Paris, la cité de l’amour

As we entered the city itself, Kitty and I glued ourselves to the windows, staring out into the foreign city. Everything was different. The street signs were not only in French, but were a completely different style, fancy looking. There was not always a footpath. The apartments loomed above us, built in that distinct Parisian architecture. Even the lampposts were different. We lapped every little detail up.

Out driver pulled out her cellphone (thank god we were no longer speeding along the motorway, and we instead trying to navigate through traffic-stricken Paris, she obviously didn’t think concentration was required. I begged to differ.) and made a quick call, presumably to the place where we were to be dropped off. She yabbered something in french, then hung up with he words “dix minutes” or, ten minutes.

We continued winding through the streets, merging with traffic from various lanes (the French driving, while ‘bad’ by our standards, is not actually dangerous. While they pull off some absolutely suicidal manoeuvres, they’re all expecting one another to drive like that, so are fully prepared) before pulling up in some small street. A youngish looking man was waiting outside for us. Thankfully, he spoke to us in english.

He helped us take our baggage inside, and up to the STS offices. Here, we experienced French Elevators for the first time. Not flash elevators, one person elevators. That are rickety and old. Which don’t look appealing, until you see the winding, narrow, steep staircase.

When we finally got our baggage and ourselves up to the third floor and settled in the offices (it took several trips) we chatted to the dude, who told us that we would be catching the train in two and a half ours, Kitty getting off half way at Rouen, to meet her host family and make her way to Dieppe, myself continuing on to Le Havre.

Basically, we had two hours to kill.

The only thing we really wanted to do was sleep, but there was no way that was going to happen. The dude left us, as he had a meeting to go to, but told us to feel free to take a wander in the streets of Paris.

We decided that, really, we couldn’t be in Paris and just sit in the office the entire time. So we ventured out, into the city.

Brock, when I told him about this a week or so lately, found it all incredibly amusing, that I’d spent and hour “wandering the streets of Paris with a lovely lady”.

Before you get your hopes up, no. Not romantic. No point in even trying. We both had far more important things on our minds at that point. Considering that we had a year of living in France ahead of us, and that within a few hours we would be meeting our new families… it was quite a stressful time.

That being said, wandering the streets of Paris for that short amount of time was simply amazing. I have no idea what part of Paris we were in. We didn’t see any major landmarks, but then, we didn’t want to head too far away either, for fear of forgetting our way back. But just strolling these streets, cobblestones beneath our feet, I couldn’t really believe it, that I was here, in Paris. In France. That I would be here for a year. That I was about to live a year completely different from any other in my life up until that point.

Exhausted as we still were from the flights, we didn’t stay out long. We headed back to collapse into comfortable chairs, and talk idly about friends back home, hopes and fears for the year. Crazily enough, we were told that our host-fathers were workmates in Rouen, and that we would probably be able to meet up for weekends in the city if we wanted, which sounded pretty cool. It was reassuring to know that there would be that link, someone to see who spoke English.

The time came to leave for the train station. We proceeded once again to organise to get ourselves and our baggage down to the bottom floor, using the ridiculous elevator, and loaded ourselves into a Taxi, Yannick leading the way.

We arrived at the Gare Saint Lazare, just on time as it seemed that the train was pretty much ready to go. Yannick wanted to help us onto the train, but was stopped by an official. They spoke briefly, and a young ticket-collector was called for, obviously the “one who spoke english”. That is, he knew how to say hello, and make a basic sentence. However at that stage it was very much appreciated. He found us some seats, told us to look after our bags, and, while profusely apologising for his “bad english”, showed us where to find the “Water Closets”. The public toilets. Called, in French, “Water Closets” (pronunciation: Vorteur Clouseets). They even had a ‘WC’ on the door. Bizarre name.

He left us, and we exchanged “here were go again” looks. I worked out that by the time the train arrived in Le Havre, it will have been 40 hours since I left Napier. In which time I had had all of 3 hours sleep. I was jet-lagged, and knackered.

The train pulled out of the station. I looked out of the window, watching the unfamiliar city go past. In the distance, I saw once again what looked to be the Eiffel Tower, though I couldn’t be sure. I couldn’t get over the incredibleness of it all.

In forty hours, I had been on three different continents. Been in four different countries. Left behind any familiar culture.

I couldn’t help wondering, where was I being taken now?

August 6, 2005 | Filed Under Classic, La France 

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