Not everyone dreams of living abroad, but Geoff and I did - all the time, especially about Paris. What made us actually move all of our furniture into storage and fly here to live is harder to pinpoint. We wanted to speak French, especially me since I had been taking classes for the past three years. We loved the food - especially Geoff who had studied French cuisine at the French Culinary Institute. And we both adored the city. Anytime we planned a European trip, we would schedule in a few days in Paris.But it was more than that. Back home, we both felt a bit stuck. We had lost our inspiration in our day-to-day lives and in our careers. Trying to start a family with no luck in nearly three years had worn us down. We had lost our mojo. And we suspected we might find it in Paris.
A few weeks before our trip, I dreamt that I joined the space shuttle mission. The rocket shook and I was off - to an unknown world. And that was exactly what it felt like. We were leaving the comfort of everything that was familiar to us - our language, our government, our family, our friends, our home.
Our flight took off on September 11, 2005 from Newark and arrived the next morning at Charles de Gaulle, Paris. Over the preceding few weeks, I'd come up with quite a few creative ways not to mention that our flight was on 9/11. When people would ask when we were leaving, my answer was "in a few weeks," "the week after next Sunday," "two weeks from tomorrow."
During our first day in Paris we pretty much slept all day, since we hadn't slept much on the plane. Who can sleep sitting up in a two by two space anyway? Plus, for our 10 pm flight we were served dinner at about 11:30 pm which in Paris was 5:20 am and then breakfast a few hours later. The hours of meals don't work out really for either time zone, but I guess it was something to keep people amused during the flight. I didn't get the meals because I've long since given up on plane food. There was a time when I thought, they must have something better back there. I had even tried changing my profile - vegetarian, Kosher, bland. But no, they're all gross.
The next day, Geoff decided to check in with his local office through which he might be doing some consulting work. I later learned that he bought the wrong kind of ticket for the train and got all the way to his stop (about 45 minutes away) and couldn't leave the station (they check your ticket on the way out too). So he had to come all the way back and then leave again with the correct ticket. Took him all morning.
Meanwhile, I went to a cafe that I'll probably never go back to again. It was the same way when we first moved to New York. The restaurants and cafes I went to that first week, I never ate at again. It's kind of like when you're new at school you latch on to whoever seems the friendliest. But after a few weeks you realize you actually have nothing in common with this person and wind up with completely different friends. This cafe in particular was a rip-off. I ordered a tea for 4.50 euros (about $5.50) and just assumed that meant it was some gourmet tea. Well, in fact it was a Tetley tea bag. Value: $.05. Mmm, delicious.
Realizing that my first priority should be to speak French better so I could do things like find better tea, I went directly to L'Alliance Francaise after lunch to sign up for some classes. Quite a popular place, I discovered. I was instructed to go upstairs to the testing room. Inside there were tables of people taking tests and about eight people sitting in chairs, presumably waiting for something. Afraid to ask, I took a seat. I tried to guess how this system worked and had come up with various schemes until I saw a sign posted (quite small, mind you) that informed visitors to please take a seat and an instructor would be right with you. Assuming I would be cut in line, I immediately looked up in my French/English dictionary how to say, "I am next." The closest I found was, "C'est a mon tour" meaning "It's my turn." And my preparation paid off because when two assuming gentlemen tried to cut me, I was ready with my phrase and kept my rightful place in line.
The professor called my name and sent me off to take the level 1 test and half of level 2. I wondered - what if it's too easy? Fortunately I kept that to myself. I scored a 90% on level 1, but only a 60% on the level 2 part. So they put me in the first class in level 2 and again, I had to stop myself from asking, what if it's too easy?
Later that night, we decided to go to Allard for dinner. We had eaten there two years ago and had one of the best meals I've ever had - an enormous leg lamb for two. So we were willing to wait. It would up being about an hour, but we did finally get a table. I already had started to feel a bit under the weather - whether it was allergies or a cold I wasn't sure. The food at Allard was once again fantastic, but unfortunately we sat in a haze of smoke from the party next to us who incessantly smoked. I'm not sure how they could taste their food - it must have just tasted like cigarettes. Of course, this did wonders for my developing cold. My throat ached when we left. And even my purse smelt like smoke.
The best part about the day, by far, was the fact that twice, not once but twice people asked me for directions in French. This meant I looked, dressed and acted French and even better I appeared to know where I was going. Unfortunately, I exposed the lie once I opened my mouth to speak.
I've decided that being in a new city that you love is much like a new romance. There's all the passion and excitement, but none of the ease and familiarity. And you know in time whether or not you stay in love that the comfort eventually sets in. So you have to appreciate the newness - with all its rawness, and embarrassment and discovery.
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