After my 3pm "brunch", I decided to be productive and start working on the laundry list of things I had to do. First up, was getting a metro/train/bus pass. There happens to be a full-service station here at Cite Universitaire, and it was only a half-mile walk from my building. When I arrived it appeared that every other student on campus had the same idea! I stood in line, surrounded by conversations in various languages, and began to practice my speech as usual. Soon enough, I found myself directly in front of a less-than-friendly woman perched behind a glass window. I explained, in French, that I was a student here in Paris and would be staying for six months. I continued to ask what was the most suitable public transportation option for me. I nodded and smiled as she answered, in French, with a lengthy and incomprehensible explanation. Apparently she had overestimated my communication skills!
The kiosk that she had pointed to was right in front of me, and fully-equipped with English as a language option! But when I tried to follow the bits and pieces of instructions that I had actually understood, it got me no where. I sighed, slumped my shoulders, and practically stomped back over to the line. This time, when I reached the same woman, I diverted my eyes and asked for her to assist me in English. For those of you that don't know, the French are extremely proud people. They expect that anyone who steps foot in their country should be fluent in the French language and educated in French culture. Without hesitation, she came from behind the counter and accompanied me to the kiosk. She willingly explained the somewhat difficult process of crediting the metro pass for weeks or months at a time. Unfortunately, not a single process in all of France was created with convenience in mind. With one day left before the new week started, I loaded my card for the following Sunday through Monday and returned to my room feeling defeated. There were so many errands I needed to run, but I couldn't justify buying a single ticket right before my all-access pass would go valid.
As I was fully rested and had already eaten, I found myself alone in my room with nothing to do. I resorted to spending the last couple hours of the afternoon on FaceTime with my family and friends :) Just as I was about to crawl under my covers and call it a night, I began receiving messages from Marion with an invitation to a party. If I haven't mentioned this before, Marion lives halfway between my subway stop and the very next one on the same line! Basically, this means that if I walk out my front door I will be arriving at hers in a matter of three or four minutes. My bed stared at me, inviting me back for another long, deep, wonderful sleep. But as I was determined to make friends and do something worthwhile for the day, I thought it best to begin getting ready! I pulled my hair back with one of my new scarves, and quickly brushed on a quick layer of make-up. Suddenly, I was wide awake and ready for whatever kind of party was awaiting me.
As I skipped my way down the front stairs, I began to notice the ridiculous, familiar tapping sound. It was raining, and not just a sprinkle, but literally a torrential downpour. A huge part of me saw it as an easy way out; a logical reason to go back to bed. But unfortunately, as usual, the adventuresome spirit that makes my decisions urged me to brave the weather and walk out the door.
It was about an hour later when I found myself totally, completely, and utterly lost in Paris. When I had left my building to go to Marion's, I knew exactly where hers was, but the structure seemed to have gotten up and moved. The "closer" I got to Marion's front door, the less familiar I became with my surroundings. Between the rain and the reflection of the street lamps, it was nearly impossible to identify which "boulangerie" or "coiffure" or "dépanneur" was which. I found myself ducking under every overhang of the sidewalk to try and get a glimpse of building numbers. But, unfortunately, almost every building in France looks the same. Not to mention, the streets are set up in a manner that make it nearly impossible to orient yourself. Instead of the grid system that I am used to in America, it seems that Paris is composed of several pinwheels throughout the city, and the spokes within the pinwheels have the option of bending and breaking in any direction. The point where I was standing was one of eight spokes that jutted out from a totally unfamiliar location. Directly across from me was a dark, lonely, Lebanese restaurant that had recently provided a kebab for a homeless man. The man was sitting on the curb in front of the restaurant, gnawing each bite with his limited teeth, and enjoying this meal as if it was going to be his last. Such a dramatic scene was the perfect sight I needed to serve as a location marker. If only I had some bread crumbs...
After memorizing the names of a few of the spokes, and waiting for the pelting rain to back off a little, I started back in the direction that I was certain would take me to Marion's apartment. The longer I walked the more confident I became in the fact that I knew EXACTLY where I was going. It was such a sense of pride and accomplishment I felt as all the buildings began to feel familiar again!! I was practically running to the place I thought I knew, when I stopped absolutely dead in my tracks: On my left, was the same exact Lebanese restaurant, although the hungry stranger seemed to have wandered off. The only reason I thought I recognized these particular cafes and laundromats was because I had seem them not more than ten minutes before. Filled with frustration and a miniscule amount of fear, I was on the verge of switching on my cellular data. Dang, an hour and a half PLUS outrageous data charges.
It was then that I noticed the gradient of the slope I was on, and it felt right. After a quick perimeter check and a thorough look down each direction, I decided based on the steepness and direction of one hill absolutely had to be the right one. This was, unfortunately, about the fifteenth time within the hour that I had told myself, "This is definitely it." After a mental promise that this was the last try before turning to my iPhone, I started trekking up the hill. Sure as the world, as I reached the top I saw a sign and arrow for "Parc Montsouris" which is directly across from my campus. I almost cried when I could see my clock tower, then my building, and eventually the light shining through the window of my room. I was home, I was safe, I was soaked and exhausted... but I was home.
The tragedy doesn't end there, unfortunately, because when I finally reached the gate - it was locked. My building is on the West end as far as you can go, and it is most convenient to access campus through the side gate. I wasn't getting past the thick metal chain and padlock, and the idea of climbing over left my mind as quickly as it entered. This only meant more rain and more walking for me. Dreadfully I slouched my way along to the front, grand entrance, before dragging my feet all the way back down to my front door.
I immediately messaged Marion to inform her I wasn't coming, and slipped into my Wichita State hoodie. I was just about to press "marche" (start) on my coffee machine when my phone began blowing up with disappointment. Marion was so upset by my failed adventure and lack of appearance, they she agreed to walk up to my building. Even with her assistance, I decided to take a more logical and safer approach. I sent my Apple ID and Password to my American friends, so that in the event I would be lost or (Heaven forbid) taken they can track my GPS signal online. I also decided to Google Map the exact route to her apartment before screen-shotting myself a picture. The last of my preparation included changing back to my other blouse and wiping off my runny mascara.
This time, when I walked out my door, I was greated with an absolutely amazing time and several new French friends! There are way too many stories and details to explain, so I will leave you with several pictures of our silliness. But maybe in a future post I will have to explain the songs we sang and games we played - as I would love to share my recently-discovered French identity with you :)
And we danced in the rain...et nous avons dansé sous la pluie.
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