Let the Voyage Begin (Laisser commencer le voyage)

This is a first for me -- blogging for personal purposes -- but it has been on my mind for the longest time.  Next year marks a decade since I left Paris to return to the US.  Since then, every day has been an excellent adventure, but I still recall my time in the City of Lights as one of the most extraordinary experiences of my life.


This blog will give you a little idea of what I experienced over a two-and-a-half-year period as a (then) 50-something American woman living on her own and working in Paris. Some of the stories contain "life lessons," others just hilarious experiences, and some describe the little bumps in the road that remind you not to take yourself too seriously.


I will be including French words or phrases, with translations at first, to whet your appetite (apétit) for what are really a beautiful language (belle langue) and culture (culture).  There is an ulterior motive here, though.  By the time we have come to the end of the blog (la fin du blog), most of the story (l'histoire) will be in French (en français), and you will be reading it all!


I started writing the stories on a dark and stormy day in Paris, as it seemed the perfect opportunity to let friends and family know -- in case they cared -- how (and what) I was doing. The March weather (les giboulées de mars) was making the City of Lights seem like the City of Darkness. I had been in Paris for a little over a month.

I hope you enjoy these little vignettes.  They bring back wonderful memories of a very special time in my life.


But we should start at the beginning (Commencer au Commencement), non?


Mid-February 1999 (mi-février mille neuf cent quatre-vingt dix-neuf): The Voyage Across the Pond (Le voyage en travers la mare)

Albert and I arrived in Paris (Air France 003) after a series of baggage adventures at our very own Newark International Airport (which I gather has been renamed Liberty International).  Imagine this!  It seems that nine bags between the two of us -- not counting the carry-ons -- was too much for the Air France ticket agents to handle, so I was banished to the Excess Baggage Line (la queue d'excédent de bagages) for what seemed to be an interminable period, only to be told that I could not possibly take so much on the aircraft.

Pleading, cajoling, eyes filling up with tears, I tried to make my case, emphasizing the part about why the suitcase filled with shoes was so important.  Fortunately, the Excess Baggage Agent (L'agent d'exédent de bagages) -- herself a budding Imelda Marcos -- understood my plight and charged me for only one extra bag (une valise supplémentaire).  (The woman in front of me had a harder time explaining that her rather-large-for-his-age son was "really only two years old and didn't require a ticket."  (Ah! the delicate balance between shoes and children!)


Lesson #1:  Check with your airline about baggage restrictions, even if you are moving.
Lesson #2:  Tears (whether real or crocodile) always work, especially with the French.

Coming up:  My Temporary Digs (Ma Piaule Temporaire)