The (belated) Paris Story

I had the option of taking an earlier train to Paris. Indeed, common sense dictated that I should take the early train, to arrive at the airport before Bethany got there. But I had a distinct sense that I should just take the one that arrived in Paris 10 minutes before Bethany’s plane, and not to worry about it. Having had recent experiences in this area, I resisted common sense and took the later train.
I became more worried when I discovered that the airport was not, as I had supposed, connected to the train station by a mere shuttle. No, I had to take a thirty minute train ride to the edge of the city. But still, a sense of relaxation.

At the airport I inquired after Bethany’s plane at the information desk. The very unhelpful lady simply said, “Oh that plane doesn’t get here until tomorrow.” Then followed several minutes of panic, because if I had gotten the day wrong, that meant I was alone in Paris with no place to stay. And the Paris Airport is NOT a place in which it seems safe to overnight.

I also have a general mistrust of the information people give me. I’m sorry if it has ever bothered you when I have double-checked information you gave me. Anyway, after a fruitless attempt to access the internet, I took myself back to the information counter. The more helpful man explained that the scheduled plane had technical difficulties, and the flight had been rescheduled for the next day. Obviously this was not good news. But it did mean that I had not mistaken the day, and that I did have accommodations. So I went and found my hostel.

From there I was able to access the internet, and found an explanatory email from one of Bethany’s friends. I cancelled Bethany’s bed for the night; I paid for mine; I put my luggage in “storage” (i.e. set anything I wouldn’t mind having stolen in the hallway with the other bags). On facebook I found my friend Dustin, who was in Paris, but had been too lazy to go out in the rain. So we agreed to meet and go to an International Chocolate Exposition (Which is kind of a big deal. It only goes to huge cities like Paris, New York, and Tokyo). And I guess at that point I couldn’t say that I was any longer “Alone in Paris.”

I was extremely fortunate that the other two people who stayed in my room that night were both women. That had been my biggest worry. The next morning I even managed to arrange it so Bethany got the empty bed in the same room. (I think I made a good impression on the concierge by inadvertently wearing Argentinean colors. I guess everyone gets homesick. Anyway, he told me not to worry about anything, and even left his daytime replacement a note.)

I had a good day. The next morning I met Bethany, and was REALLY not alone in Paris anymore.

Frankfurt: Part 2 (Pictures)

The rest of my time in Frankfurt was fantastic. I got to see friends, hang out with Louisa, and I even had a morning just to walk around and take pictures. Which I am now sharing.

Is that the Dome peaking over the edge of the museum?

This is the first visit where I have really appreciated the amazing Frankfurt skyline.

The Romerberg turns out to be a lot smaller than I remembered. (Just imagine the umlaute over the "o.")

Notice the two men in the background who are casually working on the facade of the church without helmets or any sort of safety belt.

Not a track that is often used, I gather.

Anyone need a bath?

Yeah, still have not gotten over my habit of climbing on ancient Roman ruins...

The most alien Madonna I have ever seen. (Please someone tell me if that is offensive, and I will delete it.)

Frankfurt: Part 1 (A Disaster of Epic Proportions)

Let me preface this story by saying that I had a distinctly bad feeling about going to Frankfurt as I was preparing to leave on Monday. I often “get a feeling” about things, and tend to think of it as Divine guidance. The thing is that it is easy to follow the feeling when it concerns something small, like going down a particular alleyway, or entering a cool-looking building. That is how I have found some of my favorite places in Lille (like the book market). I also always regret it when I don’t follow the feeling. (Foreshadowing.) But with larger plans, it’s much harder. It just seems so silly to cancel a trip because of “just a feeling.”
So I went.

My first change in plans came in Paris, where I discovered that the train I had intended to take was all First Class. And even though I told the man at the ticket booth I would take it, he gave me the later ticket instead. This resulted in a five hour wait in the freezing train station. (I didn’t want to get lost in Paris, so I did not venture further than the nearest internet café.) I wrote Louisa an email to let her know of the change.

When I got to the train station at 11:00 PM, Louisa was not there. Now, anyone who has lived in Frankfurt knows that as a young woman, the main train station is probably not a place you want to get stranded in alone in the middle of the night. And though I waited, Louisa did not come. Somewhat reluctantly, I called her house number. No one answered. (I probably cut one to many numbers off, when I took off the country code, because I am told people were awake.) Finally I rechecked the email I had written her. (I kept having to buy cheap things from the McDonalds to get change for the phone and internet.)

One of my least favorite features of French keyboards is that you have to hit Shift to access the numbers. Apparently I had not held down the shift key long enough, because instead of writing “23 Uhr” as I intended, I had written “2” Uhr.” No wonder Louisa was not there. So I wrote Louisa another email. Then I got on facebook, and chatted with Bethany. She called my parents, to get Katie’s number, and Katie gave her numbers for me to try. No one I called picked up. At 1:00 AM I took a train to the Frankfurt International Airport, because I figured it would be safer there, and maybe I could get some sleep. It was. It was toasty warm, there were many non-creepy people, and I slept intermittently wrapped around my luggage for about 5 and a half hours.

The next morning there was an email from Louisa in my inbox, written from the train station, where she went to meet me at 2:00 AM. It contained directions to her house. So I found my way there and went to sleep in her bed until she got back.

Those of you who are very observant will have noticed that most of this could have been avoided with better organization: Pre-ordered tickets, getting Louisa’s address (I could have taken a taxi), so many details. But I’m going to take some other lessons from this instead.

First, yes I do need to follow the “feelings” or promptings, especially in the big things. I still think it was worth it to see Louisa, but I should have done what I unreasonably knew was the better option.

Secondly, I learned that I can keep my head in a crisis. Maybe not my cool, because I was definitely not cool, I was hassled, and close to tears. But I did not panic, I did not cry, I tried things, and I figured out a safe, warm place to go. Perhaps I should have waited ‘till 2:00 AM, but really, I didn’t know if someone was coming.

Thirdly, I will always answer my phone, even if it is late. Make that especially if it is late.

Maybe this disaster is less epic than it seemed, and I have blown it out of proportion. But at the time it definitely felt awful, so awful I would almost [not quite] call it a fiasco.

Coming Soon:

From the person who brought you "Hanna alone in Lille" come two sequels. Attendez "Hanna alone in Frankfurt" et "Hanna alone in Paris." Coming soon on a computer near you. (In both cases it was only for a little while, and don't worry about me. Lot's of character was built.)