that dreams can be so powerful?  I have friends who never remember theirs, and I have friends who have vivid ones like me – and it’s just so interesting that at age 29, I can still have a nightmare that makes me want to be comforted.  Since my crazy self is on a solo trip right now (plus my arisal time, though belated, was still during a time in which all my friends and family at home were definitely fast asleep) – I decided to allow myself a sluggish morning of getting ready. 

Since then, I’ve done more wandering, successfully used the Metro, and unsuccessfully visited the Catacombs.  I’m wishing my croissant and coffee could last longer than they’re going to – but it’s just as well, the hours in Paris are slowly dissipating, and I should see as much of it as I can while it’s still daylight.

Oh!  I forgot to mention – I was almost a party to an interesting tourist scam while walking along the Seine today.  I was looking at a Metro map when a woman and a little boy approached me.  In English she said she’d just found this ring on the ground – was it mine?  I looked, it was a gold wedding band type ring – I smiled and said no.  She stayed – and marveled at it – saying she thought it was real gold, and how lucky to find it, but that it didn’t fit her fingers.  She offered it to me – I said no thanks – but she pushed it into my hand, smiling, saying something about from her to me, and looked up at the sky… so I was kind of just like… okay?  But then she asked me for money, and the serendipity of the situation quickly departed, so I just said no and gave her the ring back.  She kept saying things to me as I left, but I kept walking.  Not two minutes later on my walk, I saw another woman pretend to pick something off the ground and approach tourists about it.  I saw this woman try it twice!  So this must be a thing.  It’s amazing how creative some people are when attempting to get money.  I’d much rather give money to an accordionist on the train or a man on the street selling flowers, than someone trying to trick me.

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With the Catacombs a bust, I decided to accomplish a different mission on the list for this particular visit to Paris: spending time in a cemetery for inspiration.  I realize it probably sounds strange to be inspired by a cemetery, but the cemeteries in Paris are just so dark and eerie and magical and holy and awesome.  When I visited in 2009, one of the biggest impressions made on me were the cemeteries.  So I took the Metro to Montemarte, found a bench, and just sat and wrote and reflected.  Exactly what I wanted – and exactly what I’d been needing.  I have a crazy brain, and a crazy life.  It’s really difficult for me to check-out from my life – so much so that sometimes my body rebels and refuses to be functional for anything other than eating junk food and using Hulu to catch me up the television I so proudly “don’t watch a lot of.”   While this Paris trip is only three days – and parts of it have been chaotic and stressful, I’m so glad to have made this trip – if for no other reason than the gift of being able to purely check out of life long enough to listen to my thoughts.  I’m in non-normal-life surroundings: I’m not able to use my technology to distract me (iPhone 3G usage in foreign countries – I’ve learned the hard way – is more expensive than my travel budget allows)… So, the opportunity to garden-sit and cemetery-sit all by myself – and think and write – without any possible interruptions?  Is a gift.  My mind needed it and my soul did, too. 

See – Paris may not be as friendly as the Midwest of the United States, but it is just plain magical.  And by the way, I certainly think Chicago has magic in it, too – but Paris is just on another level.  Something I decided on this particular tour of Europe is that the problem with America is that we don’t have enough gold accented statues and buildings.  (Yes, that’s our only problem :) ).  But in all seriousness, when you finish a cemetery-visit, then wander around a city, feeling a bit lost, feeling a bit frustrated at the overcast weather, feeling tired from schlepping your laptop-filled purse with you… and then you find yourself in a plaza, near a bridge, with huge gold angelic statues, guarding the Eiffel Tower from a distance – and then the sun comes out?  How can it not be magical??  How can you not feel like you’re in a Lara Croft Tomb Raider movie where at any moment the statues might come alive and spread their majestic gold wings?  How can you not bust out your camera and snap about ten of the same shots, even though you know it will stress you out later to sit down at your computer and decide which to delete and which to keep?  How. can. you. not.  I can tell you similar versions of the same story relating to about 10 different places in Paris – and honestly, there are probably more than that – I just haven’t seen every inch of the city yet.  Yes – YET. 

Do I wish I had a traveling companion to share these moments with?  Sure – I’ve certainly felt that at some point on each of the solo trips I’ve done (this is number three!), but also at the same time, I don’t.  I’m glad to have been forced to listen to my own mind these last few days… I’m glad to have been able to sit somewhere hours longer than any sane traveling companion would have preferred.  I think I missed a traveling companion most on this trip during mealtimes – it’s not that I can’t eat alone happily; it’s just that I love to socialize and bond over food.  Superficially, I also missed having a traveling companion to help encourage me to get my butt out of bed in the morning - or to help take pictures of me, as I am bossily inclined to ask, frequently, of traveling companions. 

A big reason I went on my first trip alone (New Orleans 2010) – was because I figured I’d find something out about myself that I couldn’t find out in any other way.  And in my 3 solo trips, I say I certainly have accomplished that goal – though I don’t know if I can articulate it.  Something to do with: I am often scared in life – I think we all are – but I at least, am brave enough to venture out and see the world on my own.  That is comforting to me.  In the travel-sense, I have guts that are above average.  I won’t sugar coat it - it’s actually not comfortable to travel on one’s own – or at least not for me, as I purposely pick places that not familiar/not easy.  But I force myself to do it periodically, because a) I believe it’s good for me, and b) I think I learn a lot from it/the experience enriches me.  Plus, I don’t ever want to say I didn’t travel somewhere because I couldn’t find anyone to go with me.  That would almost be as sad as me dying alone one day, as a crazy cat lady.  (And that, that could still happen – the jury’s still out.) 

After my visit to Pont Alexandre III (the area with the golden Lara Croft movie statues) – I wandered through the Tuileries Gardens on my way home.  Something that I marvel at and adore about Paris is the phenomenon of locals going to parks to nap in the middle of the day.  (They also go to parks to make out intensely with their lovers, but that’s not just the parks.)  But honestly – let’s think about our parks in the States, in Chicago for example:  anyone sleeping in our parks are usually homeless!  What is wrong with us?  Are we so busy hustling around, (just so we can get home to our televisions and our fast food), that we can’t relax in a park for a minute?  I was thinking all these things and still marveling at the culture difference, and then all of the sudden, I decided I’d better sit down and join them for a bit.  Once again, the sun came out of the clouds for the fortuitous moment of me sitting down in that park chair.  Ducks adorably swam in front of me, a little girl tried to climb in the water after one – and I closed my eyes and just let myself enjoy that park, that fountain, that sun for a moment.  I don’t do enough of this in my life – the last ten minutes of yoga sessions are at least close to it, but I barely make it to yoga.  I’m too “busy.”

I think I’m afraid to listen to my head maybe.  Lately I clearly have been craving ways to turn my brain off – keeping my iPhone in front of my face, watching Hulu TV when I get home, etc.  I have to go on more walks – I have to add more inspiration to my life.  When I get home, I think I’m going to try to infuse my life with more hobby-activities – not because I feel like I have the time for them, but because I know that truthfully I do – and maybe they’ll replace some of the other brainless things I’ve been up to.  I’d really like to start singing again, if I can find a forum for it that I think will make me happy.  (I was a choir-nerd for a solid ten years of my life)… and actually, maybe that’s what I need to go back to – things that made younger Holly happy.  Because besides singing, book reading was a big thing for me, and for some reason I don’t do that anymore.  Plus, I want to get into poetry – be able to quote it, that sort of thing.  And I want to get better at the foreign languages I know – French and Spanish.  I’d love to be WAY more comfortable with my French by the time I visit Paris again.

I’m getting New Years Resolution-y on you – I apologize… but this is my point about Paris – it’s inspirational.  It gets you thinking, and it helps you pay more attention to the world around you.  If you’ve never been, and you want to gauge how you’ll feel about it – you should watch these two movies: Paris Je T’Aime and Midnight in Paris.  I own both.

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Once I finally arrived at my apartment Tuesday night after my wanderings and park basking, there really was not much left to do but make dinner with the things I still needed to eat in my little fridge (I was NOT going to let one moment of that stressful grocery store experience go to waste) – pack, and finish sharing my London photos and writings online.  I write today to you on Wednesday, from my plane home to Chicago – and if I can keep my eyes open long enough from the jetlag, I’ll share my Paris photos and writings tonight.  I have a lot of self-imposed deadlines :) and I’m very harsh on myself when I miss them.  If I ever do become a published writer like Sebastien in the park figured me for, maybe deadlines from others won’t even be a problem for me, since I’ve been on my own set of them for a year and a half now, with no monetary compensation as a reward – just my own stubbornness and perfectionism. 

I’ll end my Paris trip writings with some points of pride I can hold dear after this particular European excursion (- somebody remind me of these next time I’m beating myself up for other things):

• I’ve successfully traveled to a non-English speaking country all by myself.

• I’ve used my French language skills, mixed with survival skills – to accomplish a number of daunting tasks: public transit in many forms, apartment renting, tiny grocery store food procurement, post office mailing, and fending off not-the-men-I-want-to-be-hitting-on-me types.
• I’ve navigated a foreign city without a map (forgot to bring one / too stubborn to buy one because I own one at home and I SORT of know this city already and am only here 3 days/ couldn’t use my phone because of the foreign 3G situation), and all around keeping myself alive, fed, and safe for three days completely on my own.
• Packed well for such a crazy trip!  I know I mentioned this earlier, but truly –I’m quite proud.  Between London & Paris, I’ve been gone for 12 days.  I needed business clothes and non-business clothes.  I needed my work laptop and my personal laptop.  (Crazy person stuff – leave me alone).  I needed materials of different sorts for my work trip, and well, I needed to buy souvenirs for my family and neighbor watching my cat and valued co-workers holding down the fort back at home.  In hindsight, I should have used a different (bigger and with wheels) carry-on bag, but I’ve made due – and anyway, I really had everything I needed during these 12 days.  Not kidding – I didn’t forget one thing at home.  Got some pride for that folks, got some pride.

I’ll be quite glad to be home (I will totally OWN that I’ve missed my cat) – and I have high hopes that I can turn my jetlag into me becoming an early-to-bed, early-to-rise type.  Feel free to guffaw loudly – as well you should if you know me,:) but I have hopes nonetheless. 

Anyway Chicago – I’ll say it, I may be a travel-bug jetsetter that dreams of living in either Europe or California – but I’ve missed you.  And we’re just about to hit that time of year that is the BEST time of year to live here.  Who’s ready?  I am :)

Au revoir, Paris!