I have a 7am flight leaving Dublin to Paris. Should only take 1.5 hours, lands an hour outside Paris, so I should get into town around 10am. Boy was I wrong.
Now, I lucked out in Paris because one of my Mom's co-workers offered to house me while I am there. She and her family live in the city. They say the room isn't much, but hey, it is free, I won't complain. It isn't like my hostel will be any better.
We take off on time and prepare to land. As we land I note that the clouds are really thick. We have been descending for quite a while, I feel I should be able to see the ground or lights or something. Then I finally see the ground, about 50 feet below the plane and it is not a runway, it is buildings. At that exact point the pilot goes full throttle and the plane rapidly starts to climb back up. Once we are above the clouds again the pilot says it is zero visibility and that we just experienced a "missed approach." So pretty much, we about landed, but not on the runway. Easily, the most nerve racking flight experience I have had.
We circle around for about 45 minutes hoping for better weather below but it never comes. We end up having to land at a different airport 2 hours North of this one....so 3 hours North of Paris. We land there with no problem. Everyone gets funneled into buses for the 2 hour drive to the airport we were supposed to land at.
We get rushed on so fast that I don't use the bathroom, which I needed to. I think to myself that isn't a problem, these buses all have their own. Well I found out the hard way that this ones is broken....not good. In the world of bladders, I am Thumbalina. Small. After a bit, I finally convince the driver to make a pit stop, as others have requested a bathroom break as well. That and I am literally go to pee myself otherwise.
We didn't piss away all of the bus ride though. (see what I did there...yeah, creative). Our driver was pretty cool and funny. He gave the microphone to one Italian guy on the bus who gave us a tour of the area. Not knowing anything about where we are he just told us what was on our left and right, followed by making up stories about it. Pretty funny. The front of the bus was a party section, the back was for lazy, sleeping people.
We finally get to the airport and then I hop onto ANOTHER bus for the hour ride to Paris. It turned out alright though, as I got to sit next to two very beautiful Swedish girls visiting friends in Paris. I had a good conversation with them the whole way, while they fed me candy they brought from Sweden for their friends. Sadly, they just handed me the candy, versus actually feeding it, but you take what you can get, right?
I finally get into Paris and immediately find the subway system. I have basic directions to apartment I will be staying at. I get there with little problem, minus walking past it about 3 times looking for the address. Apparently, I am not always the smartest person or at least most observant. When did I arrive? 5pm - 7 hours later than I was expected. There goes a day in Paris.
I get in and Isabell (the Mom) is waiting for me. She is working from home this week. This isn't uncommon on my Mom's company, but I realize she is doing it just for me, which is super nice. She claims it is because she has late afternoon meetings and they get kicked out of the office at 5pm no matter what.
I also meet her daughter, Clemence (18) and her son Paul (14). After all of this I sit down on the couch and before I realize it, I am out cold. So, think about it. Here I am, I just showed up at these peoples apartment, whom I have never met. I meet them and then fall asleep. not 6 feet away, Isabell is working on her computer. I wake up at one point to find a blanket on me. Here is the best part, this in no way bothered or weirded me out. I feel like that is a sign I am progressing from novice traveller.
After a two hour nap I wake up and am ready to go! Isabell is cooking a traditional French meal, which won't be ready for awhile. So Clemence decides to take me to a local cafe for a glass of wine. She steers us away from the tourist ones and instead takes us to a local place she frequents. I very much appreciate this, as I like to see the real culture more. I enjoy my first glass of French wine. I get a Bordeaux of course, what else? I talk to Clemence and find out more about her and France. She finished high school last year and is doing a special two-year program before University. So, you can go to University, but almost everyone can do that. But there is also a tier above that, pretty much a few Ivy League schools. In order to get into those, you have to do two-years of prep work, then take an exam and hope to get accepted. She choose that path. Hardcore..... She studies 7 days a week. Is in class usually from 8-5pm, then comes home and sits studying for at least another 4 hours. She takes exams on weekends all the time. It made me feel like the laziest person in the world, but that is okay. Either way, impressive.
It is a fun conversation. She keeps apologizing for her English (which is quite good) and I keep explaining her English is good. I noticed something about Europeans. Most of them are very self-conscious about their English. They think they are not very good, when often they are very good. I am just impressed they speak two languages when I struggle with one.
After a bit we head back up to the apartment. They live in the art district, in the Northern part of Paris. It is beautiful and very classic Paris in terms of shops, architecture, etc. They live less than 1/2 a kilometer from Moulin Rouge.
When we get back dinner is ready. The Dad isn't home yet, but they don't expect him. He has is own architecture firm and teaches architecture at a University as well. He works 12+ hours a day.
We enjoy a delicious dinner, some wine and good conversation. They ask me all sorts of questions about America, my trips, etc. I ask them about France, Paris, and what I should see. Paul won't speak much English yet. I can tell her is too nervous, but I think he can speak it well, I just need to get him out of his bubble. He loves the Simpsons and video games. We have enough in common that it won't be hard. He started learning English from both of those two things. Not uncommon. I have met multiple Europeans that learned English from Video games. One from rap music.
After dinner the Dad gets home. I talk to him for awhile and then everyone, including my self finally hits the hay after a long, long day.
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