Thursday, November 10, 2011


My boyfriend and I talk almost every day whether via email, gchat, or Skype. Most of what we talk about is how much we miss each other. I know, how nauseating is that?! I constantly nag him to come and visit me because, well, I'm a woman and lord knows we love to nag. I, personally, live for it! And while I am often convinced that I am 100% in the right, my boyfriend did have a legitimate point recently. It was bound to happen eventually. 

He made the point that since he has a job and I was no longer going to be working at my internship, that it would make much more sense for me to come and visit him. As we were discussing this I was still trying to figure out what to get him for his birthday. So just for fun I went online to see how much a flight would be. Of course it was going to be ridiculous, it was less than a week before his birthday. But thanks to this turned out to not be the case. A ticket was only 530 euros. How could I resist?

So I booked it and didn't tell him. This was just too good not to have it be a surprise. Of course my mother pointed out that it may go down in flames like so many surprises tend to but I told her that instead of being a mom with good advice she should actually blindly support me (I believe I actually called her a "wet blanket"). What did I care at that point if he was disappointed to see me, or even worse, had another girl hanging around? This was me living in the moment and consequences be damned! Plus I thought it would be romantic as hell if it turned out. And I could not wait to see the look on his face. 

So now a few days have passed and I am sitting in the airport waiting for my flight. For once in my life I left early to make sure I didn't miss it. This turned out to be a smart idea considering there was a strike on the RER and my train was all fubar'd. It took me a good fifteen minutes to figure out what was going on and then another 30 to figure out where the hell to go. I boarded the wrong train, of course, but this was an easy remedy and so I just got off and waited for the right one to come. But then there was another obstacle to hurdle. There were two terminal stops for Charles de Gaulle and I had no idea which one to take. 

I had actually written down all the information that I thought was important but had failed to write the terminal down. I'm still convinced that that was even given. Either way I took my chances and got off at the first one. Worse come to worse I could just get back on the train again and keep going. And hallelujah! It was actually the correct place to get off. Luck was turning my way! 

Going through airport bullshit is probably on my top ten list of things I hate to do. Waiting in line sucks in general but especially when its with a bunch of people stressing out about missing their flight. And when you have to go through customs this is bound to happen at least three times. Plus there's lots of walking and looking at signs and people who take advantage of the smidgen of authority they have. It's essentially a melting pot of all the things that give me a headache and make me feel like I need to shower. 

But something interesting I observed while on this odyssey to my gate was my status within this mass of people. I am certainly not French. But I am also not a tourist. I actually do, on occasion, try to speak french to people and on an even more rare occasion we understand each other. I also am used to the french attitude and so it doesn't get under my skin as much as it used to. It's not personal, its just their personality. So it was somewhat humorous for me to watch all these American tourists fumbling in the French system and being, well American. Who was I?

I don't really know but I do find it somewhat hilarious that I obviously think I'm superior to the French as a whole because, well, I'm not French. And at the same time I think I'm superior to American tourists because I'm not a tourist, and really who likes those fools? I just hope I don't become one of those people who, upon returning to the US, feels all high and mighty because they lived abroad. I mean I am cooler but really, everyone already knows that, I don't need to rub it in their face.

So for the time being I'm just going to surprise my boyfriend and hope it goes over well. The gigantic box of Pierre Herme macarons that I brought for him shouldn't hurt either. And of course I brought a few smaller ones to buy my friends with. The truth is when someone lives abroad and comes home, I think it's just rude not to bring goodies with you. What kind of A-Hole does that? It's something you always look forward to when your parents go on awesome trips, so why not bring that little bit of childhood with you in your carryon? 

1 comment:

  1. Exactly! Gifts are AWESOME and by the way the first choice for coloring tools are your colored pencils. The boys love them. And my macaroons were just delectable.