let me preface this post with a disclaimer that i am safely in dublin as of about 12:30 last night, that przemek not only met me at the airport and drove me to my hostel but saw me before i saw him and recognized me from behind despite my very unexpected haircut and very large backpack, and that i got only 3 hours of sleep last night due to 2 hours of sleep i picked up on the plane completely screwing up my sleeping schedule.
let it also be noted that my week in paris was absolutely sparklingly better than i could have imagined, in the sense that there were no bad days and few bad minutes. katya is a spectacular hostess, and we made sure that all mishaps became hilarious within a few minutes. as well, parisian bread makes you temporarily able to see heaven, that's how amazing it is. i swear.
the only - ONLY - completely stressful annoying time in paris was my last afternoon there. laundry in the morning went off without a misshap, and we treated ourselves to the most delectable and gourmandaise-esque breakfast of all time: after whetting our appetites with a freshly-baked brownie from the marche, we ate leftover crepes from the night before, fresh raspberries and clementines, and an assortment of little pieces of fresh baguette with nutella, camambert, butter and honey or butter and fresh jam (made by katya's friend laura). all this as a picnic on katya's terrasse. pictures pending (i.e. i forgot to bring my camera cord to the internet cafe). then i walked katya to the sorbonne, and that's when things started to go wild.
i did not get lost once in paris all week for more than a minute or two - until that moment. now, i wandered the area around the sorbonne each of the 7 days i was in paris - most of those times alone - and never had a problem. for some reason, on the last day, i got myself totally mystifiedly lost, trying to walk to another area of the city i had been to before - the moufetard neighbourhood with the mosquee de paris and the jardin des plantes. i walked in a strange spiral around the sorbonne and pantheon before finally getting back on track, in what had suddenly become fairly blistering heat. i got myself to the mosquee and purchased a few pieces of baklava for przemek (having decided that it sucks to arrive to visit someone empty-handed, even if they don't remember you), got myself a crepe with nutella to make sure i got enough chocolate and sugar for the day, and set off in search of a new scarf.
the story of the scarf is really its own tale. somehow i managed to get a horrible itchy sunburn all over my clavicle and upper chest area on my first day in paris, and it got added to every day - despite the rain and clouds - so i decided to buy a pretty scarf to make up for the fact that ALL my shirts leave that area exposed. i found a gorgeous turquoise, blue and purple one for an only slightly steep price - and it turned my neck and hands bright blue. i washed it extensively. it still turned me bright blue. i washed it one more time, this time incurring the wrath of one of katya's neighbours who terrorized me about using the bathroom sink (more on this later), and it still made me blue - so i needed another scarf.
i managed to find a lovely new colourfast scarf (try figuring out how to ask about that in french) just moments before i had to hurry back to katya's to grab my bags and leave paris. that was when the blisters that had formed on the underside of two of the toes of my left foot 2 days earlier during an overzealous long walk in non-walking shoes decided to become excruciating. the walk home to katya's was really more of a pained limp, during which i had to promise myself with every step that at katya's place - bandaids were waiting. a sterilized pin, and hydrogen peroxide, and bandaids. that was a pretty mentally repetitive 1-hours walk.
when i pulled myself down the final metres to the front door of katya's building, who should be walking out of that door but the banshee old lady neighbour who had shrieked at me the night before for using the bathroom sink to wash my scarf? she recognized me instantly and - get this - walked out of the building, closed the door behind her, and stood in front of it so that i could not get past. she proceeded to begin her tirade all over again. i tried a few complacent and sincere "je sui desolee, madame"s, but when this only seemed to make her more angry (and when my foot just would not stop throbbing), i shot out a very forceful "madame, je suis vraiment desolee, mais j'ai un avion qui depart dans une heure" (ma'am, i'm very sorry, but my plane is leaving in an hour). she gave a loud huff but stepped out of my way. a very nice repairman who got in the elevator with me assured me that that woman was not at all nice and to remember to always keep smiling.
i threw myself the final few metres into katya's room and dissected my bags until i found my first-aid kit. shoes and socks discarded, a very precise and makeshift blister surgery was performed - and i thanked my neurotic self for purchasing matches, peroxide and gauze. after the procedure my toes were a little raw (i'm no surgeon), but i was in considerably less pain and very nicely bandaged. at this point i took a second to look at my watch and scream because i was already 5 minutes late to meet katya in the foyer and give her her keys back so she could go to work. what followed was me working in 60 directions at once to re-pack, replace my socks and shoes, and tidy up. i met her downstairs panting and 10 minutes late, but she kindly walked me to the metro anyway and helped me buy my commuter train ticket to the airport. a few cheek kisses later, and we were both gone. i successfully took the metro to the commuter train, and then successfully got on the wrong commuter train - which i only realized in time to switch trains in a very sketchy part of the city where honestly i was one of maybe 3 females and 2 white people on a very crowded platform. thankfully, i got on the right train with all my belongings and no inch of me harmed or threatened.
at the airport, i limped to the right terminal to learn that my flight was delayed 45 minutes. okay, not such a big deal. i bought some food and drink and sat on a bench. in front of me were a police officer and two army personnel, in full gear and with submachine guns in their hands, patrolling the convenience store. it took me a few minutes to figure out that they were trying to figure out which box of chocolates to buy - in the most official way possible. two of them would stand guard while the third scanned the chocolates, and they communicated about which was the good choice with an intricate series of sharp head-nods. after finally settling on a box of white-chocolate Guylian shell-shaped chocolates, they marched in formation over to the cash to pay.
after an hour or two of that one boring part of the airport, i decided to head through passport control to my gate. upon discovering it, i doscovered that my flight was no longer only 45 minutes delayed - it was 2 hours delayed. dude, it's a 2-hour flight! anyway. 2 AND A HALF hours later we boarded and the pilot managed to get us there in record time: 1 and a half hours. after dublin's customs (nearly as lax as france's), i actually successfully met przemek and he drove me to my hostel. where they told me that i hadn't paid yet, when they had definitely already charged €176 to my visa. after a hurried phone call home to check the visa statement and the disgruntled receptionist fiddling around with the computer, they finally believed me.
i have only 2 minutes left on internet, so i'll end here. if you think this story is long, you should see the version i wrote out in my journal while waiting for the plane - 12 pages long. this is only the abridged version.
hostel = great, still limping but fine, will post again soon.
bisous/kisses
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