Day 1 in Paris, I’m not gonna lie, has been exhausting. But I am sitting on the steps of Sacra Cour loooking out over the gargantuan city of Paris and life is good. It is 68 degrees out, breezy, and most people are dressed in fall jackets and scarves. I’m in a sundress and in bliss. I live in Florida people!
The trip getting here was long. Up at the buttcrack of dawn for a 6 AM flight out of Sarasota-Bradenton, routed through Atlanta then Boston, with about 7 hours on the ground before the hop across the pond. Not complaining! My brother got my ticket using miles so I will take what I can get!
If I’m being 100% honest, my excitement for this trip in those airports and on those planes was somewhat hampered by my mild separation anxiety from Mom and my fur babies. Of course, no one can take care of them as well as I can. No one else knows their quirks and oddities. No one else lets them get away with what I let them get away with because no one else understands how pampered they deserve to be.
Arriving in Paris after a long trip didn’t quite assuage that. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I should be somewhere else.
Getting From the Airport is Easy, They Said
I was exhausted. And I wasn’t sure if it was that Paris stinks or that I stank. I was gross. Grungy in the not Eddie Vedder way. I tried my best maintain a respectful BO envelope around myself and my fellow travelers, who in hindsight I have no doubt were in the same state. Still…
In my own OCD, Myers-Briggs ISTJ way, I had had it all planned out, my route from Charles de Gaule to my hotel in the Montmartre neighborhood. RER B to Gare du Nord. Metro 4 to Metro 2. Then a short walk to my hotel.
The Best Laid Plans
ISTJ why hast thou forsaken me? Boy. I was once a planner. Sacagawea with a baby on my back leading 2 clueless American men across the Louisiana Purchase and saving their asses.
I really REALLY could’ve benefited from the spirit of Sacagawea as I tried to get the fuck out of Gare Du Nord. Nord is one of several main train/metro stations. The regional and city trains run through and hub you where you want to go. I took the regional out of the airport to connect with the city underground in du Nord.
That is if the pre-paid metro passes you bought and had mailed to you in the states were working. Mine were most decidedly not. You can’t exit the station to either the street or the metro lines without a working ticket. My guidebook said if your ticket doesn’t work but should go to a ticket office to exchange.
But the ticket offices are after the exits.
I am fairly certain I committed a turnstile offense, rushing in while someone with a working ticket was exiting the metro lines.
You’ll Never Catch Me Copper
Suffice it to say, I was not caught or sent to the way of Marie A. or her hubby. Versailles is another day.
Hey Ma look, I’m a local!
How many fucking stairs?
Stuck in the elevator. Is this vacation doomed?
No ice, no mini-fridge? No problem.