9 hrs on a plane in the wee hours (meaning... morning arrival in Paris, but 2am for our Toronto bodies), after many months of stress. The red wine almost, but not quite, allowed me to sleep. My arms and wrists hurt badly. Then onto the RER train after figuring out how to buy tickets (about half an hour), then the Metro. Just about got very lost. Tara was so grumpy - complaining loudly - and Uma was WIRED. Girl on Fire. So far beyond tired she came out the other end with a delirious high-pitched giggle. We straggle out of the Metro and walk a fair distance (considering our condition), when I sense we are going the wrong way. A few helpful people later, and we are off... Around the Bastille. What a crazy intersection! A few more inquiries (you should hear my attempts at French! The funniest one was "Saint Antoine", when the guy just stared at me until I thought of how Veronique might say it. Then, "Ah, San-twon!" he got it.), and we've found it! Uma has to pee. We get past two door buzzers and I feel like I've unlocked some secret chambers in a Harry Potter story. We are almost there: I can almost feel my body hitting that bed. We climb a narrow curving staircase because Tara has informed us that the wee little lift sign says it is not working. I think it says something about water. It was quite a feat getting our 4 small, but heavy suitcases and various other backpacks up those steps, but it was going to be worth it...almost there! We reach the door and follow the instructions I had, to check under the mat for the key. No key. We ring the bell. We frantically check every mat on every floor. In desperation I ask knock on the door of what might be the landlady. She doesn't speak a word of English, but has lots to say in French. After I show her the written address and name, she shows us there is another building - through another door that we never could have known about. We do it all over again, this time with another teensy lift and the landlady - who is not teensy. This time we have the apartment. But, no key under mat. Uma really needs to pee. The lady takes pity and gets her master key to let us in - giving me some kind of lecture very sternly, I think about how we won't be able to leave the apartment because it will lock if we close the door. Apparently, even if we are inside - almost locked ourselves in.
And, oh my, this apartment is a mess. Sheets are hanging to dry all over the place and it looks like someone has dropped their bags here already. At least the sheets are dry. Ravi goes off with Tara to find food and the shop where the apartment owner sells her jewelry. We need a key. Uma is with me and has been revived by her trip to the toilette. She's revved actually. Crazy hyper. I'm so wiped that I cry as I tell Uma that we will just try to turn things around - make the best of what we have. She cries too. And then finds a bunch of stuffed animals to play with. It takes me what feels like forever to get the beds made.
We get the key, discover we don't have a phone (was supposed to be here), and that the apt owner is in the hospital - thus explaining the key and unreadiness of the space. But, we have WIFI!
A few hours of sleep works miracles. The apartment looks better. Life looks better. We go out to explore and find a meal, and end up at the most delicious crepe place... Real crepes, made with buckwheat, and a bit crispy like a dosa. And I order a bottle of mineral water. Only the waiter doesn't bring mineral water. He brings us a ceramic pitcher and two matching mugs. Ravi smells it and says it might be beer. We decide to drink it - which kind of indicates our state of mind at this point because Ravi hasn't had alcohol in over a year (health reasons). But, it isn't beer. It's apple cider. Not just any apple cider, but like ambrosia. Like payback. Like the reason we came to Paris. The period at the end of the sentence. It was truly meant to be.
And that, my dear friends, is why it is good to learn your French from cereal boxes.
