My flight to Charles De Gaulle was at 10:00 pm on Monday, June 30th. The flight, just the same as any other economy flight, was cramped and sterile with the addition of a flimsy blanket and a neck pillow. 7 hours and 40 minutes of disrupted sleep and a stiff neck. thoughts wandered my head, such as my game plan upon arrival, and the possibility that I would have no service in a country where the language made about as much sense to me as the trivial phrases I had heard in media. In addition, the many French films I had watched and the time spent cooking in the kitchen would make me a pro if the city of Paris only revolved around bullion, bouef, and Catherine Deneuve.
Arriving at the airport, I felt like a fast food toy spouting the same meaningless words, Where do I go, Where is my luggage, How do I get to campus? As my batteries faded, these thoughts became an unintelligible mess in my mind. Despite the daze, somehow I made it on the train. I had no idea how this worked. My knowlege of the DC metro shit the bed in the face of new transit. The weather was sweltering. I knew it was bad because every Parisian looked pained by the sauna that the city had become. I thought about the salvation of the campus.
The gates of the grand City Universitare beckoned me, drawing my eyes to the architecture that I had only dreamed of. Allas, I had no time to bask in the glory. The luggage was sluggish, my entire body was drenched in sweat, and according to the map, I had to drag the dinky rolling suitcases across cobblestone and sand only fit for a stagecoach. Once inside the Norway house, my new home for a month, I mentally collapsed, greeted by the faces from home, and the faces I would come to know.
Experiencing the first pilgrimage of our class opened my eyes to the wonder of the city. Every turn was something new. The cramped shops and eateries lining the streets called to you with sounds, sights, and smells. The aroma of heat and spice one door, the next the warmth of baked goods, all weaving seamlessly with city smells and cigarettes. The architecture of centuries past conversing with a modern city, the wild and chaotic symphony of revolution and tradition.