Pourquoi, Lance? Pourquoi?

On Sunday, we enjoyed a very nice breakfast at the hotel that I found very comforting and familiar oddly enough. They had little soft cheese packets as well as Nutella, just like my French family! The breakfast had a very wide array of foods, much more than I expected at a French hotel – croissants, baguettes, cereal, fruit, apple sauce, tea, coffee, two kinds of juice, pain au chocolat, yogurt, and other things that I’m sure I’m forgetting. It was very good. We then headed to the Eglise Reformée de l’Oratoire, a church not far from our hotel that is a member of the Reformed Church of France. The woman who greeted us was really nice, and she seated us near the front. The building was beautiful inside and had a very impressive organ.

It used to be a Catholic Church, but it has been the Eglise Reformée since the late 1800s, and if you look carefully at the walls, you can see the hooks and little metal pieces that once held up icons that have since been smashed off. The service was fairly easy to follow, for me at least, and the sermon wasn’t too shabby. The pastor did seem a little bit fluffy, if that’s the right word, and not terribly deep with his message, but it really wasn’t too bad. After the service, we went to a little reception off the sanctuary where mom chatted with an American man who’d been living in Paris for 25 years. I just enjoyed the free French pastries!! We stopped back at the hotel to change clothes before heading to lunch at Pomme de Pain, a cute café that you can find all over France. And then guess where we went….the TOUR DE FRANCE!!!!

I thought that seeing the Tour in Montpellier was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, but as it turns out, it was a twice-in-a-month experience?? Hey, not complaining. We took the metro and got off at the top of the Champs-Elysees, right near the grand stands and the winners’ podium. We then walked down the Champs-Elysees towards the Arc de Triomphe a little bit until we found the perfect spot right up near the barriers and right underneath a giant American flag that the man next to us was proudly waving with his American friends. It ended up attracting a fair number of Americans by the time the Tour actually came by, so it was cool to be in good company.

It was insanely crowded, as expected, but we had a great view of the Tour route as well as the giant screen that showed a live feed of the race on France3. Mom and I actually got to the Champs-Elysees around 2:00, even though the cyclists didn’t come by until 4:30, because, first of all, I really wanted good spots, and also because the pre-Tour parade came by at 2:45! This time, I actually got to see the whole thing from the beginning to the end, and it was pretty cool. The concept of a parade here is quite different from that of an American parade, especially since all of the “floats” in this parade were more like drive-by advertisements, but it was still really fun. There were cars shaped like water bottles, tires, and of course cheese, along with lots of dancing, horn-honking, and a few semi-trucks, which was a little scary, especially when they were swerving around on the road to look cool.

In case you didn’t know, the Tour de France ends on the Champs-Elysees, but it actually goes up and back down the street 8 times before the finish line. The tension building up to when the cyclists first drove by was ridiculously intense, but I have to admit that I was definitely part of it. I was screaming with everyone else when they rode by. And they were going ridiculously fast, like ridiculously fast. I can’t describe how cool it was to be there – to see the helicopters flying overhead and to realize that they were filming me, where I was standing, what I was looking at; to see a live feed of what the rest of the world was watching on the big screen and realize that I was there in person; to watch Armstrong and Contador battle it out down the Champs-Elysees. I took a few videos and more than my fair share of photographs, and I screamed for Lance until I was hoarse….but clearly it didn’t help.

I was so disappointed that he only came in third, while the grumpy Spanish woman who pushed her way next to us even though she didn’t get to the Tour until 4:00 was annoyingly pleased that Contador won. You let me down, Lance. I was pulling for you. I really was. I did get to see them pull out the Tour de France finish line, which was really cool, and I also saw the crowning ceremony. Mom and I pushed our way further up the Champs-Elysees as soon as the Tour itself ended so that we could get a better view, and we ended up having decent views of the backs of the winners as they received their prizes. Booooooo Contador. I could read the disappointment all over Armstrong’s face…sigh.

We hopped back on the metro very quickly and managed to make it out of the crowds without much of a problem. We had dinner at this cute little Chinese place that the concierge at our hotel recommended for us. And I have to say that I’m a big fan of all of our concierges. They recognize us when we come by, and they’ll ask us specific questions about our day and they don’t need to ask for our room number anymore – they just give us the key. (In case that doesn’t make sense, in France, you don’t get to keep the room key most of the time, you have to turn it in and pick it up every time you leave the hotel). When we came back from the Tour, the concierge teased that he’d had a better view of the Tour than I did because he watched it on TV. I heartily disagreed of course, because we had a fabulous view. I guess I’m still a fan, Lance, but only if you give me an autograph.

Bienvenue (encore) a Paris

The transition from Montpellier to Paris was definitely challenging in ways that I did not expect. I knew that I had grown attached to my family and my life in Montpellier, but I had sort of ignored the fact that I would eventually have to leave them. It didn’t really hit me until my French dad dropped me off at the train station and left. I managed to hold it together for about 2.2 seconds after I turned away from him, and then I started to cry. The train ride itself was very uneventful. I even had a very nice man load my suitcase onto the luggage shelf and then another really nice gentleman take it off the shelf, off the train, and onto the platform in Paris. Who said French people weren’t nice to strangers? Oh, right…I did…well I suppose that there are occasional exceptions.

The airport/meeting up with Mom experience was not nearly as smooth as the train ride…I easily found my way from the TGV station to her terminal (she was able to call me on my French cell phone while I was on the train and tell me her terminal number and where she was waiting). However, I was greeted upon arrival at the terminal by six gendarmeries carrying assault rifles and asking everyone to step back. Fortunately, as I spoke French, I was able to ask what was going on. Apparently, someone had abandoned a piece of luggage and it had been sitting unattended for over 30 minutes at the terminal, and the French police and gendarmes had been called in to detonate it. That’s right…detonate it. They had police, men and women with machine guns, a bomb kit, and even medical personnel who specialized in treating burn victims. Yeeeeps!!! I managed to make friends with a nice Swiss man who was stuck like I was. However, mom was not so lucky. She was on the opposite side of the terminal, and while we could see each other, we couldn’t talk to each other. At first, not understanding what was going on, she tried to encourage me to cross the large gap between us. Ummmm false. Said gap was being heavily guarded. She then tried to borrow the cell phone of a nice British man next to her so that she could call me, but it didn’t work. Fortunately, just as I had started to use notebook paper and highlighters to write her a message, the situation was resolved and we were allowed to cross the gap.

We then had even more trouble trying to get our prearranged shuttle service to come and get us. I called the number and the nice woman on the other end said that the shuttle would be there within 25 minutes. 25 minutes came and went and no shuttle. At this point, I realized we were standing at the wrong door, so we walked to the correct one. I also called the woman back and told her that we were still waiting. She recognized me because we’d had a bit of an issue spelling my last name the first time, and she said that the shuttle had come and left because we weren’t there. Oops. But she also said that another one would be coming within 5 minutes, and indeed one did. However, when mom approached the driver and tried to give him our name, he said “non non non” and drove off. I called back again, and this time another man answered the phone, and he too was in on the saga and also knew who I was. By this point, we’d been waiting for 45 minutes, and I was quite annoyed. Finally, our shuttle came and took us to our hotel, which is quite lovely I must say. Props to mom for picking a (ahem) four star hotel…

Our room was ready as soon as we arrived at the hotel, so we were able to drop off our suitcases before heading out to find lunch. We went to a brasserie down the street where mom had a sandwich and I had a croque madame (mmmmm!). Mom was unfortunately quite tired, really jet-lagged, and her back was bothering her, so I felt like I was pushing her to do things that she didn’t really want to do, but we went to the Eiffel Tower anyway. I actually ran into a few of my friends from the IEFE while in line for the elevator, too funny! What are the chances? I had thought that visiting the Eiffel Tower wouldn’t be that strenuous – we’d just be standing around, riding the elevator, and taking pictures. However, it turned out to be a bit more than mom could handle. I really enjoyed finally making it to the top and soaking in the stunning views from up there (third time’s the charm, eh?), but mom really struggled with all the standing and the crowds, especially with her back. After a small mishap that involved me misreading a map and asking an attractive gendarme for directions, we managed to make it back to our hotel and had dinner a French Pizza Hut where we split a pizza and cheesy breadsticks.

And I would just like to take this moment to give myself a round of applause for all of my confident French usage, my ability to navigate the Parisian metro system, and my patience for long lines/waiting. Apparently, some of my newfound skills from Montpellier have managed to stick with me…at least for now. I do have to say that it is quite a bit more difficult to have to speak for two people. While a fair number of Parisians do speak English, especially in the touristy areas, that is not necessarily the case in restaurants or in our less touristy part of town, so if mom wants to ask a question, needs something, or just wants to order her dinner, I usually have to do it. It’s great practice for my French and is really helping me to be less timid, but it definitely made the transition more challenging. I feel responsible for everything from navigating around town to picking food to purchasing tickets since I speak French. I’m really glad to have my mom with me and show her around, but I miss speaking French with others who also speak French.