5-3-2012

So yesterday was my last day in London. I was sad to leave such a wonderful city, but I was looking forward to finally seeing PARIS, the city of my dreams.

We originally planned on ferrying across the English channel, but it was more effiecient to take the tunnel. Not that I’m complaining, I can say I took the chunnel to France! It was my first European train ride, and I loved it! We loaded up on Platform 9 and ¾ (jk, jk – it was Platform 16) and embarked! I waved goodbye to London and we rode out into the English countryside via tunnel. I had my chewing gum prepared for the pressure change, but I was not ready for the pressure that filled my ears. It hit me and Nancy Claire at the same time, and we both reflexively ducked and held our ears and gasped at the sudden painful sensation that someone was filling out ears with bursts of air. Or pressing 20 pound weights on our eardrums. Needless to say, it was not my favorite part of the train. But the countryside was gorgeous! Even though our glimpses were few and far between because of the steep embankment, the rare moments we captured were priceless. And then we descended into the tunnel. And under the English Channel we rode. It was dark. That’s about it. Nothing exciting except for the thought that we were flying underneath an ocean of water. It took all of fifteen minutes to travel underneath it. that shows exactly how fast this incredible rail was moving.

So we resurfaced and had gorgeous views of French countryside. And it then dawned on me. I AM IN FREAKING FRANCE. It was a defining moment.

 (our ears hurt - scary picture)

As soon as we pulled into the station, we were surrounded by everything French. French food, French shoes, French hair, French kissing, French people, and French itself. My ears were buzzing with the words of the people.

Our tour guide met us and we hopped on our bus. And my very first French language exchange was rather disappointing, as I was shot down by none other than the Parisian bus driver who probably hates stupid Americans. All I did was cheerfully say “Merci monsieur” when he took my luggage and he replied with a tart “You are welcome.” Not to be bitter or vengeful “monsieur” but I FREAKING SPOKE YOUR OWN LANGUAGE. BELIEVE IT OR NOT, THAT IS A BIG DEAL. Yes, maybe it was only two words, BUT I TRIED. Why don’t you just go eat a lemon or something?

And as we rolled through the streets of Paris, my heart began to sink. This was not the Paris I imagined. My view from the bus window was bleak indeed as my blasphemous thoughts began to invade my heart and take root, creating a sinking feeling of despair as all my hopes and dreams began crashing down around me. The we stopped by the Eiffel Tower for a quick picture, and the plateau was occupied by a rather scary protest, and I hurriedly snapped a few, then left.

How could this happen???

But something changed as we entered the hotel. We received out keys and then climbed the Parisian spiral staircase to our room. We opened the door to a rather cozy room, but inviting. With a Parisian balcony overlooking a small rue and a window over a side alley, it began to lift my spirits.

And as we walked the streets of Paris, with Madame Taylor confidently leading the way, all of the nearly identical flats and shops began to no longer look intimidating, but warm. Warm sunlight flooded les rues de Paris and the subconscious language barrier began to break down as we tuned into Madame’s captivating history lectures and French conversations around us. Language is such a subconscious barrier, you let it intimidate you so easily when you can’t understand entirely what people are saying, or you can’t communicate a mere thought, it begins to dampen your attitude and outlook without even realizing it. But with an amazing teacher to guide the way, someone who can bridge those big and little gaps, they become far less monstrous. More to come!