Unfinished business

I should hope that the title speaks for itself, but in case it doesn't, and to explain what I'm doing in France once more, I always felt that three and a half months simply wasn't enough. I'll probably feel that way about 8 months after this is over as well, but it is better than a measly three. I couldn't help feeling like there were some aspects of "authentic" french culture and living that I simply missed before. And so, I am back again, grasping at everything french and hoping it will somehow satisfy the unsatisfy-able. 

Even though it took me three weeks of being here, I am finally writing my first blog post. This time, I will try to write more frequently and write shorter posts in order to make sure I cover as much ground as possible. Voilà, on recommence finalement!

I guess I will start at the beginning, my first day in Paris, September 18^th, 2012. Two years and 13 days after my first day of my semester abroad. I was tired but optimistic as I lugged my fifty pound suitcase (and its smaller 20 lb companion) through the giant airport and then on the metro to the city, determined not to spend the 70 euros on a cab like the tourists. I managed with relative ease until I got to the actual city, where there are fewer elevators/escalators in the metro and where transferring from line to another could mean a five minute walk and 5 or more flights of stairs, with angry French people pushing and shoving if you pause even a minute to catch your breath. At this point I was sweating more than a little, but still managed to keep my composure. I couldn’t get in to my friend’s apartment where I was staying temporarily because she was at work all day. So, the plan was to go to the apartment of another friend (both from the lacrosse team that I met two years ago), who had left me a spare set of keys under his doormat so I could leave my bags in the apartment for the day.

To say that I struggled up the six floor walk up would be an understatement. When I finally got to the door, after taking three trips to get all my bags there, I couldn’t figure out how to work the keys. Desperate for a shower and food, I finally worked up enough courage to knock on the neighbors’ doors to try to find anybody that was home that could help me. I imagine that I looked like a mess, my hair matted with sweat, no shoes on (my boots were giving me blisters) and exhaustion plain in my face. An eight hour flight, and of the 5 hours I shut my eyes I did not sleep a minute. After knocking on 3 or 4 doors, someone finally took pity on me.

Showered, changed, relieved of luggage, I spent the rest of the day with two friends from the men’s lacrosse team at Cornell who were doing a tour of Europe, and happened to be in Paris that day. It was nice to have some people I knew in the city that first day. That night, I collapsed on Natasha’s futon (it was much easier having two able-bodied guys carry my luggage around than me doing it myself), and proceeded to sleep until 5 pm the next day. Not exactly the best way to get rid of jetlag.