I went to Paris with much optimism. I returned from Paris with a barely beating heart. Technically, I was still alive so I will call the trip a success. However, the part between optimism and a barely beating heart is a very, very long story...
(By the way, if you have no idea who I am or what I was doing in Paris, please start here.)
{DAY 1} The Day I Was Optimistic (AKA The 48-Hour Day)
I arrived at the DC airport on Friday afternoon, a good 2 hours before my flight left. I was all checked in online and simply needed to drop off my baggage (which I had paid for in advance) and head to security. Sounds easy, right? Turns out my carry on suitcase and purse exceed the 12kg limit - a limit I have never seen enforced and, hitherto, was unaware even existed - and suddenly I'm that girl... The one with 3 exploding open suitcases at the baggage counter, rearranging her undies in public. Fast forward 1 hour and I have to check my carry on suitcase, my boarding pass is revoked, and I have to go to another counter and stand in another very long line to pay for my extra baggage and get a new boarding pass.
Still, I am optimistic. I am about to go to Paris, after all.
Fast forward another hour and I arrive at my gate at the exact minute boarding begins. What a lucky girl I am! This luck only fuels my optimism.
After a relatively pleasant and uneventful flight, I arrive in Paris excited and, yep, still optimistic. I'm not even sleepy because I'm SO EXCITED. My favorite Amy was flying all the way out from Seattle just to keep me company in Paris, and she was scheduled to arrive at the exact same time I was. TOO PERFECT. Except her flight arrived early and she zipped through customs right before a major security breach, which required me and 1,000 other people to be held like cattle for an hour.
Missing my rendezvous with Amy meant both of us walking the entire length of CDG over and over again -- for 90 minutes. But apparently in different planes of reality (see what I did there with the planes?) because we never noticed each other. Also added to the equation: The fun of searching for the camera guy.
Fast forward 2 hours and I'm finally in a cab headed to Paris.
After being dropped off directly in front of our door but failing to find the address due to scaffolding, we wandered around the block with all our luggage before realizing what we'd just done. Then I entered the apartment and saw it for the first time.
This was when I discovered that my plan to slap a quick coat of paint on the walls was a naive one. The plaster walls were cracked and crumbling, and while the walls definitely needed painted, so did the trim, ceilings, doors, windows, and just about every other surface of the apartment. I had only budgeted 2 days for painting, so things weren't looking good. Also, did I mention before that I was never given any measurements for this apartment? And I was merely guessing as to the size of the rooms based on the photographs I received prior to my arrival? No? I didn't tell you that part??
Yet still I was optimistic. (Apparently, I'm also an idiot.) I took all my measurements and headed to the big flea market.
It was at this point I discovered that everything in the Paris Flea Market costs too much, so I left empty-handed after wandering around for hours in that incredible maze of vintage finery. Then I went to the paint store and bought paint that was basically eleventy billion dollars, which I had to drag throughout downtown Paris to get home. In high heels, of course, because I'm the smartest.
Then I got drunk and went to bed, still stupid optimistic. Surely the rest of my trip would be better, right??
You will never believe what happens next, so come back soon to hear more about my crazy week in Paris!
And, as always, thank you so very much for sharing me with all your friends!
