I’m taking my France trip day-by-day, so today’s post covers May 11th. (Two weeks ago, ahhh!)
As you know, I missed my first train to France because I am an idiot, but not a big enough idiot to miss my train again later that day.
So just before midnight, I arrived in Paris to greet my lovely hostess, who puts the “rude French” stereotype to shame. Then again, she’s not Parisian, so I cannot say for certain that the stereotype is entirely inaccurate.
The following morning, we were greeted by a torrential downpour and wool-coat-worthy weather. Being a Londoner, I had an umbrella, but being an optimist, I did not bring my wool coat. Did I mention it was May?
We based our tour on real Paris-dwellers’ suggestions (my hostess included) and trekked over to Montmarte, then ended the day with a visit to the Eiffel Tower. I can’t say I fell in love with Paris that first day, but that’s because my heart was focusing on pumping blood to my freezing extremities.
Mentally, I spent the day reflecting on the futility of trying to leave London weather behind and fretting over my classmates’ flight status. That famous alphabet soup volcano, which ruined my trip to Portugal, was acting up again. The flight risked being cancelled. My evening consisted of refreshing the flight status page until I was sure it had taken off.
Then, I set my alarm for 5 a.m. the next morning…