French President Francois Hollande’s office sent me a reply to my letter to him telling him how much I would like to teach English in France. I wonder how many Heads of State reply to letters sent in a foreign language. I will always think highly of him for taking the time to respond to me.

My time in Paris was heaven-sent: it literally saved my life. I had been through an awful lot and my brain felt worn: I’d been going to the same places using the same routes and doing the same things for so long that the synapses in my brain felt like too many well-worn paths. I needed to do different things to keep my brain fresh.

More importantly, my spirit had been waning. I lost everything I owned prior to 2009 – my pictures, family history documents, my wardrobe, my furniture, everything – and sometimes it’s been difficult to keep my spirits up. A broken heart can kill a person as assuredly as a bullet: it just takes longer. I needed to do something to make my heart leap with joy and to feel really alive again. So, when my TOPA rights (Tenant Opportunity to Purchase Act) were bought out by a buyer of the house I was living in in Washington, D.C., I knew a trip to Paris, my very favorite place, was in order. It was just what I needed. I found a renewed purpose and a sense of hope while I was there. I feel like I belong in Paris. Paris certainly belongs in me. And as a result of my trip, I developed Elsa’s Travel Blog on Paris, and it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I use it to help others get to Paris and to discuss significant cultural points. As I’ve said elsewhere in this blog, sometimes more divides France and the U.S. than just the Atlantic: I hope to be a bridge between the two cultures. I am a traveler like all others, certainly, but my eyes are open with awareness that antagonism lurks beneath the surface of many people in both cultures, likely due to our differences, and sometimes, to misunderstandings. I hope to bring these differences out in the open, at the very least, so people will think about them.

So what lasting impressions did my trip have on me? French people aren’t consumed with making money — their focus is on enjoying life. I was astounded to see adults in coats with their children on kiddie rides — I don’t know whether that would happen in Washington. (Though, honestly, it doesn’t get quite as cold in Paris as in D.C.) I was not astounded or surprised to see French people sit for hours at a café, talking and enjoying themselves: but when it came my turn, I found myself looking at my watch, wondering when the waiter was going to ask me to pay my check and leave, as often happens in the U.S. French people allow you to be your best self, and they still value good manners and class. Moreover, they are not “in your business” all the time: I can’t say any of that about Washingtonians. My passport may state I am an American, but in my heart, I feel French. Well, almost.

Unfortunately, the trouble I’ve been having in the States followed me to Paris. See what I mean:

1. My bank account was frozen twice despite my having given my bank a travel itinerary – and Wells Fargo could never tell me why they did this, even while telling me they saw my travel itinerary in my account documents online.
2. My personal care items (my 3-1-1 bag in my carry-on) went “missing.” I saw the bag when I went through Dulles Airport security, but by the time I got to Plug-Inn Hostel, the bag was gone. I cannot account for what happened to it.
3. My Facebook and Outlook accounts were both frozen shortly after my arrival in Paris. No matter how many security questions I answered to verify my identity for both accounts, neither could be satisfied: they both wanted me to sign in my account “using a computer I’ve previously used.” After my arrival back in the States, they both unlocked themselves, as if by magic.
4. Over half of my pictures were deleted from my digital camera. Not “the latter half” or any segment, but individual pictures, such as when I bought my cape and posed for someone to take my picture in it, all of the pictures I took of Plug-Inn Hostel and its staff, most of the pictures I took at Le Basilic. These are not arbitrary deletions, but rather my favorites – what made my trip unique from someone else’s.
5. Someone threw out my lemon drink, ate my dinner, and stole my water bottle from the refrigerator at Plug-Inn Hostel. They left the lemon drink in the trash for me to see, so it was personal.
6. My resume vanished from my flash drive and the computer I was working on when I tried to print it in Paris. This means there was a virus (or something like it) attached to it to make it delete itself as soon I tried to do anything to it. As a result, I didn’t get to apply for positions to teach English, or at even upload my resume to leboncoin.fr.
7. I contacted Wells Fargo soon after I arrived back in the U.S. about them freezing my account twice when my travel itinerary was clearly visible to Customer Service. A district manager contacted me and told me he would find out. He never contacted me about the outcome of his investigation, and Wells Fargo has forgotten all about it. They “mistakenly” closed my account.
8. My blog is connected to my Facebook account (as well as to Twitter, LinkedIn, and Google+), which means my blog posts are supposed to automatically publish on Facebook and on other accounts. Yet, sometimes Facebook seems to “save” two or more posts and publish them without the featured image for those posts. Facebook can’t do this: they don’t “know” whether I’ll be publishing my next post the next day or the following week. Moreover, I usually see my blog posts in my personal feed but in the public feed, so I manually re-post them.
9. So far, I have been unable to upload the .pdf of French President Francois Hollande’s letter to me (that is, from his office) in response to my letter to him telling him how much I’d like to teach English in France. WordPress is designed to upload .pdfs just like other images.

Which leads me to ask, does anyone really think that all of these things can happen to one person without man-made intervention? I blame the Fancy Boy Idiots. See if you don’t agree.

Salut !

Image of French President Francois Hollande from an interview on July 14, 2012, found on Google.

Turkish Airlines is the #1 ranked airline in Europe. It is a well-deserved reputation.

Tuesday. I arrived at Dulles Airport last night with too much time on my hands because I didn’t want to take Metro late at night. I read my booklet on my new phone, called T-Mobile a few times with questions, and sat around and waited. Turkish Airlines’ counter didn’t open until a couple of hours before takeoff, so I was a bit bored. Once I could check in, I was able to go to the terminal, where there are more places to eat and simply more shops in general. While waiting to board I met a woman named Sharon who is getting married. She is meeting her fiancé in Barcelona. It was nice having someone to talk to at Dulles because I was there for a long time, I’m not much of a night person, and was very tired by the time we boarded. I believe what the experts say: You tend to eat too much when you’re tired. They aren’t kidding!

The flight left Dulles Airport on time at 11:30 P.M. I watched the Jack Ryan movie with Chris Pine and three other movies to make the time go by. (Well, 2 ½ more movies.) My legs felt a bit cramped, and it was much colder in the cabin than I’ve ever experienced before: Good thing I was wearing not only my blue cashmere Pringle V-neck sweater (with a white shirt) but also my black Ann Taylor wool blazer – I would have been freezing without the layers. (Now I sound like a J. Peterman catalogue.) What I couldn’t get over was how much space there was in the overhead compartments! The flight was full, yet there seemed to be plenty of room to be had in the overheads. I can’t remember that ever happening on another airline. The food on Turkish Airlines was very good. I only felt bad because the flight attendants woke up a seatmate so he would eat. He wasn’t too thrilled until he had some wine. A very handsome man was seated behind me. It made the flight more interesting, but I was also a bit suspicious, since he seemed a little TOO interested in me. He was, after all, a lot younger than I am.

We landed in Istanbul for a short lay-over before boarding to Paris. We had a PERFECT flight from Dulles. I couldn’t get over how clean the airport is in Istanbul. No drama, no loud noises. I did notice, however, a man sticking his head into the ladies bathroom to make sure everything was as it should be. I was not the only one who seemed to be a bit taken aback—the women in line seemed a little nervous about having a man putting his head into the ladies room—but they seemed to get over it. (They just eyed him a little suspiciously.) I had a cappuccino and talked to Sharon until I boarded my plane. Everyone around us who was on the flight talked about what a perfect flight it was. No wonder Turkish Airlines is top-rated in Europe. A fun fact I learned: Turkey isn’t part of the European Union so they can’t have a hub in Europe; this is why they have to fly from Dulles (and other cities) to Istanbul, and from there fly to Europe and other destinations.

Meg Ryan and Kevin Kline in a familiar passageway in Charles de Gaulle Airport, from “French Kiss.”

I arrived at Charles de Gaulle Airport very late and very tired. We had to walk very, very far in the airport to pick up our luggage, and our trip included going up a few escalators. (And my feet were killing me!) We were cautioned not to get into a taxi with any driver who was hanging around the airport. We were told to only get a taxi outside certain doors because they would be legitimate taxis. We queued up and the line seemed to move…fairly quickly. Then it was my turn. The man who was assigning taxis asked me where I was going. I showed him a piece of paper on which I had written the name of my hostel, its address, and phone number. The first taxi didn’t know where it was. I was assigned another taxi and he told the man he THINKS he knows where the hostel is. Only as we started to drive away did I notice, much to my horror, it looked like he didn’t have a credit card machine. I doubted I had changed enough dollars to Euros for the ride. I was correct. He didn’t have a machine and he had to stop at an ATM to allow me to get cash. I was worried that this might be one of the machines that charges an exorbitant fee but it didn’t. I just wish I hadn’t been quite so tired.

Luckily, Plug-Inn Hostel has a huge banner outside its door, so even a weary traveler or cab driver would see it. I got in at 11:30 P.M. The staff person on duty first took my payment for the two nights I reserved. When I found out that my original understanding was correct – the hostel was 26 Euros a night, or $35 – I reserved a bed for the rest of my time here. I paid for that separately, though I was told I would have to stay elsewhere Saturday night because they were completely booked. Not a problem. Then, I was helped to my room and bed. I was in bed within minutes. It was a very smooth check-in process. The common area when you walk in is just as lovely as their pictures on the web. I just know I’m going to love it here at Plug-Inn Hostel.

Salut !

Airplane image by Can Stock Photo. Image from “French Kiss” used by permission of Blu-ray.com.

French President Francois Hollande’s office sent me a reply to my letter to him telling him how much I would like to teach English in France. I will upload it as I am able.

My time in Paris was heaven-sent: it literally saved my life. I had been through an awful lot and my brain felt worn: I’d been going to the same places using the same routes and doing the same things for so long that the synapses in my brain felt like too many well-worn paths. I needed to do different things to keep my brain fresh.

More importantly, my spirit had been waning. I lost everything I owned prior to 2009 – my pictures, family history documents, my wardrobe, my furniture, everything – and sometimes it’s been difficult to keep my spirits up. A broken heart can kill a person as assuredly as a bullet: it just takes longer. I needed to do something to make my heart leap with joy and to feel really alive again. So, when my TOPA rights (Tenant Opportunity to Purchase Act) were bought out by a buyer of the house I was living in in Washington, D.C., I knew a trip to Paris, my very favorite place, was in order. It was just what I needed. I found a renewed purpose and a sense of hope while I was there. I feel like I belong in Paris. Paris certainly belongs in me. And as a result of my trip, I developed Elsa’s Travel Blog on Paris, and it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I will use it to help others get to Paris and to discuss significant cultural points. As I’ve said elsewhere in this blog, sometimes more divides France and the U.S. than just the Atlantic: I hope to be a bridge between the two cultures. I am a traveler like all others, certainly, but my eyes are open with awareness that antagonism lurks beneath the surface of many people in both cultures, likely due to our differences, and sometimes, to misperceptions. I hope to bring these differences out in the open, at the very least, so people will think about them.

So what lasting impressions did my trip have on me? French people aren’t consumed with making money — their focus is on enjoying life. I was astounded to see adults in coats with their children on kiddie rides — I don’t know whether that would happen in Washington. (Though, honestly, it doesn’t get quite as cold in Paris as in D.C.) I was not astounded or surprised to see French people sit for hours at a café, talking and enjoying themselves: but when it came my turn, I found myself looking at my watch, wondering when the waiter was going to ask me to pay my check and leave, as often happens in the U.S. French people allow you to be your best self, and they still value good manners and class. Moreover, they are not “in your business” all the time: I can’t say any of that about Washingtonians. My passport may state I am an American, but in my heart, I feel French. Well, almost.

Unfortunately, the trouble I’ve been having in the States followed me to Paris. See what I mean:

1. My bank account was frozen twice despite my having given my bank a travel itinerary – and Wells Fargo could never tell me why they did this, even while telling me they saw my travel itinerary in my account documents online.
2. My personal care items (my 3-1-1 bag in my carry-on) went “missing.” I saw the bag when I went through Dulles Airport security, but by the time I got to Plug-Inn Hostel, the bag was gone. I cannot account for what happened to it.
3. My Facebook and Outlook accounts were both frozen shortly after my arrival in Paris. No matter how many security questions I answered to verify my identity for both accounts, neither could be satisfied: they both wanted me to sign in my account “using a computer I’ve previously used.” After my arrival back in the States, they both unlocked themselves, as if by magic.
4. Over half of my pictures were deleted from my digital camera. Not “the latter half” or any segment, but individual pictures, such as when I bought my cape and posed for someone to take my picture in it, all of the pictures I took of Plug-Inn Hostel and its staff, most of the pictures I took at Le Basilic. These are not arbitrary deletions, but rather my favorites – what made my trip unique from someone else’s.
5. Someone threw out my lemon drink, ate my dinner, and stole my water bottle from the refrigerator at Plug-Inn Hostel. They left the lemon drink in the trash for me to see, so it was personal.
6. My resume vanished from my flash drive and the computer I was working on when I tried to print it in Paris. This means there was a virus (or something like it) attached to it to make it delete itself as soon I tried to do anything to it. As a result, I didn’t get to apply for positions to teach English, or at even upload my resume to leboncoin.fr.
7. I contacted Wells Fargo soon after I arrived back in the U.S. about them freezing my account twice when my travel itinerary was clearly visible to Customer Service. A district manager contacted me and told me he would find out. He never contacted me about the outcome of his investigation, and Wells Fargo has forgotten all about it. They recently mistakenly closed my account, so now their focus has been on reopening it for me.
8. My blog is connected to my Facebook account (as well as to Twitter, LinkedIn, and Google+), which means my blog posts are supposed to automatically publish on Facebook and on other accounts. Yet, sometimes Facebook seems to “save” two or more posts and publish them without the featured image for those posts. Facebook can’t do this: they don’t “know” whether I’ll be publishing my next post the next day or the following week. Moreover, I usually see my blog posts in my personal feed but in the public feed, so I manually re-post them.
9. I’ve signed up for two emails, one from French Morning and the other from Page-A-Day, to learn more French, yet I receive neither. In fact, I tried signing up for Page-A-Day’s French Words email several times and even contacted them. I’ve never had trouble receiving newsletters before.
10. So far, I have been unable to upload the .pdf of French President Francois Hollande’s letter to me (that is, from his office) in response to my letter to him telling him how much I’d like to teach English in France. WordPress is designed to upload .pdfs just like other images.
11. Flickr would not “allow” me to search for images for this post.

Which leads me to ask, does anyone really think that all of these things can happen to one person without man-made intervention? I blame the Fancy Boy Idiots. See if you don’t agree.

Salut!

Image of French President Francois Hollande from an interview on July 14, 2012, found on Google. Flickr would not “allow” me to search for images of him.

I said my good-byes and was on my way to the airport before The City of Light was awake.

Tuesday. Travel day to go back to Washington, D.C. I got up at 3:00 A.M. to make sure I was ready before the shuttle came to pick me up at 4:45 A.M. I said my good-byes and grabbed a cup of cappuccino from the machine before I left. The van driver was nice enough to hold my cup for me while I climbed inside.

We had to pick up a few people before going to Charles de Gaulle Airport. I struck up a conversation with a couple from the States seated in front of me; later, I spoke with a young woman who lives in the E.U. and I felt a twinge of jealousy: she spoke of how easy it is for her to travel because she lives in the E.U., and I wished I could be her.

We arrived at the airport and I alighted. I started to make my way to the gate, but stopped first to tell an American something she was asking of her friend, loudly. I don’t even remember what it was, I was so tired as I walked away — I might have been awake, but I was running on adrenaline. Still, I found some coffee (people in Europe say they “had a coffee,” which I’ll miss) and sat down to write a note to French President Francois Hollande on my French stationery that I had bought in a shop near the Eiffel Tower. I told him how much I love his country and how much I’d like to teach English there. The stamp didn’t want to stick to the envelope: good thing I’m always prepared with transparent tape, though it wouldn’t surprise me if it made an awful impression on him or his staff. I located the mailbox downstairs and headed to my gate.

I’m leavin’ on a jet plane…don’t know when I’ll be back again.

I sat patiently waiting for the flight attendants of Turkish Airlines to tell us it was time to board. The flight took off without a hitch. We were served a meal shortly after take off. I struck up a conversation with a French woman who seemed to turn up her nose at me as a(n) (fill in the blank) American. (I didn’t know what she thought of me, but I gathered it wasn’t good.) That’s okay, she seemed to me a bit stiff. Not sure how else to describe it.

Our stop in Istanbul was uneventful. We got back on board to go to Dulles, and I curled up for the long flight. The plane was about half empty so everyone had a lot more room to spread out and sleep, or whatever. I spoke with a couple with a young child about taking more seats, and they said they had their eye on a row right after take-off. The food, as before, was great. I still love French food the best, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy another country’s food.

When we landed in Dulles I found myself hungry again. I tried to find something to eat but my taste buds were on full revolt: they didn’t want to come back to American food. It’s like they were saying, “We want more French food. Now.” Can’t help you there, taste buds. You’ll have to settle for what I can find to eat in the States. In the end, I bought a muffin from Starbuck’s that wasn’t very satisfying – but it was something.

I took the new $5.00 shuttle from Dulles Airport to the Silver Line. Not a bad way to travel, but I’ll bet it’s hurting cab and shuttle businesses. From Metro Center I took a cab to D.C. Lofty Hostel in Washington, D.C., and settled in my room. I’m not sure how long I will be staying, since I have to find a place to live — and accept the fact I’m in Washington for the foreseeable future.

Salut.

“I’m leavin’ on a jet plane…don’t know when I’ll be back again,” from the song, “I’m Leaving on a Jet Plane,” by John Denver, recorded by Peter, Paul & Mary.

Turkish Airlines is the #1 ranked airline in Europe. It is a well-deserved reputation.

Tuesday. I arrived at Dulles Airport last night with too much time on my hands because I didn’t want to take Metro late at night. I read my booklet on my new phone, called T-Mobile a few times with questions, and sat around and waited. Turkish Airlines’ counter didn’t open until a couple of hours before takeoff so I was a bit bored. Once I could check in, I was able to go to the terminal, where there are more places to eat and simply more shops in general. While waiting to board I met a woman named Sharon who is getting married. She is meeting her fiancé in Barcelona. It was nice having someone to talk to at Dulles because I was there for a long time, I’m not much of a night person, and was very tired by the time we boarded. I believe what the experts say: You tend to eat too much when you’re tired. They aren’t kidding!

The flight left Dulles Airport on time at 11:30 P.M. I watched the Jack Ryan movie with Chris Pine and three other movies to make the time go by. (Well, 2 ½ more movies.) My legs felt a bit cramped, and it was much colder in the cabin than I’ve ever experienced before: Good thing I was wearing not only my blue cashmere Pringle V-neck sweater (with a white shirt) but also my black Ann Taylor wool blazer – I would have been freezing without the layers. (Now I sound like a J. Peterman catalogue.) What I couldn’t get over was how much space there was in the overhead compartments! The flight was full, yet there seemed to be plenty of room to be had in the overheads. I can’t remember that ever happening on another airline. The food on Turkish Airlines was very good. I only felt bad because the flight attendants woke up a seatmate so he would eat. He wasn’t too thrilled until he had some wine. A very handsome man was seated behind me. It made the flight more interesting, but I was also a bit suspicious, since he seemed a little TOO interested in me. He was, after all, a lot younger than I am.

We landed in Istanbul for a short lay-over before boarding to Paris. We had a PERFECT flight from Dulles. I couldn’t get over how clean the airport is in Istanbul. No drama, no loud noises. I did notice, however, a man sticking his head into the ladies bathroom to make sure everything was as it should be. I was not the only one who seemed to be a bit taken aback—the women in line seemed a little nervous about having a man putting his head into the ladies room—but they seemed to get over it. (They just eyed him a little suspiciously.) I had a cappuccino and talked to Sharon until I boarded my plane. Everyone around us who was on the flight talked about what a perfect flight it was. No wonder Turkish Airlines is top-rated in Europe. A fun fact I learned: Turkey isn’t part of the European Union so they can’t have a hub in Europe; this is why they have to fly from Dulles (and other cities) to Istanbul, and from there fly to Europe and other destinations.

Meg Ryan and Kevin Kline in a familiar passageway in Charles de Galle Airport, from “French Kiss.”

I arrived at Charles de Gaulle Airport very late and very tired. We had to walk very, very far in the airport to pick up our luggage, and our trip included going up a few escalators. (And my feet were killing me!) We were cautioned not to get into a taxi with any driver who was hanging around the airport. We were told to only get a taxi outside certain doors because they would be legitimate taxis. We queued up and the line seemed to move…fairly quickly. Then it was my turn. The man who was assigning taxis asked me where I was going. I showed him a piece of paper on which I had written the name of my hostel, its address, and phone number. The first taxi didn’t know where it was. I was assigned another taxi and he told the man he THINKS he knows where the hostel is. Only as we started to drive away did I notice, much to my horror, it looked like he didn’t have a credit card machine. I doubted I had changed enough dollars to Euros for the ride. I was correct. He didn’t have a machine and he had to stop at an ATM to allow me to get cash. I was worried that this might be one of the machines that charges an exorbitant fee but it didn’t. I just wish I hadn’t been quite so tired.

Luckily, Plug-Inn Hostel has a huge banner outside its door, so even a weary traveler or cab driver would see it. I got in at 11:30 P.M. The staff person on duty first took my payment for the two nights I reserved. When I found out that my original understanding was correct – the hostel was 26 Euros a night, or $35 – I reserved a bed for the rest of my time here. I paid for that separately, though I was told I would have to stay elsewhere Saturday night because they were completely booked. Not a problem. Then, I was helped to my room and bed. I was in bed within minutes. It was a very smooth check-in process. The common area when you walk in is just as lovely as their pictures on the web. I just know I’m going to love it here at Plug-Inn Hostel.

Salut!

Image from “French Kiss” used by permission of Blu-ray.com.