…literally and figuratively. This will be brief, as I’m groggy – survived the bus and here I am. The first part of the ride was tough – we were packed in like sardines, a very firm, broad woman beside me with an enormous box at her feet and a very sharp elbow. We left at midnight, I tried to sleep, they woke us up at 2 a.m. for our first rest station break, then for something else – I remember seeing 3 on the bus clock and the next thing I knew, it said 6, so I got 3 solid hours while we chugged through the Czech Republic.
And then at 7.15 we came to some German town where my friend got off and I could stretch out. Much border control, police up and down the aisles, several more stops – a German rest stop, hooray, I could almost speak the language, and then the French one – yes! These are my people! In to the Gare de l’Est half an hour late at 2.30 p.m., and a fairly uncomplicated metro trip – only one endless transfer – back to my little hotel, where I have, once again, the world’s smallest hotel room. Just for tonight – tomorrow I move to my rental apartment and can at last feel at home. More or less at home. Paul Anka is playing here in June, by the way, if any of you are interested.
Now to deal with the chaos of international flights, to figure out if Anna is going to get here or not – on the metro a woman who works at Orly Airport said that thousands of flights are backed up and they’re not refunding tickets because the volcano is an act of God. And the young woman sitting next to me at this noisy Starbucks – where the Internet doesn’t work today so she gave me her private password – told me that the French trains have been on strike for weeks. I’d first wanted to get a train to Paris. Mon dieu, it is a miracle that I am here at all.
Paris is in full spring bloom, flowers, trees, people out filling every sidewalk cafe – still in jackets but the sun is hot and bright. I can speak the language, understand the transit system, read the menu. This is a wonderful thing.
Stay tuned.
