Home > April in Paris > Archives > 2008 > October > 20
Monday, October 20, 2008
Welcome to Paris
A few weeks ago a dear friend and I were talking about transitioning in our lives when I blurted out, “I have found in my life that the things that cause me the greatest amount of fear are often the very things that allow for life’s greatest rewards.”
Well, here I am.
I can’t really explain how I feel. I am very excited, grateful and exhilarated. I am also shy, nervous (I can’t remember a lick of French from my intensive French course at Baylor), and well, a little scared of the unknown.
I didn’t sleep a wink on the eight-hour flight across the Atlantic with the 5,187-mile distance to destination miles. I had to be separated from my bag with all of my documentation that proves my existence. So, I made myself comfortable watching my favorite movie of all time, “Chocolat,” (set in France, of course) while keeping an eye on my bag. Upon landing, I averted two of my non-French speaking concerns, uh well, actually worries. I found the baggage claim and successfully hailed a taxi. My journey from the Charles De Galle airport to my hotel ended with a big sigh of relief.
The Hotel Claude Bernard was in the Latin Quarter at 43 Rue des Ecoles. The red awning out front touted the traditional interior and quaint ambience. I was greeted by a handsome Algerian named Mamun whom I wondered if he had a mysterious double or if he really worked 24-hour shifts. My room was perfectly to the point with the amenities with my favorite detail being the glass doors that opened to the balcony revealing the beautiful French street below. I showered and decided to sleep off my jet lag in my wonderfully inviting French bed.
I awoke at 3 a.m. like a good baker should and flung open the French doors to the French balcony to remind myself that I really was in Paris. Immediately, I was overwhelmed by the aroma of fresh baked baguettes and sweet pastries pouring into my room. I staggered and looked around. My eyes narrowed. I wondered if I was still asleep and perhaps in a lifelike dream. The freezing air whipped at my nightgown. I was definitely awake. I imagined people in their nightgowns being drawn in a hypnotic trance down French streets and over French bridges towards the indescribable perfume of buttery brioche and pain au chocolat. I pressed myself as far over the banister as I could, to search the dark streets for the source of the intoxicating fragrance. Did I fall victim to an unassuming bread truck making its morning deliveries precisely before I flung open the doors? Or could it be that this is the true Parisian experience in the wee hours every single morning? Chills speckled my arms as I fell back onto my bed and allowed the thick aroma to wash over me and everything in my beautiful French hotel room. Thoughts swirled in my mind like the ingredients in a copper pot for a creme anglaise. I could see the patissiers (French pastry chefs) and boulangers (French bakers) with their white hats gently cutting through the flutter of flour in the warm, kitchen air. The meltingly soft pastries being lovingly brushed with apricot glaze. The thick crusted breads crackling as they came out of the centuries old brick oven.
I laid there in my sugary haze on my French bed. A baker’s out-of-body experience. I am forever changed. What a welcome to France. I peeked, and yes, the carpet in the hallway was red.
