Our Paris Apartment

All is magnifique here in Paris, although the weather's been a bit gloomy with only one truly sunny day. But we have absolutely no complaints. We love our cozy little pied à terre on the rue de Suffren, as well as our new neighborhood. Yes, I'm in francophone heaven. We moved in on Saturday, September 10 and will be here until we rent a car and head for the southwest of France on Monday, October 10. The apartment is terrific: small but so sweet, and the location is awesome. It’s a one-room studio (5 meters x 5 meters) with a larger-than-expected bathroom. Next to the entry door, which opens right into the apartment with no foyer, is about 2.5 meters of kitchen space with a small fridge, microwave/grill oven, a sink, a two-burner stove and several cabinets. The studio is a marvel of efficient design in terms of the storage space it provides. We managed to unpack and put away all our belonging quite easily. There is a built-in floor-to-ceiling closet with just enough of a bar for hanging items and adequate shelving for the rest of our clothes. The plastic bag system has been a godsend and helps keep our clothes compact and organized. When we had looked at dozens of possible rentals online, we found that most were decorated in either stark white, black and chrome, or a jarring kaleidoscope of primary colors. Part of why we chose this apartment was the lovely, soothing decor; its muted browns, beiges and whites leave us feeling calm and welcomed. The neighborhood is quiet, on the western, non-touristy side of the Tour Eiffel, but there is plenty of residential activity with boulangeries, cafés, super-marchés and the métro close by. Right around the corner is the Champs de Mars, the vast public garden between the Tour Eiffel and the Ecole Militaire. No, we have no panorama over the rooftops of Paris, but the convenience of being on the rez-de-chaussée (the ground floor) and the fact that the Tour Eiffel is in our back yard outweighs the missing views.

Since we moved in, we’re continually pinching ourselves and asking, “Are we really here for a full month?” If this were a “normal” vacation visit, we would be packing up to head home already since we arrived a week ago today. Seven nights in a row is the longest we’ve ever stayed in Paris but this time we still have four more weeks to go. And we have plenty of ideas for filling those 28 days. Little things are helping us believe that we're true residents of Paris. I received an email from Paris Groupon yesterday, inviting me to join, we got our loyalty discount card for Monoprix (the French version of Safeway) on our last visit and we’ve started running/power-walking every day.

It’s been wonderful not having to rush to fit in all we want to see and do (most of which boils down to where we want to eat). I believe I’ve already mentioned that our general approach to traveling is “eating purposefully and wandering aimlessly,” and so far, this attitude continues to serve us well. We spend much of our days researching where to eat, traveling to the places we've chosen to eat, eating and then discussing what we ate. We’ve become masters of this simple agenda. The other habit we’ve apparently embraced is getting a late start to the day. I’m typically an early morning person but I can’t seem to get myself out from under the cozy, white duvet at my usual 6:30 or 7am. Other than getting out in the late morning to run, we’ve been lucky to be up and out the door by noon. Perhaps I shouldn’t be quite so critical about the late starts since our mornings in the studio have included catching up on emails, reading the news, doing our wash (our bathroom is equipped with one of those compact European washer/dryer combo machines), and eating breakfast. A quick note on the first meal of the day: I’m in petit dejeuner heaven! Anyone who has spent the morning with me in the past 20 years, knows that my breakfast of choice is a coffee yogurt mixed with Kellogg’s All-Bran. On previous trips, we’ve always stayed in a hotel and were on vacation, after all, so I never even considered having my regular breakfast instead of a buttery croissant. But we now have our cute little kitchen and can make our own meals when we choose. I was almost in tears when we found the cereal section stocked with All-Bran and the French version of coffee yogurt at the Monoprix. My treasured morning staples have added a touch of the familiar to my day but there’s room for modification. I’m sending Joe out for croissants tomorrow morning.

Arrival Logistics

The pressure is off. I’ve written and posted my initial entry from Paris and now that it’s done, I find it’s so much easier to write more. The details of our arrival might be interesting to some, so I’ll go ahead and relate a few logistical specifics.

Icelandair

We had never before flown Icelandair to Europe, but their prices were significantly cheaper than those of other carriers for our itinerary – perhaps because they have low one-way fares ($468 each, Dulles to Charles de Gaulle via Reykjavik). Two of our four pieces of checked luggage (the two large rolling duffels) were about 20 pounds each over the 50-pound limit, so we had $170 in excess baggage weight fees. We were expecting to pay about this much, so the charges weren't as painful as they might have been had we been caught unaware. Even if we add the $85 each to our fares, they're still cheaper than those of all other airlines. We had been warned that Icelandair was rather authoritarian about allowing only one piece of small carry-on luggage, but thank goodness, this wasn’t the case for our flight. We each boarded with a sizeable backpack, stuffed to the gills, as well as an oversized golf umbrella and a large fanny pack. We made it onto the plane with all our gear intact. The first big hurdle had been crossed.

Our flight was unlike any other we’d ever taken to Europe. First, the aircraft was a Boeing 757, a narrow-body jet with a three seat by three seat with one aisle down the middle configuration. Every other time I’ve flown overseas, it’s been in a wide-body 747 or similar jumbo jet, with two- by five- by two-seats. When Joe and I have traveled together, such planes are perfect, since we get a set of two seats together and don't have to worry about anyone else. We were lucky on this trip and the third seat in our row remained empty for both legs of the flight; in fact, the entire plane was only about three-quarters full. There is a lot of hustle bustle associated with most international flights as wine and dinner and then more drinks are served. And before you know it, the lights go on and it’s time for coffee and breakfast. On our 8:40pm Icelandic flight, soft drinks were offered and there was food available for purchase, but there were very few takers. We had eaten a very late lunch near the airport with Caroline and her boyfriend, Andrew, so we had no need for dinner on the plane. The significantly lower level of flight attendant activity allowed us to sleep fairly easily for a few hours on the 5-1/2 hour leg to Iceland. We sailed through passport control in Reykjavik, no questions asked, had just enough time to explore the terminal a bit, and then re-boarded the same airplane for the relatively brief 2-1/2 hour flight to Paris.

Charles de Gaulle

For the first time since I’d flown into this same airport as a student 33 years ago, we arrived at the original CDG Terminal 1. While not completely refreshed, we were in pretty good shape as we were ushered onto the moving walkway of the inclined clear plastic tubes in the center of the terminal. Unlike my arrival in 1978 when I was sincerely and naively amazed to hear French spoken all around me, I savored being surrounded by the sounds of this beautiful language. Our many pounds of bags arrived with little delay and we dutifully looked for the customs and passport windows. We were actually looking forward to answering, when asked by passport control, “we’ll both be here for a year.” But before we knew it, we were whisked outside onto the sidewalk and joined the taxi queue, no passport check needed! The cursory glance at our documents taken by the official in Reykjavik got us into Europe for a year. Once outside in the fresh French air, we looked at each other in amazement. Why, after all, had we gone through all we did to get our long-stay/long séjour visas? We felt as if we’d pulled all-nighters studying for an exam that never happened! We had truly looked forward to proudly flashing our visas that would grant us a year's stay in Europe. Could we have skipped all the hassle and simply walked on into France with no documentation? Apparently, yes!

Paris

Our flight arrived at about 1pm and after getting a taxi with a down-to-earth driver not just willing but eager to help with our two-ton bags (why is it they say the French are rude?), we reached the hotel at just after 2. On all previous trips to France, we arrived in the city center in the early morning and had to spend hours wandering the streets or nursing coffee in a cafe in a sleep-deprived fog until our room was ready. This time, our room was waiting for us and our luggage and within an hour, we were fast asleep.

I have to mention that I believe Joe slept particularly well on arrival day because the three of us (he, I and our bags) had made it to Paris and into our hotel room with little difficulty. Because his strength (and certainly not mine) is needed to move our luggage in any fashion other than rolling, he feels primarily responsible for the transportation of our “stuff.” His fears about the transition from home to France came down to these basic issues:  Will the luggage fit in Caroline’s car for the drive to Dulles? Will we be able to roll it to the check-in counter with the muscle-power of just the two of us? Will the airline allow us to bring such heavy bags on board? Will the luggage make it safely across the ocean, seeing that it’s so heavy? Will we find a taxi into which the bags will fit? Will there be space in our hotel room for all our bags? Thank goodness for Joe's concerns and my sanity the answer to all the above was a resounding yes. But despite my assurance that our bags will get lighter as we move along (we have promised each other not to buy anything new; as we read the few printed books we brought along, we’ll leave them behind for other readers; and, as we make our way to each new destination, we’ll no longer need the travel literature for the previous location), Joe still fears that our rental car won't be large enough and that now that we've unpacked, we won't be able to fit everything back into our bags. Is there a name for the fear of unmanageable luggage?

All in all, our arrival in Paris has been a success fantastique and our Icelandair flight a major contributing factor. While I find flying west over the Atlantic a breeze, flying east through the night is always difficult. But this time it was less uncomfortable than usual – a fitting start to our year.

Our Arrival

How do I begin an essay on a dream come true? It has been challenging to write this first blog entry since landing in Paris because I just can’t decide how to start. I’ve had so many thoughts and felt so many feelings in these first few days and while I know that many will make their way into my entries, I want my first musings to reflect how we felt on arriving in this beautiful city. Paris was under gray skies on the morning of September 7 as our taxi made its way towards our hotel (Hôtel Caron de Beaumarchais) in the Marais. Rather than jump up and down, shout “Bonjour, Paris!” and do a happy dance, we glided into the city of light and made a gentle entry into our gap year. We exchanged frequent smiles (in fact, we couldn’t stop grinning), continually asked each other, “are we really, actually here?” and gripped each other’s hands whenever not dealing with our substantial luggage. Our Paris arrival was comfortable and familiar. Perhaps when we reach cities that are new to us – like Granada, Sorrento and Berlin – the reality of our year abroad will feel more incredible. But for now, being in Paris for a month is quietly exciting, and as always, magical. It feels like home; it simply feels right.

We spent the first three nights in a hotel to catch up on sleep. This part of the plan worked beautifully since it allowed us to take the time we needed to deal with jet lag. On past visits, we’ve never really given ourselves an adequate number of days to get acclimated to the new time zone, knowing that our time here was limited. This time, however, we feel no rush at all with a full month in Paris ahead of us. We slept past or close to noon on a couple days (on a fait la grasse matinée, as the French say), took leisurely walks to research places for dinner and gave ourselves the time we needed to settle in. There were international phones and all our other electronics to figure out and we’ve made great strides. Posting our pictures to our Shutterfly website is still a work in progress, but we’re getting close. We’ve moved into our lovely but little apartment at 49 Avenue de Suffren, right around the corner from the Eiffel Tower in the 7^th arrondissement, and after a full afternoon of unpacking and organizing, we were ready for food shopping and exploring our new neighborhood.

Almost There

September 4

My nerves have made their appearance. I’ve kept them at bay for as long as I could, but with two days until departure, they’ve finally arrived. I’ve so often written that terror would not be part of this journey and so far I’ve been right. However, I never said – and certainly never imagined – that anxiety would leave me alone completely. And I don’t have to dig very deep to figure out where these last minute jitters are coming from. This morning I was paralyzed as I tried to actually start putting my carefully packed zip-lock bags into my duffle. I just couldn’t do it. Some people function well under stress; in fact, one of my brothers says it’s the only time he gets anything done. I, on the other hand, pretty much break down and my brain goes blank when time is tight and a deadline looms. And so today, with all the final steps of packing to be done, I couldn’t get myself to proceed. The thought of at long last filling my bags with all I had so painstakingly and lovingly gathered over the past year and possibly forgetting something critical – like phone numbers or bank account passwords or my leather date book – left me frozen, unable to move. I should probably be nervous about the things most people fear when going abroad, like pickpockets, lost luggage, or being cheated, attacked or swindled, but these possibilities rarely concern me. I could probably use a healthy dose of fear about such things now and then, but my last minute nerves are internally generated. They come from not wanting to disappoint Joe or myself in terms of having packed perfectly and being perfectly prepared with respect to the things I’m responsible for. Yes, I do have an annoying problem with perfection... (Joe’s in charge of electronics – our chargers, phones, electrical converters and all other gadgets with a plug – so none of that concerns me.) I’ve been getting ready for this trip for years now, and the tangible results of all my meticulous planning – books, maps, articles, documents, clothes, hiking boots and toiletries – are strewn across the bedroom. It’s all coming down to these final steps of putting what I’ve collected for our year in my luggage and the pressure is just too great. I don’t want something that goes wrong to be the result of my forgetfulness, carelessness or lack of foresight. Not all will go as planned, I’m sure, but I just don’t want the blunders to be my fault! Reminding myself that I still had two days ahead of me to go over my mental and physical checklists and to pack and repack as needed – we weren’t leaving in a matter of hours, after all – brought me back to reality and into action and the task of filling (stuffing) my bags was accomplished. I now have one duffle, one overnight bag, a backpack and a fanny pack, each filled to bursting and ready to go. The trick will now be remembering in which bag I put what and where I stored the bank account passwords...

September 5

No More Keys

We sold our car today on Craig’s List and with the sale, we said goodbye to our last key. As our departure day has approached, we’ve had fewer and fewer keys and as we've relinquished each one, the more free I feel. The first to go was the key to our second car last spring, then the keys to our home in June, next the key to Caroline’s apartment last week and finally, the key to our 1999 Chrysler. Homeless, carless, carefree. It feels good. We have no more keys and it's time to go.

Anticipation

Is it possible that all those years of planning and anticipation are down to just seven days? One week from today we’ll be on a jet plane heading to Paris for a year in Europe. What will it be like to transition from expectation to fruition? We’ve been in the seemingly endless state of looking forward to this departure for so long now that it may actually feel surreal to be on our way. Anticipation is such a delicious mix of future pleasure and anxious pain and I have always been its slave. When something I’m looking forward to is on the horizon – a trip, a reunion with my children, a dinner out or well-researched hike – my imaginings take over to prolong the pleasure of the experience itself. I once read that to enjoy your life, you need to believe that time is a promising medium in which to do pleasurable things. Well, according to that pronouncement, I am thoroughly enjoying my every day as I suffer the pains and pleasures of anticipation. Depending on the day, I may smile uncontrollably like a madwoman, go through the motions in a trance or frown and appear to be unwell. “The anticipation is killing me,” and “I’m so excited I could burst,” are how I'm feeling today.

Then Versus Now

Thirty-three years ago this month, I left for Europe to study in France’s Loire Valley. I was a 22-year-old recent college graduate and I was terrified. My parents drove me from our home on Long Island to the sleek, futuristic, TWA terminal at JFK and waved goodbye as I boarded. I was keenly aware at that moment of departure how very alone I was, heading for a year in a foreign country where I knew not a soul. This time, I’ll be leaving from Dulles (another winged, Saarinen-designed terminal), will have Joe at my side and terror will not be an issue. Anticipating our impending departure has me thinking about the differences between the young adult me and my 55-year-old persona. An interesting exercise...

On the epicurean side, when I arrived in Tours, France, wine was of no consequence to me. But little did I know that where I chose to study would inevitably lead to my fervent French palate for wine. Crisp, citrusy Sauvignon Blancs from the Loire quickly became my wine of choice and they remain my favorites today. Living in the Loire Valley, “the Garden of France” according to the French, also turned me into quite the foodie. It opened my eyes (and alerted my taste buds) to French cheeses, pâtés and savory galettes, all of which I could afford on my grad student budget. I first arrived in France a food and wine neophyte and I now return an aficionado.

Sticking with the superficial aspects, I probably need a few more creature comforts now than I did at 22, although I can still rough it when I need to. While I’m looking forward to the hostel stays on our itinerary, if only for nostalgia and the funds they’ll free up for fine dining, I doubt we’ll be camping out in railway stations or on the floors of trains overnight, as I often did as a student. The aches and pains that come with being 55 and the time it would take to recover from sleeping on a park bench will hold us hostage to having a proper mattress beneath us every night.

On a deeper level, I’m going back to Europe with a more fully developed personal core. I know what’s important to me and what I want from our year abroad and for the most part, I know how to get it. Understanding my own needs, how I’ll react in a variety of situations and to different stimuli, and being able to tune in and listen to my inner voices, are gifts that have come with the years. Such understanding certainly wasn’t apparent in my twenties.  When I left for France the first time, I was unaware of what would await me when I returned home, a source of great anxiety, especially during the last few months of my year abroad. I was like so many other liberal arts graduates: clueless about what to do professionally and desperate to rescue my self-confidence from a ditch. How do you enthusiastically pursue a career when you have no idea what you’re looking for? This time when I return, my goal will be clear: get myself a teaching position and become the best damned French teacher I can. There's great comfort in knowing what you want and having a goal, neither of which I had in 1978.

Finally, the biggest difference between leaving then and leaving now is that after this departure, I’ll miss Chris and Caroline more than words can say. Thirty-three years ago I had no idea of the unyielding heartstrings that would bind me to my children. And even though I will ache for them physically at times, having them to anchor me to this world is such a blessing. At 22, I had no such tethers and I will be thankful every day that I have them to miss while we’re away.

Organizing Heaven

I had a religious experience this week at The Container Store. As a compulsive organizer with a dash of OCD, I could spend hours in this specialty retailer. Unfortunately, Caroline and I only had about 30 minutes for our Container Store visit, but we voiced a litany of, “wow, look at this,” “this makeup bag is adorable,” and “what a creative drawer organizer!” as we browsed each and every aisle. My daughter inherited my organizing mania and so a trip to this store was the ultimate bonding experience – much more so than would be a shopping trip for clothes or shoes. We love poring over the latest gadgets for organizing anything and everything, especially if they’re both clever AND pretty. I found myself wishing I had a kitchen or a closet to organize so I could buy some of the cool things for sale. One of my favorite rainy day pastimes as a child was to organize my mother’s “junk drawers.” Where was The Container Store when I needed it back then?

We’re getting down to the wire in terms of exactly what we’re going to bring with us and how we’re going to pack it and our Container Store pilgrimage was so that I could pick up some “organizing supplies.” Remarkably, I’ve never tried it before, but have decided to use the zip-lock bag system of packing. No matter how carefully I load my suitcases, I always find myself unable to locate what I need when I unpack, especially on a brief trip when we live out of our luggage. Where is my sports bra? Where did my sandals go? Where did I put my phone charger? And as a manic organizer, not being able to find things makes me crazy. So, on this trip of all trips, I’m trying a new system. I’m going to pack in clear plastic zip-lock bags in a variety of sizes with everything divided into categories: underwear, pants, shorts, tee shirts, sleepwear, etc. I’ll use one clearly labeled plastic bag for each type of clothing so that even if we have one- or two-night stays somewhere, I can just pull out my plastic bags and immediately see what I’m looking for. No exasperating rummaging through my suitcases needed! At least, that’s how it’s supposed to work. We shall see.