flying in

I pressed my nose to the window as I peered down to a patchwork of yellows, greens and browns dotted with little villages of white houses with cheerful red roofs. Every so often, a grey chataeu would pop up between the nestling towns. 

I was surprised at the surrounding countryside of Paris. While Paris is a huge metropolitan city--it's surrounded by seemingly insignificant villages and farms. Landing in Charles de Gaulle looked similar to Nebraska: flat and dry. The only difference was the French signage.

Getting on the Metro, the Paris I imagined had still not appeared. The train roared through industrial areas that were obviously

 European but still no carved statues or gargoyles until we got off the train in the center of Paris.

Emerging from the Metro station was incredible. Cobbleston

e streets, narrow alleys and cafes surrounded by wrought iron gates and planter boxes spilling flowers of all varieties.

Just as I pictured Paris.

My mom told me that little had changed from 1978 and really little has changed in the last several years. As we pulled our wheel-y luggage over cobblestone, I was struck by the age of the city. Seattle was incorporated in the 1800s...Paris was given its name in 212. 

Finally here...

We're here. It's exactly how I imagined it, and somewhat like it was thirty years ago, at least from what my mom is trying to recall. 

The exhaustion is finally setting in and combined with the sights and sounds I feel like a small child, overwhelmed on their birthday by too much cake, ice cream and presents.

I think, like most small children, what I need is a nap in our petite hotel room. 

It's 1990 in Chicago-O'Hare

written earlier:

Finding a power outlet to charge my laptop in the Chicago O’Hare International Airport is like trying to find free WiFi here.

Impossible.

I did eventually find an outlet. It took me several terminals but at C12 I got lucky. Sneaking behind the terminal’s front desk, I found an oversized power strip with an opening for my charger.

Refusing to pay for the WiFi, I decided to type my post into Microsoft Word while my laptop charged. So here I sit, partially hidden by the desk, hoping that borrowing an outlet isn’t against some federal law. You can never be too sure in an airport.

The flight over here was fine. I’m hungry because United doesn’t even serve pretzels, but at least I’m energized by a cup of in-flight coffee strong enough to fuel a jet.

My mom and I have about two hours left until we board the plane for Paris. It still hasn’t clicked in even though a family of four is chatting away in French a few seats away from me. I haven’t tried to listen in yet; I need more practice first.

 

 

 

Europe 1978 and Europe 2009

In 1978, Jimmy Carter was president, and Grease topped box office charts. My mom Debbie was fresh out of high school and living in Santa Rosa, California with her parents, and planning for what she called "the trip of a lifetime."
One of her good friends Wynn was living with her family in Germany while her dad was stationed at the U.S. army base in Stuttgart and invited Debbie to join her and her two sisters, Maca and Dawn, on a road trip through Europe.

The girls piled into a VW bug and left, driving down through Germany, Switzerland, Italy and crossing over into Monaco. They then drove along the Mediterranean through the south of France, Spain and up to Paris. The two month trip was captured by my mom on her Kodak 110 camera accompanied by her daily entries in a brown journal.

After Europe, she returned to California, attended Chico State University and eventually moved up to Washington with my dad. She never had the opportunity to go back to Europe.


Debbie in front of Buckingham Palace, 1978


Jump forward 22 years and some odd months. I'm a senior at the University of Washington, preparing to graduate with a degree in Journalism. Like most other students, I'm wondering what I'll do post-graduation...get a job? Move away? Or travel the world?

One evening I was doing laundry, avoiding a paper that needed to be written when my phone rang. I ignored it. Later I checked it to find a missed call from my dad and an accompanying voicemail.

"Erika," my dad said. "Call me please. I have some good news."

Now, sometimes when my dad calls me with good news, it's news about the dog learning a new trick, or maybe my brother getting a good grade in high school. When I picked up the phone to return his call, I didn't expect anything significant.

What he told me had me in complete shock.

"I've booked a flight for you and mom to Paris for this summer," he told me as soon as he heard my voice. "I have a lot of frequent flier miles expiring soon so I thought you guys could use them."

I was shocked to say the least. I've never traveled extensively; the majority of our family's vacations growing up were to visit family in California. Going to France wasn't even on my radar.

That was several months ago.

Now I'm finally leaving. My flight leaves tomorrow morning and I'm not sure if the reality of this trip has sunk in.

Thirty-one years ago, my mom felt the same way.

"I've always wanted to Europe and now my dream has come true; and I'm only 18," she wrote in the first entry in her journal.


I feel the same way.

I've always wanted to see France and now my dream has come true--and I'm only 22.



Debbie's journal

Traveling with my mom...through Europe

My mom and I have always gotten along well.

There was a rough patch in junior high, but what thirteen-year-old girl agrees with her mother? Not many.

By the time I hit high school, my mom and I rarely fought. (And if we did disagree it usually was about my younger brothers and specifically the way I bossed them around, rather than something between us.

So it's not odd for me, a 22-year-old college graduate, to travel France with my 40-something mom, Debbie.

While we may look alike, (see picture at left--my mom is on the right), we are still different people.

Take for example our ideas of schedules. Although my mom once traveled Europe with no itinerary, buying food at open-air markets and stopping at the nearest hostel for the night, this trip is organized--including already booked hotel rooms and rental car.

It's not that I don't like the organization; I do. But I wonder if by the time I get to Paris, I may want to stay longer...or perhaps Chartres has captured my imagination, however, the master schedule has us only staying for one night there.

Playing it by ear sounds more like a vacation to me.


Official Itinerary:
Paris August 22,23,24,
Depart am on 25th stop in Chartres head down to Bois spend August 25,26th
Depart am on 27th for Sarlat spend August 27, 28th at Sarlat
Depart am on 29th for Avignon spend August 29th,30th at Avignon
Depart am on 30th for Lyon, spend August 30th in Lyon.
Depart am on 31st for Fountainbleau and Paris, spend 31st, September 1st 2nd 3rd in Paris

European toilet paper

I was visiting with friends last night, talking about my upcoming trip and the blog I would be updating.

"What is your angle?" asked one of them. "You need an angle for your blog."

I hesitated.

"Two weeks in France," I said. "I don't want to go too specific." He nodded, pondering.

"Two weeks in France," he repeated. "Has it been done?"

I wasn't sure.

Another friend jumped in.

"I know what you need to post about!" she said. I waited expectantly for her solution.

"Toilet paper!" she said.

I felt my forehead wrinkle and wondered if she was joking.

"Toilet paper!" she repeated, more enthusiastically. "Listen. When I went to Europe, there was all kinds of different toilet paper. Thin stuff, thick stuff, weird hard stuff..." she trailed off.

I still wasn't sure if she was kidding.

"I brought home all the different kinds," she continued. "I have pieces from Italy, France, Switzerland, you name it."

She wasn't kidding.

"I'm not sure I want to blog about toilet paper," I told her, smiling.

"I bet people would want to read about it," she replied. My other friend laughed.

"They don't even use toilet paper in France!" he said. "They use bidets." (prounced bi dei)

Horrified, I stepped back.

"I thought those were Japanese," I said. He laughed again.

"Nope! French! You should know that. And you should use one; it's an experience!"

My other friend jumped in. "Then blog about it!"

"Oh, I don't know," I replied. "You guys are weird." They laughed even harder.

"You can come see my toilet paper collection anytime," my friend told me.


While my friends were helpful in trying to help me find an "angle" for my blog, I don't think I'll take their suggestions.
Rather I hope to blog one day at a time, attempting to capture my two weeks there. And if a day includes unusual toilet paper...well then, maybe I'll consider writing about it.

Ma rêve française

I've dreamed of visiting France for a long time. Everything about the country; the culture, the food, the fashion, fascinates me.

In high school I opted to study French.

During the height of the war in Iraq, I refused to say "freedom fries."

To this day, I defend the French people and the French culture, even though I've never stepped foot inside the country.

And finally, I am going. For two weeks, my mom and I will travel the country, starting in Paris and meandering our way down to the coast and back up again.

It's a short trip for a large country, but it's a start. I leave Friday, and I can't wait.