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.