The day started calmly enough, with a lazy roll over at the sound of the alarm, a final snuggle with sister and mom, shower as usual, followed by my coffee and yogurt with fruit and granola (all about which I remarked, These are better in France.). After a few last minute business details reviewed--you know, like bequeathing all I have and am responsible for to my mother in case I am rendered disabled, incompetent, or dead--and observing communion with mom and sister, we trekked to Dallas/Fort Worth for Flight 48, a straight shot into Paris Charles de Gaulle. Having shown little emotion all week over my quickly approaching departure, I was ecstatic to find that not only had I packed by the 50 pound limit, I had a couple of pounds to spare, with my 3rd bag--a new transient-lifestyle friendly large daypack--weighing in at 32 pounds. The lady behind the counter did not seem to meet my enthusiasm as she blankly handed me my ticket calling for "next." Then came the teary goodbyes, of everyone else but me. My mother, sister, and friend Melissa hugged me goodbye, took one too many pictures, and walked me up to and into the security line. Passing through the security check after breaking a couple of rules (I don't read directions thoroughly, apparently.), I rounded the hallway to the right, spotting my gate and taking a seat. Within 45 minutes, I was boarding.
I could dwell on all the details of my uneventful flight, made more delightful by a middle-aged French woman who willingly offered conversation for the duration of our time together. Her commentary on the U.S., French cuisine and coffee, weddings (she had attended one this past week), and shopping intrigued me; thankfully, however, I did get some sleep during the night and pushed my system to regulate to the French clock as soon as possible. After being fetched by Thad McAuley, a GEM missionary, I was aided in staying awake by a couple of French outings which followed.
Joy McAuley and I went to the grocery store where I had a quick refresher course in French produce vocabulary along with an introduction into baking ingredients and spices. Did you know you can't get baking powder in France?! I didn't. You can make it with cream of tartar, however, but you can't get that either! I will have to determine another way to bake for the guests I plan to have. After the grocery store and lunch, I read and napped for 20 minutes before the ultimate "keep you awake" French outing--Le Tour de France!!! That's right folks--first day in France and what do I get to see but the second leg of the Tour finish line in Compiegne, France. It was fantastique--after 3 1/2 hours standing and waiting for the bikers' arrival, they flew in, bumping and rattling their way over the last 900 cobble-stoned meters. I'm sure the cobble-stones are the least of their riding woes, but to the lay observer, we thought it looked rather uncomfortable and jarring. Once the whir of the final seconds passed, I and the McAuleys returned home by way of the Greek sandwich shop--yum yum!
After a full two days, minus some hours, I am a bit tired and will roll into bed shortly. For now, I am still looking out the window, blinking and thinking "I am here." Maybe tomorrow it will fully register.
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