laissez descendre !

Let me begin this blogging business with an intro...


Hi. I'm Lindsay. If you're reading this, then you must know me. And if you know me, then you know that I'm a journaler. If you don't know me, who the heck are you and what are you doing here? Stay, if you like, I'm just asking. Anyways, I'm quite a private journaler and the idea of more than one person reading my writing is foreign to me. It's strange because I normally write with a specific person in mind. And now I have several people in mind. That is, of course, not to say that I don't enjoy reading other people's blogs; it's a great way to keep in touch with people as informal as it may be. But how formal can you be from 6,000+ miles away from everyone? That being said, read it or don't read it -- but I hope to be entertaining and informative about what the heck I'm even doing over here without being narcissistic or overly journalistic and actually I quite enjoy writing in general, but I thought I'd try my hand at public access writing for a while. We'll see where it goes (if at all).


You're already bored, let me get to the good stuff.


For those of you who I may not have told, I'm back in France having weird and crazy adventures while looking for an English teaching job. I have a few interviews but nothing definite. And all of this is absolutely the most terrifying and exciting thing I've ever done -- worse than skydiving even. Yeah. Worse than skydiving.


So, here I am. I left on 9/16 with a hell of an adventure and arrived here on 9/17 in Paris. The adventure began at 4:30 a.m. Tucson time when I got an email from my contact in Toulouse asking me why I didn't show up for my interview with him on the previous Monday (9/14). Um... Excusez-moi? Full-blown panic ensues as I'm under the impression that we're meeting the following Monday (9/21). After thirty minutes fretting over an email to tell him politely that he must have confused the dates, I have to finishing packing because we have to leave for the airport at 5:30 and I'm already freaking out as it is, but now I have this silly thing to worry about.


But it gets better.


The rest of the story goes like this: they made me check my roll-away carry on because there was no more room in the overhead bins by the time I got on the plane which really screwed me because it had all of my interview clothes for Friday, should my other bag get lost. After a very panicked (and rude) flight attendant threatened to close the doors to the plane on me if I didn't hurry up and check my bag, I got on the plane and realized they didn't specify that my final destination was Charles de Gaulle in Paris. Blaaaaaaast.


So, I got to Houston and got the bag issue sorted out -- it turns out it ended up in the "lost baggage" bin in the Continental terminal. Whether I will travel Continental again remains to be seen. But it got sorted out. I sat next to a very nice gentleman from Manchester on my way to London where I was lucky enough to have an empty seat next to me. Cut to Paris, where thank Jesus, Mary and Joseph, my two bags show up and now I'm faced with the problem of lugging around two big obnoxious suitcases on the metro, where people were glaring at me for having to take up so much room. Luckily, a nice Parisian man (what a stereotypical contradiction, right?) helped me off the very crowded train, yelling at everyone "laissez les gens descendre avant!" (let the people off first) or something to that effect, I really don't know, and I just managed to make it out. Boy, I was sweaty.


Then, I realize, holy frick, I have absolutely no idea which direction I need to go in. Another... shall we say.... overly friendly Parisian sees me struggling and offers to help me carry my bags. To which I said, thank you but no thank you. After following me for a couple blocks, he asked me if he could at least help me find my way. To which, I had no choice but to agree. I'm lost in Paris, I needed help and he was offering. He expected an, a-hem, exchange for his help, but once I arrived at the hostel the guy behind the desk saw my dilemma and sent him away. I should probably mention this overly friendly Parisian was a dirty bum. Oh well.


Whew. So, jet-lagged, sweaty and in desperate need of a shower, I arrived in Paris safely, which is all that matters.


I've been here two days, met some pretty interesting people in my hostel including a Kiwi (which I learned is another word for New Zealander), my Austrailian roommate, a Canadian girl, some fool from San Luis Obisbo amongst others which has made my trip really quite exciting thus far. Plus, I think my interview went well, and that's a plus.


Anyways, I'm still jet-lagged. And under-fed. But I hope I will continue this blogging business -- I've always enjoyed other people's blogs and perhaps it's time I shared my writing with my close friends. Seems appropriate. Maybe. On verra, as they say.


gros bisous, xox