All Modes Lead to Paris July 9, 2015

Ah, back in the City of Light! Waking on our first day to harmonious church bells neighbours’ shoes on the stairs. Looking up at the beamed ceiling, probably hoisted into place near the time of Notre Dame’s construction and feeling happy, happy, happy!

Yesterday, late morning after car, ferry, bus, train, plane, bus, we arrived at Charles De Gaul - sweaty, completely sleep-deprived (read toddler on the plane, not crying, but more alien-ripping-out-of my-body screeching). Even so we were fully mission-oriented to use our cells, with newly enabled international SIMs, to contact our landlady. No service. At an international airport! What?! Oops, turns out after only a few minutes panic, we read the fine print and signed on in the way we should have and holy efficiency – not just one but three service providers as we wandered to the gate of the RER train station in the airport.

Now, how many digits to call since all French phone numbers start with zero, but do I need the country code since my number starts with an international area code? Process of elimination: I started with the smallest number of digits first and worked up. Turns out you dial from the 33 point onward when you are in country and omit the 0 that is usually in brackets! Pas de problem. We arrange to meet our landlady and after train, metro, hike and climb, and being chastised by our landlady’s husband because we were late, we are in our petit appartement in the thick of the Marais district. In fairness, who knew the RER Paris Express would stop at every crossroads on the way in to town?

Funny story. We were on the Canada Line from downtown Vancouver to YVR (one of the best legacies of the 2012 Olympics in my humble opinion.) At the stop just before the airport a husband and wife stand up, go to the exit doors and their friends on the train call out, “This is not the airport.” The wife steps off anyway, the husband calls, “Charlotte, this is not the airport.” She turns, looks at him from the platform and the doors close. Oh no! As we whiz away, we expect the husband to be in high anxiety, but all he said is, “She has the passports.” Ah, priorities. For the rest of the day any strange or unexplainable thing we saw was a “Charlotte” moment.

Once settled, we took a little tour of our Paris neighbourhood…

 This is not our accommodation, but we are not far away 

and it's the neighbourhood that counts, right?

 The flower stores are breathtaking. 

  So many fruit and food stalls. See the special squashed-looking peaches!

If I'd been more awake I would have bought one to try.

 We're not too far from The Bastille.

I'm thinking this might fall into my suitcase, 

what do you think?