Oops!...I Did It Again

   "I'm not sure what I'll do, but- well, I want to go places and see people. I want my mind to grow. I want to live where things happen on a big scale."

               -F. Scott Fitzgerald

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     Well here I am again. Paris is as I remember, and in some ways I am, too. People are walking around in the 70 degree weather in scarves and what I’d consider winter jackets. I’m still the métro pro that I once was- I haven’t had to pull out my trusty Paris Plan even though I always have it on me and I’ve been riding it all over the place in the less than 24 hours that I’ve been here. The only things that have changed are that southbound on line four is now called ‘Montrouge’ instead of ‘Porte d’Orléans’ and Notre-Dame has what I can only describe as giant bleachers in its square (Maybe something to do with its 850^th anniversary?) Oh, and that my friends from Central aren’t here. And I also have no friends to speak of. Yet.

     I got into Paris at around 6 P.M. last night after my flights were delayed about three times, thus screwing me out of the €40 I spent on a pre-arranged shuttle and another €60 for the cab ride I had to take instead. The cab driver immediately started in on wanting to talk about the U.S. involvement in Syria and turned up the radio commentary he was listening to. I had no energy to give any input.

     I got to the FIAP Jean Monnet, where I’ll be staying temporarily until my housing is decided, dropped my things off in my room and went to Bir-Hakeim to see the Eiffel Tower. I don’t know what the hell kind of athlete I used to be, but that is a long walk compared to what I remembered. Alone, I found a patch of grass on the Champ de Mars and watched as it sparkled at dusk, then I bought a sandwich and sat up at Trocadéro. In Paris for mere hours, a woman sat down next to me and asked me when it sparkles because I guess I seem like I know my way around. (My cab driver had even asked me “Vous connaissez bien Paris?” Yes.) It was perfect, but lonely.

Pont de l'Archévêché

Park behind Notre-Dame. Paris is so empty!

Quai de la Tournelle

Bleachers. Am I right or am I right?

Place des Vosges

In Paris for an hour or two, and this is where I head.

Central's Office on rue Henri Barbusse

         I had to be out of my room for the night at the FIAP by 9:30 this morning so I left the building with no plans and métro-ed it from Glacière to Vavin and then spent all morning wandering on foot to familiar places since I don’t have any familiar faces- my internship placement agency’s office, Central College Abroad’s office, St-Michel, my internship office at French Travel Partners, Notre-Dame, the Pompidou, Place des Vosges and all the way to St-Sébastien-Froissart. I don’t know if it’s a morning thing, a Sunday thing, a basically-still-August thing or a hungover-from-Saturday thing, but the city felt empty to me. I also searched for the padlock I put on the Pont de l’Archévêché for Central. No luck. The search will continue.

     In the Place des Vosges, I sat on a bench, dropping crumbs on accident for the pigeons like old times, and I wondered if this is what I’m supposed to be doing with my life. This is the part I hate about going abroad. The being alone part and the initial panic. I really don’t feel any culture stress other than feeling very, very alone. I think this is almost harder than last time, because this time, I was aware of how lonely it was going to be and it takes a lot of energy to not succumb to how sad it is.  I know it’s only been day one and orientation hasn’t even started, but I have doubts. Am I smart enough? Do I know French well enough to study translation? Will I have friends? Is this worth my time and money? Should I have just gone on a trip to Paris? I’m not sure. This is the biggest adult decision I’ve ever made and I don’t know if I should trust myself.

Sidenote: I have to remember to drop the habit of smiling as a means of being friendly. A woman came out of a door on the empty rue Chevreuse and I was standing nearby, so naturally, I smiled when we made eye contact. She looked at me as though I’d pulled a knife on her.