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.

Moulin Rouge, where Henri Toulouse-Lautrec found inspiration for his art.

Monday. My last day in Paris. I can’t believe a month has gone by already. I’m trying to savor every moment today. I’m pretty organized – I’ve reorganized my stuff enough times, I should be – so I went to buy that cute mug I saw in a shop nearby (with its own spoon!) and bought a few other small souvenirs. A guy who has a kiosk selling souvenirs at Blanche Metro had gone to his home country and come back, so I got to say good-bye to him. He asked me when I would be returning: I told him I didn’t know, but that my heart will always be here. He smiled in recognition.

I went to Champs-Elysees one last time, and took in the ambiance as much as I could. I don’t want to leave. I belong here. I wandered around taking pictures until I knew I couldn’t put it off any more. I walked to the Champs-Elysees Metro and took it for the last time to Blanche Metro. After I got off, I took some pictures of Moulin Rouge and met some travelers: one of them asked me if I wanted my picture taken. Sure! Then I walked up the Montmartre hill to Le Basilic and had dinner there again – another perfect French meal — and took a few pictures, saying my good-byes. Then I went back to Plug-Inn Hostel. I am thankful for my time here. I’ve made a lot of connections with people, some of whom I’ve forgotten to write about in my journal: my long-term memory is so much better than my short-term, that sometimes I remember things better 6 months to a year later than I did right after an experience. I still have more to say about my trip. Well, that’s something. Maybe I can even blog about it.

Salut !

Images of Paris metro train and metro doors by Can Stock Photo. All other images by Elsa L. Fridl.

The Champs-Elysees at night. The Ferris Wheel at the Place de la Concorde is visible in the background.

Thursday. Thanksgiving 2014. I am very grateful to be in Paris regardless, but I am also thankful to be away from all the drama in the States. Chuck Hagel was forced to resign as Defense Secretary—I wonder what that means for my situation. (He was enlisted in the U.S. Air Force.) Seems like a lot of plot points are changing – like Connie Stinson – oh, excuse me – the REVEREND DR. Connie Stinson – resigning from the D.C. Baptist Convention before she became its president. Enquiring minds want to know!

I’ve used the day so far to plan what else I will do, making sure I make the most of free/almost free things. There is a still a lot I’d like to do, but I’m being mindful of going to London for a day or two. I’m not really looking forward to it. I love being here. I love the French people and everything about their culture…I am truly in heaven. It isn’t that I haven’t had a bad or unpleasant experience here; it’s that an unpleasant experience here is easier to tolerate.

I need to see if I can print and/or redo my CV and apply to a few places, perhaps at Sephora, and of course, to teach English. The computers at Plug-Inn Hostel will only print .pdf documents. I’m not going to plan my trip to London much, except for what I will say on my placard at Buckingham Palace.

I believe one reason French people are more physically fit than Americans is because they savor food. When you eat slow, you eat less.

Rick Steves says that American ex-pats in Paris during the holidays all tend to go to a shop named Thanksgiving to get cranberries and boxes of stuffing on Thanksgiving Day. (Nothing like a little solidarity on an American holiday.) I thought of going there just to be part of the excitement and to see other American ex-pats. I decided, instead, to have a Thanksgiving meal after all. I went to Le Basilic again (4^th time!) and had veal with green beans in mushroom sauce, a glass of Pinot Noir, coffee and chocolate mousse. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Le Basilic should be at least a 3-star restaurant, it is soooooooooo good. And who can complain about the service? They check in with me from time to time to see if I need anything else while allowing me to enjoy the experience. As Rick Steves says, once you get a table for dinner at a restaurant in Paris, it is essentially yours for the night. Tips are included in the bill, so there’s no rushing you out the door. It also makes for more relaxed servers: they know they’re getting paid. The U.S. should adopt this philosophy with servers.

I purchased a black cape similar to this one in Paris. When a woman feels elegant, she carries herself elegantly.

I decided to buy the cape I saw, since it has been a lifelong dream to buy a cape in Paris since I first saw one at Garfinckel’s so many years ago. I love it!!! I feel so feminine in it!! And my Cache pants fit! It was a magnificent night, probably around 57 degrees Fahrenheit. I LOVE the energy of Paris at night. People feel so alive: it’s in their faces and their body language. Many people are with their significant other. Love is in the air. The lights are beautiful. I didn’t want to go back to the hostel, I wanted to feel that energy from the top of my head to the tips of my toes and in my bones.

I love the energy of Paris at night.

Finally, my bones said, “Enough already! We need some sleep!” So I took the metro and went back to Plug-Inn Hostel. I crawled into bed with a huge smile on my face.

Salut !

Image of Champs-Elysees and restaurant by Can Stock Photo. Image of Vintage Black Cape by CastawayVintage, Flickr, CCBY 2.0. Image of energy of Paris at night by Elsa L. Fridl.

I woke up in a mixed dorm with a man’s torso in my field of vision. Ooh la la!

Monday. I had to switch rooms because a group was coming in and they would need to stay together in my favorite room, the only room with 5 beds. (Violet gets to stay since she is only here for one more day.) I stayed in a mixed dorm and I woke up with a man’s torso in my field of vision! Hmmmmmmmmmmmm. The people in this room were all one group, and I waited for them to leave before I showered so as to stay out of their way. No sooner did I get dressed that my favorite chamber maid told me I could go back to my favorite room.

After I moved back to Violet’s room, she and I had another great conversation. It was great talking to someone who is so informed and knowledgeable about current issues facing her own nation and elsewhere. I asked her if she wanted to go for lunch or dinner. We decided to meet up at 7:00 P.M. for dinner. I told her how good the food is at Le Basilic and how large the portions are, including the appetizers.

I took this while on my way to buy some weights to use at the hostel.

Nicdadya told me where I can get some free weights so I can exercise while I am here. I went to get my weights from Decalthon near Ternes Metro. I bought 2 3kg (7 lbs.) weights: they’re perfect for what I want (lunges, squats, arm exercises, standing abdominals). I’ll probably start working out tomorrow. Violet thinks I’m making quite a commitment in getting weights to work out with, but I told her I can’t go for a whole month without exercising. They also didn’t cost much. Besides, I rest better after I exercise, and unfortunately, as much as walking tires me out, it isn’t enough to keep the weight off. And I just KNOW that all of the croissants and good French food I’ll be eating here will be taking its toll on my waistline, as it is.

Elsa and Violet at Le Basilic.

Violet and I went to Le Basilic (my third time) and we continued our great conversation. She asked me what made me make this place “my place” that I wanted to come back to again and again. I told her that while I found it a short distance from the hostel, I want to keep coming back because the food and service is so good. It’s funny, I was a bit startled by her asking me what I thought. Many times people talk to me because they want advice; people don’t often just talk to me because they want to know what I think. It was also nice to talk to an intelligent woman, because although I generally prefer a man’s company, I miss having woman friends like I used to have. There has been a real give-and-take to our conversations. Although I warned her that the portions here are quite large, tsk tsk, she didn’t listen. She ordered two appetizers as her meal and could barely finish one. She offered me some of the second one. I knew it would be hard for me to finish what I had ordered, so I only took a bite or two.  I’m sorry she’s leaving tomorrow.

I set up my SkillPages page in an effort to teach English here.

Salut !

Image of Paris architecture by Elsa L. Fridl. All other images by Can Stock Photo.

Friday. I moved into another room with a skylight and only one other person, Violet. She and I had a long talk, during which I told her many of the basics of my situation. She told me she believed another country calls the shots in the U.S. and that the U.S. is run by an oligarchy, including corporations. (Perhaps I should say she is not from the U.S.) Intriguingly, I recently spoke with U.S. citizens who told me the same thing. She further said that if you put a group of people in a room, all from different countries, including the U.S., there would be a “heaviness” about us that we don’t see because we’re too close to it. She is so perceptive! She also asked me if I thought of going public about my situation, and suggested I have oral surgery as well. I told her it’s a matter of finding a dentist who will pull a tooth without asking the reason for my request, and whom I can trust. It isn’t so much that I can’t trust dentists — after all, my father was a dentist — but my situation requires me to be extra cautious.

It usually rains rather than snows in Paris, which is okay by me. I love the rain.

I felt very lethargic, possibly because of the rain (though I love rain). I didn’t get out of the hostel until about 4:45 P.M. I ate at Le Basilic again: tomatoes and mozzarella skewer, cod with spinach in a light sauce, bread, a glass of wine (Pinot Noir, a new favorite) and cappuccino. Culinary heaven. The French really know how to eat and live. I saw Violet out with friends. Later, Violet went to Moulin Rouge for a performance. I went to bed, though first I organized for my night at the Gold Hotel (tomorrow).

Salut !

Images by Can Stock Photo.