Paris, I wish the end ressembled the beginnning

I chose that title because for this round of adventures, it surely is true. I am not sure if any of you remember what I wrote a few articles back, but it was something to the effect that when one travels alone, it does not matter much what happens because there is no one but yourself about whom to worry. Well, on this journey to Paris, I was responsible for a 15 year old, which was fine until the day we were supposed to leave and I lost her. In fact, I did not lose her, but she got on the train --- of which I was not aware --- and left me behind, left me frantically trying to find her, wondering how I would find her. I will explain more, but let’s just say that I learned some valuable lessons on this trip, and they were not cheap. The lessons that stick with me the most are those that affect other’s opinions of me (in this case the family for whom I work) and my wallet (in this case extra metro tickets and a cut in salary for the week). Okay, I will start from the beginning. Sit back and enjoy the ride….I am!

Well, the trip began at 5:30 am on Wednesday because we were taking the first train out of Dijon in order to meet the new au pair whose flight was arriving from Vietnam early that morning. When we reached the airport in Paris, we realized we had no idea where to go, only the terminal number but no gate. Choosing well, we found an information kiosk and the girl, who, wouldn’t you know it, was sitting in a place we had rushed by. That just goes to show you how much you miss when you are not paying attention. We bought tickets and took the first train we could to go downtown Paris. I was in a grand hurry because I needed to take a train to go to Angers to obtain what is called a “Carte de Sejour” or a long-term visa for those who are staying in France for more than six months. Also not a surprise, despite running up the stairs and pushing through lines of people on the metro, I missed my train by five minutes!!!! I could not believe it…I mean, let me rephrase that, I could believe it, but I was so disappointed. Oh well. I arrived two hours later in Angers, obtained my “Carte de Sejour” and all was well.

My charge, now a 15-year-old named Meryl, was waiting for me in Paris at our hotel, which was neither in the nicest part nor the seediest part of Paris. It was just fine…in fact, it was located close to where the Moulin Rouge is located and also Montmartre, which really intrigued me this whole trip. It was a place where in the 1920’s many artists and followers of the interesting bohemian life lived and worked. It is also the site of the very famous church called Sacre Coeur, which in my opinion, is one of the most beautiful churches in the world. Although nine years before, it is one of the things I remember vividly about my trip to Paris. My first morning in Paris, therefore, I decided to run all the way to the top of Montmartre, which is the highest place in Paris and also the base of the Sacre Coeur. The majority of the people (well, tourists) take what’s called a funicular, or a small tram, that goes to the top of the hill. It was a lovely run up all those steps and great view of the city.

Walking around at night in Paris, well, in the center of Paris, is almost like the daytime because there are so many people and so much activity that continues well into the night. Paris is unique because it feels big and small at the same time, meaning, one knows that Paris is a very large metropolitan city, but it is very easy to find a small corner and forget about everything else. There are many small corners like that in Paris, where one forgets there is a world outside and maybe even forgets who he/she is. I have had many moments like this, where I do not feel like I am living my own life, like it is someone else’s life or maybe not someone else’s life, but an imaginary life, and there is nothing really concrete about it. I do not like moments such as these because I enjoy being firmly grounded to the present with enough room to breath the air of the future.

Meryl is not particularly adventurous nor is she particularly interested in museums and ancient, beautiful churches. Needless to say, she spent a lot of time in the hotel while I explored the city. Thinking I had never been and loving impressionism and many of the French artists that inspired impressionism, I went to the Musée D’Orsay, only to find out that I had been there in 1999. Amazing what nine years can do to your mind and the way you perceive things. I am sure that it went through a makeover as well, but not as extensive as the inevitable makeover one receives after nine years. For the most part, I go through museums quite rapidly. For me, I love to look at the paintings and try to think about what the painter was feeling when he painted the image. Was he tormented? Was he feeling blessed? Had he just been scorned by a lover or a friend? Had he just received an amazing commission and wanted the masterpiece to resemble something commensurate to the sum? Most of all, though, I think that artists are really a unique class of people who use their canvasses to talk, to express, and to analyze. Some paintings are more enthralling and more thought provoking, at which I rest and contemplate. However, there are others, like a small painting with a solitary lemon in the center, for which I do not care and of which I am not very fond.

With my guidebook in hand, I walked through several different areas of Paris --- the Latin Quarter, St. Germain-de-Près, L’Ile de St. Louis, Le Marais, and Montmartre. I loved the Latin Quarter with its stately buildings and nightlife full of young people shrouded in the mist of yesteryears when the philosophers gathered together to contemplate the meaning of life. St. Germain was also very interesting, with its signs indicating the various famous philosophers who had once occupied its cafés and neighborhood, like Descartes and Simone de Beauvoir. Having mused this before, I am always struck by the fact that legends remain, but in morphed and often deformed versions, for future generations who generally neither care nor really understand who those legends were in their time. A city enshrines its famous people, but who really knows why and who really knows the affects they produced.

One of my favorite experiences from Paris was the visit to Le Marais, the gay and Jewish district of Paris, more Jewish than gay, I think, but nevertheless, a mixture. Well, I ate the most fabulous falafel I have ever tasted from this small little stand known even in New York City thanks to the to NY Times which wrote a review about this little place. It was full of steaming ingredients and employees hawking the name and rushing people to get their orders. As soon as I stopped in front of the stand, I had someone approach me and say, “One falafel? Five euros.” Bam, that was it, and five minutes later I was eating paradise. Not only was the falafel excellent but their were two fabulous vintage stores I enjoyed completely, of which the second store was one of the best vintage stores ever, minus the fact that it was the size of my bedroom and had only one changing room. But that is the fun of vintage: the smell of old clothes, a combination of a funeral home and moth balls; a hodgepodge of random items, some of which you wonder how or why they survived; and the interesting people who frequent these stores, mostly young people already dressed in a very eclectic manner.

While I was in Washington DC I met many French people, two of whom I saw in Paris. What fun it was to see some old friends with whom I spoke English in the U.S. but was now speaking in French. It was quite surreal because I think that relationships are very much a product of surrounding circumstances, so it is always amazing when people are able to enjoy each other in different contexts. It broadens and deepens the connection between individuals. When going to my friend’s studio apartment in the suburbs, I got dreadfully lost…what a surprise. I mean, I had no idea what to do or where I was going. I had only a map and a stop name, but I did not comprehend the manner in which the RER (train that services the suburbs of Paris and the city center) worked. Thankfully, I am able to speak French and you know what, I have never met so many helpful people. People took their time to show me screens, let me use their cell phones (although this one creepy guy asked me if I wanted anything else besides his cell phone…ugh, no!), let me follow them and talk to them as I waited.

I mean, I know that Parisians have a bad reputation, but on this trip, I was saved by an innumerable amount of good Parisians…even down to a man who showed me how to use one of the public toilets….as an aside, I was in the Latin Quarter and I needed to use the bathroom, so it was such a blessing to see the public and free toilet in front of me. Unfortunately, I did not see where the button was located; so after pushing ever button besides the actual button, I walked away without success. At this moment, I heard someone yelling “Madam” and I turned to see a man who was coming towards me in his city uniform telling me that he would help me. Sure enough, he pushed the button for me and opened the door. What a kind man! Those are the moments when I thank the Lord with all my heart for the people he has created.

Okay, so to get back to the Paris RER story…I finally arrived at my friend’s house an hour after the intended meeting time, but all was well, and I surely learned my lesson about how to use the train system; a lesson I will likely not forget. Fortunately for me, my friend is very understanding and was not upset with me. This whole trip reminded me of the reason why one really needs a cell phone. I would have saved myself a lot of heartache had I had a cell phone that worked in France. But wait and see how bad it gets.

I would say that this was one of the loveliest times I have spent so far because I spent time with friends; I ate delicious food, went shopping and saw many interesting cultural things. But now looking back on this trip, I am not able to say that because the entire experience is colored by one incident, the final moment of the trip, the most integral moment of any trip --- the return. Well, my charge’s boyfriend is living in Paris for the summer, so she spent a lot of time with him, but the final day, he came with us on our way to the train station. She decided to stay behind one stop and say good-bye to him. I told her that I would meet her underneath the big screen generally found in train stations that shows the departures and arrivals because I exited the train station to try to find a SIM card, which I never actually found. When I got back to the station, I entered and did not see a large screen for the departures and arrivals, only small screens and many areas where one can wait for his/her train. After walking around that entire area, I did not see her and figured she was still with her boyfriend; we had 30 minutes left. I circled again after 15 minutes and did not see her. Had I been thinking correctly, I would have called her at this moment to see if she had arrived or was still with her boyfriend, but I was not thinking correctly. I did nothing, except sit back down and hope she would meet me at the gate.

The gate was called, so there I went, but wouldn’t you know it, there was no Meryl. I did not see her anywhere. I started to panic and to run around frantically, and yet, I still did not call her. My mind was completely void at this moment, remaining only the thought that she was hurt or held up somewhere or was not able to get to the train. With a countdown on my watch, my heart continued to drop lower and lower until I made the only decision I could at that moment…I decided to not take the train because I would never have been able to forgive myself if in fact Meryl had been somewhere else. Finally, when the train pulled out and my only way to get back home left, I thought to call Meryl. In a frantic and choked voice, choked by the tears streaming down my face, I contacted Meryl who was on the train and who told me she had waited until 5:30 (three minutes before the scheduled departure) to board the train, but figured I was already on it, so she boarded it. Boy was I incredulous! I could not believe she had boarded it without me and had told me that she waited for me because obviously, I looked everywhere (so I thought) for her. I had no idea what to do. I cried for a little more, once again demonstrating how nice people can be….I had three or four different people approach me and ask me if I needed help, even someone who offered to lend me his cell phone to call. I mean, I did not know these people and yet, here they were wanting to help a frantic redhead. I learned a lot about taking the time to help another person in need. You know, it can never hurt to just reach out to another person and try to ease their burden. I have definitely been the recipient, and Lord willing, I will be able to give back.

After several phone calls to Meryl and to my family, I decided to stay the night at my friend’s house and take the first train back to my home in the morning. What an experience. The next morning all was revealed to me, what had transpired and how it was possible that Meryl had waited for me at our gate. Well, come to find out, there are two places in the train station where people can board the same train, and I was in one part and she was in the other. So, yes, she did wait for me and yes, I waited for her, but neither of use knew what the other was doing and neither of use knew there was another area where the other might be. Again, I take responsibility for not asking whether there were any other possibilities for meeting someone. Another lesson learned, always try every possibility before giving up and before thinking all is well.

My family was needless to say not very happy with me, but I am not sure whether they could match the disappointment I felt in my own self. There are two instances where a mistake really makes me shudder: when it concerns others’ opinions of my, meaning that my mistake colors their opinion in a negative manner; and when the mistake costs me money. This mistake gets two checks and so goes on the board of mistakes never to make again, but which, consequently, also goes on the board of best-learned lessons. It is terrible how oftentimes the best learned lessons are the ones that touch us the most deeply and the ones that leave us with the largest scar.
Summary: 1) Do not travel with a 15 year-old who is the daughter of your employer…something will always go wrong; 2) Always try every possibility within a situation before thinking all is well; 3) Always ask someone when you are not sure about some detail…don’t trust your instincts, especially when in a different country; 4) Try not to plan your concrete activities, such a catching a plane or picking someone up from the airport, too close together…it is nearly impossible to complete them all; 5) Always help someone in need, even when they do not approach you. Keep your eyes open for the opportunity; and finally 6) Do not despair…there is always something that can be done.