I arrive in #Paris and look for a taxi. A woman, dressed gypsy style, ushers me towards a taxi, speaking fast French that I can't comprehend. I am forwarded to an old battered taxi. The male driver has a huge moustache and a shirt that barely covers his large belly. I hesitate and am almost pushed into the cab by the woman who then puts her hand out for money, I shake my head as my bags are taken by the driver and put in the boot. He then gets in quickly and starts to take off without asking where I'm going. I freak out and try to get out but he's telling me to stay. What to do? He finally asks for the address and driving with one hand on the wheel through the Parisian traffic, he puts the address in with his other hand. He drops me off in a decidedly seedy looking area. He gets out, dumps my bag and points up the street to a hotel. I have once again neglected my research. I chose a cheap place as I'm only here for one night. I drop my bags off to search for a place to eat and realise that the area is getting more and more salubrious as I walk. I am the only solo, white woman in an area that is like a world trade centre; Asian, Moroccan, African shops abound and people are staring at me. I call for an Uber. The first one cancels, is the area that bad? The second one arrives, a lovely African man from Tanzania, who he tells me that this is not the area I should be in. I get him to take me back to the hotel and ask them if they mind me leaving and they agree that it's a sensible idea! I get online and book back to my old hotel with angry Audrey. They have a room, a double! I take it and upon arrival, I take a deep breath, realising I've been shallow breathing. I'm back in an area I know. Unfortunately, Audrey remembers me and my scathing review no doubt so there is no welcoming smile but at this point I don't care. I eat at my favourite bar, the waiter remembers me, laments that I'm still solo and brings me a Vermouth. And just as I'm relaxing the daughter rings to tell me her wallet has been stolen in Bologna. Everything gone, cards, identification but luckily not her passport. She had to brave the Polizia and try her Italian. Luckily her partner is with her, otherwise she wouldn't be able to get back to where she's living. The planets are out of alignment today, I'm sure Mercury has gone into retrogade, causing havoc.
I am booked to go on an overnight train to Venice to meet up with the daughter, the timing in that respect is fortuitous but I have the whole next day in Paris, having to leave my room by 10. I spend as much time as I can in the room and then I've booked to go to the #Louvre. I breakfast on a pistachio croissant - it has to be done. And on the long walk to the Louvre, I brunch on a lemon macaroon, filled with lemon curd, topped with a small swirl of meringue.At home I would never have two pastries in a day! Never! I am energised by caffeine and sugar and ready for anything.
I begin in a leisurely manner, passing by the crowds of people standing around the Mona Lisa. It is such a small painting and I catch a glimpse if I stand on tiptoes but I decide not to wait to see it up close. Room after room opens up, I am awestruck. Every time I think I'm nearly done, another section opens up and because I have serious fomo (fear of missing out), I become utterly exhausted. I find another cafe and have lunch only to discover on the way out, the Egyptian, Greek and Roman sections. I have to see them, don't I? In the end, it's all too much, I am numbed by the endless beauty and discoveries. It is three o'clock as I make my way back to the hotel and I sit in the breakfast room, slumped in the carmine red velvet chair. Another manageress has replaced Audrey, she is all French glamour, immaculate, all in white, hair in a turban, perfect makeup. I must look a sight, she asks if I'd like a tea and then points to where I can make it myself. I love the look of this hotel but the staff are not the friendliest I have encountered.
I have booked a cabin on the train with three others. I am going to test my anxiety levels. I figure that I'll be so exhausted that I'll sleep regardless. This train is nothing like the one I arrived on. It's seen better days. My companions are a big bear of a Russian man, in his late twenties; and a Chinese couple who speak no English but the Russian speaks Italian. Somehow we manage to introduce ourselves. He's on a scholarship here and has a photographic exhibition opening in a week's time. His mother is with him, she's an artist and they'll be exhibiting together. His exhibition is called - Down the Rabbit Hole. We exchange Instagram names and check out each other's work. He's on his way to Carnevale in Venice. We have all packed snacks for the journey and various smells permeate the cabin as the doors are closed and the aircon is almost non existent. So is the wifi. When the conductress pops her head in, we ask her about the Wifi and she laughs. "You will have wifi when you get to Venice." she says wryly and continues on her way. We make our own beds up and the Russian gives up his bottom bunk for me as I've been given the top one. I think of myself going up and down the little ladder in the night, as when I'm anxious, I have to pee a lot, and I thank him profusely. He offers me his chicken that his mother has prepared for the trip, (he's 28!) I decline, take a sleeping pill and manage a few hours sleep , (even with the snoring Russian below me), before we pull into Venice at dawn. I feel I have ticked off another box. I have forced my anxiety into a situation that it will excel in but I have slightly tamed it's enthusiasm.
Click arrows to view. Last photo shows someone attending to her feet after spending the day at the Louvre.
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