I could write a million-word essay on my voyage to this fair country, but I don’t want to bore you, so I’ll try to skip some of the more touristy little things I found fascinating. I know I’m supposed to have a good lede, but I feel like I need to go chronologically. Let’s just say my initial moments in France were marked by bad luck, but exceedingly nice people.
After flying in a Lufthansa air bus for 10 hours, I was more than ready to land in Frankfurt. The flight was actually really comfortable; I was handed hot towels twice, with which I hadn’t the slightest clue what to do. The one downside: I did not sleep at all and when I landed in Germany, it was about 2 a.m. Portland time, so I was getting tired.
I navigated successfully through the HUGE Frankfurt airport, only running in to trouble when the German border guard wanted to search my bag and was asking me in German to open it up and such. If you can imagine a German guy sternly telling you something you don’t understand at customs, you can imagine my unease. German= unsettling.
By the time I boarded my flight to Paris, my eyes would no longer stay open: this was at about 6 a.m. Portland time. Once I landed, things went too smoothly to be true: both my bags popped out, I did not have to brave customs again and I found the train station to go to Paris to meet Reed (my friend of a long time, for those who don’t know him).
That was the end of things going smoothly.
I hauled my bags down to the platform and there was a train with open doors. So, I hoisted my first suitcase into the car, but immediately afterward, a beeping started and the doors began to close. At this moment, my other huge suitcase was on the platform, my carry-on over my shoulder, and my foot in the door. I panic and pull my foot from the door as it seals. The shoe I have on falls under the train. I am helpless and in disbelief. My abandoned suitcase is riding the train alone.
Luckily, a woman inside sees the bag and sees me as the train starts to move. She points to the bag and to me, I nod urgently and she points forward, saying something I cannot hear. I nod again and shrug. I figure she was indicating that she would get off at the next stop and meet me with my bag, so I feel a bit better.
Meanwhile, I am standing on the train platform minus a bag and with only one shoe. I must have looked ridiculous. Let me explain the true sadness of the shoe situation: all my other shoes were in the bag on the train. I could see my shoe down on the track but I wasn’t going to risk it. But, lucky for me, some very nice French boys came along, saw my shoe, and jumped down to return it to me. (Note: to all of you who say French people are mean, this is evidence that some of them, at least, are in fact quite nice.)
Long story short, I get off at the next stop and the woman is not there with my bag. I quickly get back on the train that rides through the ickiest banlieus and into Paris, thinking all the way about what I lost: my camera, all my shoes, my coat, a purse, all my books and school notebooks… at this point I am defeated, and tired, really, really tired.
From there I met up with Reed, who cheered me up with stories of ridding in a cab with militia men in Lebanon last semester. I mean, I lost my bag, but at least I didn’t nearly lose my life. Last night I slept from 10 p.m. to noon today and I finally feel a bit better.
Corinna (my lovely friend from The Daily Cal, for those who don’t know her) kindly walked with me around the rain-soaked city today and helped me find an open grocery store. (Note: One bad thing about France–everything is closed on Sunday.)
We had delightful cafe au laits and gateaux in a cafe near the Louvre, where the waiter told me I had wonderful French. He had no idea how much that meant to me, it was really after that trip to the cafe that I finally felt that this is all going to work out. I can’t believe I’m really here, thousands of miles from home, in Europe. I love this city, but I can imagine I’m going to be a bit lonely so far from all of you.
Keep my lost bag in your thoughts– I’m going to go on an adventure tomorrow to try to get it back. I don’t have high hopes, but just maybe I will see it again after all.
13 Comments
March 30, 2008 at 7:09 pm
Quelle horreur! (Quel horreur?) This is the extent of my remnant French … horrific in and of itself. Anyway, I have faith your suitcase will find its way back to you. And if it doesn’t, well, sounds like an excuse for lots of Parisian shopping. Enjoy!
March 30, 2008 at 7:43 pm
Oh god, you poor thing, thousand of miles away from Eshleman and shoeless! Don’t worry, things will work out — consider this an invitation to invest in a fabulous Euro-designer coat and a whole new shoe wardrobe. I’m almost jealous!
March 30, 2008 at 7:49 pm
Good luck Katlyn! I’ve been so out of the loop that I thought you had already been in Paris for awhile. Anyway, go eat an eclair for me. Paris is one of my favorite cities.
<3 NY
March 30, 2008 at 8:45 pm
Bon Jour Katlyn,
I don’t know if I spelled that correctly or not but at least I tried! I am also new to the blog world, hell I am new to the computer world. In fact Jack is laughing at me as I type!!!!! I hope to get to the bank tomorrow but I think everything should be fine. I’ll be in touch. Mom
March 30, 2008 at 8:51 pm
Hi
March 30, 2008 at 9:24 pm
I miss you already!! That is horrible news about you lost luggage. I hope your separation anxiety was minimal and at least you got your shoe back. Good luck with your baggage reclamation mission. I will think positive thoughts.
March 30, 2008 at 10:29 pm
Hola! Como estas? How is france? Do you think that i would like it? Have you gone to your office area yet? If yes, how is it. If no, when will you?
De,
Jack
P.S. De means from in spanish.
March 30, 2008 at 11:08 pm
Oh no! I hope you find the bag!
Once I mailed three boxes of clothes/books/photos/souvenirs from Paris just as I was leaving to travel. When I beat all but one box home three weeks later, I was sure the last two boxes were gone for good. Then six months later, the boxes show up at my door with absolutely no explanation for why it takes half a year to mail something from France to California.
Best of luck and I can’t wait to hear more about your adventures!
March 31, 2008 at 2:10 am
Oh the Frankfurt airport. That takes me back. That place is insane. So huge and so so so nice for an airport. It never ends. Those Germans. I love Lufthansa airlines. They treat you like royalty even when you are in economy class. I feel bad about the bag. I expect better from the Germans. They better find that damn bag…or else. Lol. So jealous of you still. Work it in Paris and show them how we do thing up in the Bay Area. Represent! Lol.
March 31, 2008 at 4:06 pm
I know it must be absolutely bizarre to have some random person comment on your blog post… both kind of exciting (as in you’re reaching past your friends, family, etc) and sort of terrifying (who is this person) So don’t completely mark me as spam, your blog was headlining the wordpress homepage and I was curious.
I live in Paris as well, as an American, and I must admit, I have been through countless events (arrivals, lost bags, lost shoes, etc) and such as you. Something about this city oozes those stories you tell at the dinner table, just thought you’d like to know you aren’t the only one (if it makes you feel any better)
Ok I’m done
March 31, 2008 at 9:06 pm
I know you’re a superstar with a ton of comments, but I just wanted to say that you are so brave and I hope you find your bag boo!
March 31, 2008 at 9:41 pm
Wow, who was that? Random…
Could you please post more? The rest of us are trying to live vicariously through you, and would like to know if you have your bag.
March 31, 2008 at 11:41 pm
Wow! This is some great stuff, Katlyn. Good luck at work tomorrow.