This arrival into Charles de Gaulle went a lot more smoothly than it did when I studied abroad. (For the few of you who didn't hear that saga, just know that it included confusing the words for "escalator" and "stairs" and a solid forty minutes of circling around a staircase.) This was much easier-- only one suitcase, general familiarity with CDG. Nonetheless, I had my moments (I don't care if I'm in your way, I have to get up these stairs!!) Actually, CDG changed some of their escalators into moving, variously-inclined ramps where you have to shift your weight in order to stay upright. It was half-carnival ride, half-mountain climbing. I'm sure I look like an urchin right now.
N.B.: I learned the secret to why French women never look like they just got off an eight-hour flight: they all go into the ladies' room at the airport and re-blowdry their hair. I found that interesting.
So anyway, when I finally found the hotel (thank God for GPS), I was pretty disheveled and beat. All I wanted to do was curl up in my hotel room that wasn't ready yet. But then, the man at the reception desk was so nice. He (kindly) spoke to me in French. I got a seat at the hotel cafe, pulled out my notebook, and ordered this kind of make-your-own-café-crème kit with coffee, hot milk, and hot water. Now I'm lost in writing while sipping a café crème that the bustling proprietor won't let me pay for.
Yes. This is why I do this.
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