Chapitre 1 : Paris, je t'aime

So here it is! My adventure so far...

Exotic lands, foreign tongues, exquisite cuisine.

Préparez-vous for the ride of your life.

Almost.

... My story begins on Wednesday the first of September; having said my goodbyes, Mum, Sian and I set off on our way to Bristol airport, and I donned “mes baskets” for La France. The plan, meticulously organised by Mr. OCD Weston-super-Mare 2010, was to fly from Bristol to Paris CDG, spend the night in Paris and then make our way to Nantes the following morning. In retrospect, I am surprised how calm I actually was ... I was just about to move to a foreign country, to a city I hadn’t really even Googled before, and for someone who takes considerable comfort in having lots of stuff , I was attempting the impossible. Bearing in mind that at the beginning of each year in Cardiff, the vast expanse of junk I cart across the River Severn requires the filling of two large cars, this had to be cut down massively to 40kg ... two suitcases!!!

Apart from almost being the last two passengers to board the EGWW4W2 to Paris - because Mum and I had decided that we fancied a Burger King - the flight was pretty uneventful; no sooner had we reached peak altitude than we were beginning the descent. I did, however, finally get the opportunity to start reading my book - the Collins guide to French Conversation. Page 1: Talking About Yourself.

Getting into Central Paris from Charles de Gaulle is actually very easy on the RER; the hardest part, apparently, is actually buying the tickets and getting through the ticket barriers. No less than two French people asked me (why me?!) for directions, and one lady found herself in a particularly sticky situation at the ticket barrier. You know the way – there is always someone at the airport with three-times their body weight in baggage. Having validated her “aller simple”, but taken too long to get her suitcases through the barrier, she had resorted in trying to persuade innocent by-passers to lift her huge suitcases, obviously crammed full of Class-A drugs (never trust a stranger), over the barrier for her. Eventually a member of staff came to her rescue, and Mum and I jumped on the train; next stop Paris Gare du Nord.

Although the journey was little more than twenty minutes long and there were plenty of normal seats available, it seemed like a good idea to sit on my suitcase. My suitcase that is older than I am. Then, when we arrived at the Gare du Nord, I noticed (to my utter confusion) that my suitcase had now become incredibly hard to pull? I of course battled on, and persisted to drag (quite literally) my suitcase through the streets of Paris in an attempt to find our “Perfect” hostel for the night. It was not until I almost pulled my arm out of my socket that I decided to investigate further; and then did the problem become clear. I was heavier then I had thought, and I had actually managed to bend one of the two wheel axles; and my suitcase now weighed an absolute ton.

To be continued ...