Je suis a Paris!

So, I'm finally in Paris. After all the worrying and stressing, of which many of you had to experience first hand (or at least, you witness my hyperventillation and the glazed-eye look as I mentally went through The List), I got here in one piece. And I didn't even lose any luggage! That doesn't mean that the process wasn't horrendous, but at least it is a plus. I have clean clothes, and this is a good thing.

I moved out of my apartment on Saturday. And, damn. I've managed to accumulate a whole lot of shit over the past two years + that I've been living there. It just kept going and going. Luckily, a very kind former 3rd grade teacher and former neighbor of mine agreed to let me store stuff on her back porch, so I had a place to put it all. I was also very lucky in that I found a place to stash Cat for 10 weeks; he is with a girl who wants a pet but will be moving away from Chicago come winter, so it actually works out pretty perfectly. Now, if I could only get rid of the subletter she has lined up for then, I would have a place to live once I come back to Chicago.

Anyway, I rented a UHaul to move everything, and on the way back to return it, we hit traffic and it took us 2.5 hours to get there because the ingenious (and I say that with such heavy sarcasm that I actually have to define it as such so there is absolutely no confusion that I might actually be serious) city planners decided that it would be a perfect idea to close the Dan Ryan down to 1 lane...that would be three lanes closed, and about as many workers visible along the whole 40 block stretch of traffic. Oh, and I almost forgot the kicker - this would be between the hours of 12 and 3 am.

So, I didn't get to bed until about 4:30 that night, and then the next day I had to wake up and finish packing. I spent the night at M's, but I had bags of stuff that I just threw together as I got increasingly sick of getting stuff out of my aparment. So that had to go. I managed to keep everything in two checked bags, and one carry-on/purse, so HA! My chronic affliction of overpacking is gradually being suppressed. It may take a few more trans-Atlantic trips of lengthy duration, but I feel that one day I will have mastered the fine art of recognizing the essentials and to hell with the rest.

I got to the airport on Sunday in good time, but M dropped me off at the wrong terminal (unbeknownst to either of us at the moment, it being the international terminal). I paid for one of those luggage carts, only to find that Iberia Air (which I was flying and highly recommend to avoid) has it's desk in a different terminal with American Airlines. And that the only way to get there is through the train shuttle. Which doesn't allow the carts. So, my moving-lifting-sore arms tug along two bags weighing between 40 and 70 lbs (each) whilst trying not to drop the 20 lb carry on or the requisite sweatshirt to protect against ridiculously chilled airline environments. And of course, Iberia is at the very end of the terminal.

Security went as fine as it does these days, I boarded successfully (though halfway through watching the first episode of Private Practice - does Addison deliver the baby and save the mother???). I sat in the middle with a friendly bunch of seatmates, especially a Colombian woman who lived in Spain. We spoke somewhat haltingly, both of us going back and forth between Spanish and English, but she was very nice and I enjoyed talking to her. The girl on my other side was going to do a study abroad program in Senegal. The in-flight movie of note was Ocean's 13.

Then the problems began with our landing, where we got to the gate in Madrid, and the door wouldn't open. I panicked when I saw the time, since I had a connecting flight in 20 minutes. And although the Iberia representative in the US had said I wouldn't have to go through customs to get to my connecting flight, I did (the Madrid airport is very similar to the one in Montreal, where I played the same charade). Then I had to go back through security, and apparently in Spain they don't believe in lines or organization. Then another train, and of course I get to an empty gate. Once I found the info desk, it was fairly easy to change my ticket, but then I had to wander the airport for a while on an endless hunt for a bottle of water (which I never found, oddly enough, especially considering the airlines hardly give you anything as if they want you to pass out from dehydration). Then a bizarre plane ride to Paris, where I dozed in and out to the sweet music of a huge group of Portugeuse tourists and crying babies. And then we landed, got to the gate, and the door was jammed again. I don't know how that happens twice in one day, but I don't think it's a good sign.

I collected my luggage, got a cab almost immediately, got to the Universitaire 15 minutes and 20 euros later (including tip, a relieving change from the 50 pound cab fare in London). I also had a nice cab driver who didn't blink an eye at my delirious patois of English, Spanish and French. Got my room assignment and had just enough time to shower (glory, glory, hallelujah!) before everyone met and went through a very unthorough orientaion. My room is not only larger than the one in London, but it's thankfully on the first floor (which diminishes the view, but is easily accessable and convenient for fire alarms). Now I'm struggling to stay awake until at least 10pm, so I'm off to go do some dorm paperwork. Woo!


Above: my dorm, Maison des Provinces de France