This is another excerpt from the journal I kept when I travelled for the first time this year. I wasn’t initially going to post it, but I’ve had some positive feedback from the few people with whom I did share it, so I’ve gone ahead and made it public. This particular entry covers my first day in Paris. You can read the other entry I posted here.

Charles de Gaulles Airport is fucking hideous. To have such an uncomely slab of concrete greet you as you land in Paris, it’s no wonder that Japanese tourists are on occasion reportedly struck with a condition in which their disappointment that Paris is not seething with romance and sophistication at every turn leads them to be physically ill. This is to say nothing of the industrial wasteland that one passes through on the RER B from Charles de Gaulles to Central Paris.

The patrons boarding the train at early stops were an especially colourful assortment of characters. Not yet being in the heart of the city, I felt especially foreign among a group of locals who I’m sure were equally aware of my status as newly landed. The massive suitcase with an airport tag did nothing to really help this matter, and though I didn’t wish to give credence to stereotypes regarding pickpockets on European public transit, I held on to my wallet with extra vehemence.

It was something of a small miracle that I made it to Montparnasse. The terminal at CDG was nothing like some travel guides I read had described and I was slightly lost when it came to buying my train ticket. In addition, all the French that I had practiced prior to taking this trip suddenly escaped me, likely due to nervousness, forcing me to make my inquiries in English, which in turn inspired an internal state of raging Catholic style guilt and self-laceration. Add still to this that the Paris Metro is not exactly built on a philosophy of accesibility. As a result, I found myself dragging my fifty pound suitcase up long flights of stairs for a good part of the morning, at one point picking up and tossing the motherfucker over the turnstiles at a transfer point before putting in my ticket and going through myself.

Paris from the top of the Pantheon, which is truly the best view of the city.

Montparnasse is especially chaotic and laden with traffic, both human and vehicular. Gare Montparnasse itself is crawling with rushing travellers and is a pain in the ass to navigate because escalators will only get you to some floors but not others – other floors can be accessed by escalators going down from certan levels. Make sense? Didn’t think so. Through trial and tribulation and dragging around my jetlagged body – seven hour overnight flight with no sleep and a jump of six hours ahead by the time I landed – I found the lockers where luggage can be stored and rid myself of my suitcase, quite literally a load off. I then paid fifty cents to take a piss and don’t care to discuss that episode any further.

By this point, I had about two hours to kill before I met my companion and host for my time in Paris. With the task of conquering my fear of flying and getting to the center of Paris behind me, I was nonetheless exhausted and, truth be told, despondent. A series of small moments, however, would bring my journey to its true beginning, and a euphoric beginning at that.

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