Welcome to Paris

I found myself several times in the midst of travel hell. Over the course of a 39 to 57 hour weekend, depending how you count it, the odds of this are good. The flight wasn't bad -- the worst food was in the terminal at Newark -- and my ear didn't hurt at all. For those who don't know, I have a perforation in my left ear's drum that can make flight unpleasant. It didn't happen this time. Thank god, because it would have made the rest of this a little unbearable.

Some notes: I woke up at 5:30 am in Portland, traveled to the airport, got on the plane at 7:45 am, transferred planes, and arrived in Paris 16 hours after waking up in Portland.

Welcome to Paris.

I navigated the RER system (8,30 Euro to get into Paris??), and realized how dull the outskirts of Paris are. Graffiti everywhere. Poor industrial sections, anonymous convention centers and business parks. When we at last traveled through a stone built bridge and on the hill rising in the distance, Sacre Couer crawled up the horizon, my heart sang. Welcome to Paris.

Funny story, I helped a group of kids find their way onto the right train out of the airport. I had just spent a good ten minutes figuring out where the trains were kept (in the room with all the tracks and loud whooshing train noises, as it turns out), how to get overcharged on a ticket, and here come these kids. They're speaking French, and I'm trying to remember how to say that I don't, and then one points to the map and asks where we are. I had just figured that out! I pointed bravely to the right spot on the map, then the sign just outside, and demonstrated that it was impossible to get on the wrong train at this direction because only one left and in only one direction! I felt brilliant! Welcome to Paris.

Of course, it couldn't last long. The picture associated with this blog -- of the train station Gare de Lyon -- is a hint of the looming disaster.