A Writer Writes... Always
I haven't been posting to this blog. It's not that I haven't wanted to. It's not that nothing has happened in the past month or so. It's just, well. I suppose I'm not a "real" writer. I don't write always.
So, the Paris trip happened. I traveled with my mother (who celebrated her 60th birthday in Paris) and my older sister, who, in her mid-to-late thirties had never been on a plane, not to mention had rarely left the New England area. Our trip began auspiciously as we were pulled over at the entrance to the airport. My sister's husband wasn't wearing his seatbelt, and it so happened that the state police were doing a seatbelt check at the airport. Oh bother. Many, many hours later, we arrived in Paris, groggy and completely sleep deprived. None of the three of us had caught any winks on the overnight flight. This lack of sleep made the simplest of tasks difficult, thereby making navigating an airport in a foreign country where we did not know the language extraordinarily challenging to say the least. Further, being the most assertive of the bunch (and we're not exactly an assertive family), I was unofficially and quietly designated as the leader whose purpose was to guide us through the airport to retrieve luggage, exchange money, get us to the train station and guide us to our hotel. The luggage and money exchange was relatively easy. Train station, not so much. We wandered all around the airport, bags in tow, in a sleepy stupor trying to figure out what level of the airport we needed to go to catch a shuttle to where the train was located. An interminable amount of time later, we finally found the shuttle and were on our way. We purchased passes. We got our luggage caught in the turnstiles and both my mother and my sister had their one week train passes eaten by the turnstile because it took them so long to get through with their luggage. So I then fumbled through some type of "frenglish" with the station attendant to get the passes back. Further, we lumbered through the station to our train, struggled to board, and finally settled in for our ride into the city. As the train began to fill with more and more passengers I worried. I worried about how the three of us would all get off the train with this many people and our stupid heavy bags in this dazed, confused, and sleep deprived stupor. One stop before our stop, I prepared the crew for departure. We dashed as best we could into the sea of people in the train station and again struggled to lift our bags over the gates, careen through tunnels and drag ourselves upstairs to the street level. After a few minutes of orientation, we set off in the direction of the hotel. Finally, sleep awaited us. I wasted absolutely no time; I quickly changed, brushed my teeth and plopped into bed. The worst part of the trip was over. What hell.
During the visit we sojourned out to Palace of Versailles, visited the Louvre, the Musee d'Orsay, wandered about the base of the Eiffel Tower, shopped the Champs, and traversed the Luxemborg Gardens. Our hotel was located a short walk from Notre Dame, so we visited there a couple of times. One of the highlights of the trip for me was our two visits to the Arc d'Triomphe. My sister has a fear of heights. Nonetheless, she was determined to climb the steps to the top of the Arc. About halfway up, I could hear her quietly hyperventilating behind me, but she continued to plug away. She made it to the top, but didn't feel comfortable going outside. I took pictures outside for her and my mother. Later that day as we walked, my sister asked if I'd like to go back to the Arc tomorrow. She wanted to make another try to go outside to the very top of the Arc. I'm not sure why, but her fortitude to confront her fear seemed so admirable. I was happy to accompany her. She successfully made it to the top without incident, where I took pictures of her as physical proof of her ascent.
This trip was good, bad and indifferent in many ways. The good: time spent with family, running through Paris around Luxemborg Gardens, along the Seine and by the Louvre, watching the French version of American Idol, Nouvelle Star and of course, the food. We had some great meals (and not so great - like the time we got steak and French fries). We had awesome pastries from Paul (http://www.paul.fr/) and the best meal at a little place called Le Jardin. In one of our dining forays, I decided to be daring, ordering the chef's selection as the appetizer. I was trying to show my mother and sister that it's okay to operate outside of one's comfort zone. I bravely asked for the chef's selection, to which the waitress replied something I couldn't understand. I replied with a simple "okay." When the dish arrived, it was some type of tourine with meat, fruit and something else that didn't taste very good all gelled together. So much for daring. The bad: a realization that my mother is getting older. While only 60, she was somewhat limited in her activities. There was so much that I had wanted her to see, but I was disappointed I couldn't show her everything. The indifferent: the fact that other than telling my mother I'd landed safely, I haven't spoken with her since the trip. Shame on me.
So, the Paris trip happened. I traveled with my mother (who celebrated her 60th birthday in Paris) and my older sister, who, in her mid-to-late thirties had never been on a plane, not to mention had rarely left the New England area. Our trip began auspiciously as we were pulled over at the entrance to the airport. My sister's husband wasn't wearing his seatbelt, and it so happened that the state police were doing a seatbelt check at the airport. Oh bother. Many, many hours later, we arrived in Paris, groggy and completely sleep deprived. None of the three of us had caught any winks on the overnight flight. This lack of sleep made the simplest of tasks difficult, thereby making navigating an airport in a foreign country where we did not know the language extraordinarily challenging to say the least. Further, being the most assertive of the bunch (and we're not exactly an assertive family), I was unofficially and quietly designated as the leader whose purpose was to guide us through the airport to retrieve luggage, exchange money, get us to the train station and guide us to our hotel. The luggage and money exchange was relatively easy. Train station, not so much. We wandered all around the airport, bags in tow, in a sleepy stupor trying to figure out what level of the airport we needed to go to catch a shuttle to where the train was located. An interminable amount of time later, we finally found the shuttle and were on our way. We purchased passes. We got our luggage caught in the turnstiles and both my mother and my sister had their one week train passes eaten by the turnstile because it took them so long to get through with their luggage. So I then fumbled through some type of "frenglish" with the station attendant to get the passes back. Further, we lumbered through the station to our train, struggled to board, and finally settled in for our ride into the city. As the train began to fill with more and more passengers I worried. I worried about how the three of us would all get off the train with this many people and our stupid heavy bags in this dazed, confused, and sleep deprived stupor. One stop before our stop, I prepared the crew for departure. We dashed as best we could into the sea of people in the train station and again struggled to lift our bags over the gates, careen through tunnels and drag ourselves upstairs to the street level. After a few minutes of orientation, we set off in the direction of the hotel. Finally, sleep awaited us. I wasted absolutely no time; I quickly changed, brushed my teeth and plopped into bed. The worst part of the trip was over. What hell.
During the visit we sojourned out to Palace of Versailles, visited the Louvre, the Musee d'Orsay, wandered about the base of the Eiffel Tower, shopped the Champs, and traversed the Luxemborg Gardens. Our hotel was located a short walk from Notre Dame, so we visited there a couple of times. One of the highlights of the trip for me was our two visits to the Arc d'Triomphe. My sister has a fear of heights. Nonetheless, she was determined to climb the steps to the top of the Arc. About halfway up, I could hear her quietly hyperventilating behind me, but she continued to plug away. She made it to the top, but didn't feel comfortable going outside. I took pictures outside for her and my mother. Later that day as we walked, my sister asked if I'd like to go back to the Arc tomorrow. She wanted to make another try to go outside to the very top of the Arc. I'm not sure why, but her fortitude to confront her fear seemed so admirable. I was happy to accompany her. She successfully made it to the top without incident, where I took pictures of her as physical proof of her ascent.
This trip was good, bad and indifferent in many ways. The good: time spent with family, running through Paris around Luxemborg Gardens, along the Seine and by the Louvre, watching the French version of American Idol, Nouvelle Star and of course, the food. We had some great meals (and not so great - like the time we got steak and French fries). We had awesome pastries from Paul (http://www.paul.fr/) and the best meal at a little place called Le Jardin. In one of our dining forays, I decided to be daring, ordering the chef's selection as the appetizer. I was trying to show my mother and sister that it's okay to operate outside of one's comfort zone. I bravely asked for the chef's selection, to which the waitress replied something I couldn't understand. I replied with a simple "okay." When the dish arrived, it was some type of tourine with meat, fruit and something else that didn't taste very good all gelled together. So much for daring. The bad: a realization that my mother is getting older. While only 60, she was somewhat limited in her activities. There was so much that I had wanted her to see, but I was disappointed I couldn't show her everything. The indifferent: the fact that other than telling my mother I'd landed safely, I haven't spoken with her since the trip. Shame on me.
posted by runninchick at 2:10 PM
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