Note: Journaling is a great way to build your stories. When you keep a journal you can record details that would be long forgotten if you let days pass. Then when you look back at your pages, you relive those moments and your stories emerge. Sometimes journals can be stories in themselves.

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Arrival in Paris !

No problems on the flight, how can a person sit there for all those hours? It is so uncomfortable, my legs hurt and it was a 10 hour flight. Poor me, some people have to take 13 and more hour flights.

I wait for Paris Shuttle, the Indian driver is edgy, he is late to retrieve me and I wait outside of Paris Charles de Gaulle patiently after I phone them and they say, “only 20 minutes and he will be there.” At least I know I am on their radar. I have paid for this in advance.

Arrive at apartment. First impression, busy street, stark, stone apartment buildings one after the other. Cars whizzing by right in front. The driver drives away. I feel alone and turn to look up at the door.  I try entering the security key that I have on a paper in my hand. I am not alone for long. Madame Housekeeper swings the door open and says cheerily, "bonjour!" She has been watching for me!

She is a round and friendly woman who speaks only French. I understand some of what she says. She shows this and that pointing here and there and most of it goes past me.

We take the tiny old lift up to the 5^th floor where the key is under the mat. She opens the door. I look around, she is smiling, she says in French, how do you like it? I say there is a nice view.

She is smiling and walks me around. I take it in.  I do like the view of the Seine outside my window, with the boats going by. When she leaves, I look around more closely. The bed in the alcove, just as in the picture, looks like it would be hard to get in and out of.

I am exhausted and bummed.

I put my clothes into the drawers and unpack my suitcase. I connect to the internet and that goes smoothly. I start to feel better. Then I have a eureka moment remembering that the sofa in the living room is probably a hide-a-bed. Aha it is! It is Italian. Well there must be an easy way to pull it out. Naturally it is not the usual way that I had with my sofa bed that I had. So how? Aha, I figure it out.

I make up the bed with other nice clean sheets from the cupboard and the flowered fleece blanket and the nicest pillow cases, heavy thick cotton that looks like it has been ironed. And the room starts to look more like home. The kitchen is clean, the bathroom is clean. The floors are clean and dusted and the shag rug under the hide-a-bed is vacuumed too. And so here I am, in my Paris home away from home. A big weird very black bug, over an inch in diameter that looks like a flying beetle comes in through the open window. I get up from my computer to see what the buzzing is and he is really UGLY. Fortunately he is as slow as he is ugly and I can chase him out quickly and shut the window.

I am so tired. But I want to go and get something to eat. I have to make sure I have my key and the security number to get back in. I check numerous times to make sure I have them. I go to the apartment door. I can’t get out. How does the door work? The knob is in the center of the door. There are these metal rods going up to the top of the door and across the door. Oh, I have to latch this one through this other one and then the knob turns the door open. Voila, I get OUT of my apartment, a great first step.

I go down the stairs, and here is where I realize Madame Housekeeper did tell me how to get OUT of the building, but I didn’t understand the details. I press one button, nothing, I press another and hear a click. Sure enough the door opens. Aha, I am out of the first door. Then the second door is easier.

Aha, I am on the street, the cars are whizzing by. I have jet lag. I remember how I was in Madrid with jet lag and my wallet was stolen by gypsies not an hour after I arrived. I clutch my purse. I march down the street. I find a store and get some yogurt and fruit for the morning. And some crackers and they have skinny cow cheese, later I think, why would I buy that? And I buy a bottle of wine too.

I come back and put everything away and sit on the sofa wanting to stay awake till 7 p.m. but I just can’t. I wash my face and get into my clean sheets and am sound asleep by 5:30 p.m. and awake again at 10:30 when I get up and take a melatonin to help me through the time zone transition.

You can continue to read about my Paris trip here: Day 2 http://tellourlifestoriesblog.com/2011/05/25/monday-april-11-2011-the-rue-cler-market.aspx