Wednesday, March 29, 2006

French journals, part deux

Thursday, March 16

On board my plane. My spirits are high--it is a lightly-filled flight. I have the aisle seat which I requested, and in the seat to my left there is no one. The seats are arranged 2-4-2, so that means I have the window & the aisle. It means I have room for my carry-on AND room for my legs! It means I don't have to share elbow room or smell anyone or TALK to them. What if the person next to me had been nice? What if I had told my stories of woe to them? We're all better off this way.

Was the trip a success? Yes it was. We saw some wonderful, amazing sights. WE ate some wonderful, amazing food. We learned what NOT to do next time. I was reminded that my mother & I can laugh in the face of any challenge.

At least I'm learning to write with a pen again. Much slower than typing...I feel like my thoughts are in slow-motion, as my hand races to catch them--------dropping like dew from the branches of my mind...

We have not taken off yet, but when we do, I'm going to weep for joy. I can't wait to bein my husband's arms and see his handsome face. I can't wait to hold my lankly little boys--and answer their innumerable questions and kiss their soft cheeks.

I bought so much crap. Well, mostly chocolates and wine. I got some great gifts for my husband--he deserves them, after all. I got him this really cool dagger with a dragon for a handle and a leather sheath thingy. I got him a book about DaVinci's inventions, from the castle where he spent his last three years--Clos-Luce.

He gave the Mona Lisa and 2 other paintings to the king to show his appreciation, which is why the Louvre has them. I loved visiting there, knowing the greatest inventor of all times walked those halls and slept in that bed.

The main castle of Loire was only 500 meters away, and the King had him buried there to be closer to himself.

There was one other girl on the tour we took fo 5 chateaux, and she was from New Zealand. She was a doll, and it was wonderful to be able to converse with someone in nearly the same language.

Hey...why the fuck???? wasn't I writing every day? Ah, well.

Being at the airport was bizarre. This airport fills me with loathing like chunks of sour milk.

"I'm in Paris." The first time I said that it sent a thrill through me like ripples in a small pond.

this airport is so big, we just drove over the freeway (in our plane) to reach our runway. There are two train stops for it, on the RER line. There are 3 terminals, and they are so far apart from each other, that must take a bus, and a train and either hike or thumb a ride to get from one to the next. You then take a 20 minute bus ride to your gate--and more duty free shops... Where I bought the filthiest, dirtiest, nakedest girlie mag I could find for my husband. And I should qualify that "most blah blah I could find" because there is only so much care that can be taken over a selection which is made through a series of glances, rangin in classification from "furtive" to "stolen" to "brazen" (just once, and only because I was sick of wasting time)> So. Finally I reached past an entirely furtive young man, with a brisk, "Excuse me." and grabbed my new copy of "European sluts". I deftly slid it behind the hard back copy of "Asterisk & Obelisk" (a french comic strip) and headed for checkout. My heart raced. "Christ, what am I doing??" There are naked girls all over this thing! (For a minute I even considered getting one for me--there were some drool-worthy men on the shelf as well, but I couldn't imagine my prepared blushing excuse of "it's for my husband" would fly if I also had one for me...) So, yeah, I hand the stuff to the cashier, and she rings in the bag of candy (with "Titi" as the brand, how could I pass them up??) and then rings in the children's book, and then slides it aside, probably expecting one of the bagged copies of vogue or cosmo or whatever and she was...visibly startled, let's say. I laughed, nervously, and said, "C'est pour mon mari." (It's for my husband.) She smiled--looking quite relieved, I must say, and I said, "I'm a good wife." "A VERY good wife!" She replied. Yeah, I know.

Oh, here we go! We're accelerating--
Au revoir, ma petite France! Even with all the turbulence we experienced here, I miss it already. I loved the clean little public restrooms--
well worth the .40 Euros. I loved Paris. Every second of it. I loved the Metro and the sandwiches on gorgeous baguettes. I think i would have humped the Eiffel Tower, if it didn't look so painful--that beautiful sight! They do a light show thingy that is killer.

We did a river boat tour on the Seine, at night, as recommended. It was cold, but beautiful (like the women of France.)

(12 hours later, a random thought that came to me as I caught a wiff of myself)
France is full of smelly people because the air there renders deodorants impotent.


Ok, that's not true--we had few encounters with B.O., but I did keep forgetting to wear my deodorant, which NEVER happens here. Like maybe once in every 2 or 3 years, I'll go about my day before realizing I skipped that part of my shower routine, but I did it 3 times in one week, while there! Yes. I am proud of my french-induced B.O. You're jealous, and you know it.

Can you believe that's all I wrote??
there are so many more stories, and impressions...

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