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.

Wednesday.

I bought some food, mostly breakfast items, and labeled them and put what I needed to in the fridge. It was so funny: a traveler in Paris saw me labeling my food with my magic marker before putting it in the fridge and looked at me wide-eyed, asking where can she get one of those; I told her I had brought it from home. There’s something to be said for being an experienced traveler: I am ready for anything. The magic marker, transparent tape, and small scissors that I keep tucked away in my backpack come in handy in a lot of situations.

Christmas in Washington certainly has its charms for me, but it isn’t Paris.

D.C. Lofty is a great place for travelers to stay: People generally leave you alone, yet there always seem to be people you can talk to. It has a hippie-commune vibe but with modern technological gadgets (computers and plasma TVs). Like many hostels, all of the rooms seem to have their own personality: what I really love are the comfy comforters on the beds. Comforters are a dime a dozen and never before have I thought about a comforter’s softness much; usually, I’m considering a comforter because of its color. These comforters aren’t “a feast for the eyes” or anything, but they are so SOFT. How can anyone have a bad night’s sleep with such a soft comforter to wrap yourself in?

Like Plug-Inn Hostel, DC Lofty had a banner outside announcing its presence; a welcome sight to any tired traveler.

I plan to stay here for at least three days to catch my breath.

Salut !

Featured image by Can Stock Photo. “Christmas Tree in Union Station,” by David Shane, Flickr, CCBY 2.0. Image of DC Lofty entrance by Yelp.

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 “have 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 !

All images by Can Stock Photo. “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.

The 284 steps inside the Arc de Triomphe are probably not for the faint of heart, but there are places to stand aside and rest.

Sunday. A lot of attractions are free today. Unfortunately, it’s cold and rainy…the type of cold that seeps into your bones. I took the metro to Champs-Elysees, mostly to go to the top of the Arc de Triomphe. I took pictures all around it and while I was on the top level. I happened to get there just before a crowd came (which I saw on my way out). The lift was broken, so I had to walk up a lot of stairs in a very winding staircase – I thought I heard someone say there are 222 steps to get to the top – but hostel staff told me there are 284. While the width of the staircase was small, there were occasional landings where you can step aside and rest while allowing others to pass; as someone who studied design, I found that design detail impressive. Sometimes it has seemed to me that designers and architects forget much-needed details, like having spaces for people to catch their breath on staircases while not holding up people behind them. There were exhibits in the Arc de Triomphe on military uniforms and aspects of the monument’s design. There was also a shop for souvenirs. I people-watched for a bit: I love seeing the joy on people’s faces as they investigate Parisian sights.

After I took plenty of pictures (and had a couple taken of me), I was so cold I had to leave. I didn’t want to. I went to the McDonald’s on the Champs-Elysees to use the restroom, and took some more pictures until my fingers were too frozen to handle the camera. It might have been the coldest day of the trip. Funny enough, I was feeling so frozen, I decided to take a couple of pictures of Queen Elsa.

I headed back to the hostel and grabbed a Grand Marnier crepe on my way. It was hard to eat with frozen fingers, but I managed. (!)

Queen Elsa on the Champs-Elysees. It was so cold when I was there, I’m sure she felt right at home.

Salut !

Images of Ferris Wheel at the Place de la Concorde and McDonald’s by Can Stock Photo. Image of Arc de Triomphe staircase by Wally Gobetz, Flickr, CCBY 2.0. All other images by Elsa L. Fridl.

Information on the Arc de Triomphe taken from Wikipedia article, “Arc de Triomphe,” retrieved July 26, 2015.

I ached all over from my quick trip to London, but the pain was worth it.

Saturday. Since I got back to Plug-Inn Hostel very early (around 7:00 A.M.) from London, I went to bed after breakfast. I had to stay in bed most of the day: my feet were killing me, my back and neck were sore from being scrunched up in the coach (bus), and I simply felt achy all over. I completed the picture by walking around the hostel (what little I did) with wild hair again. I talked with staff and others about my experiences in London and drank oodles of cappuccino from the machine. Hostel staff told me the weather in Paris changed for the worse just after I left.

I also finished reading Elvis: My Best Man, and thought about what I want to do for the rest of my time here, especially tomorrow, since many attractions are free (it’s the first Sunday of the month). It’s been cold and rainy, and it looks like more of the same tomorrow.

An image of how my heart feels to be in Paris.

Still, a bad weather day in Paris beats a good weather day anywhere else, hands down. It might be raining outside, but in my heart there’s sunshine: that’s what Paris does for me.

Salut !

Images by Can Stock Photo.