As of last Wednesday, I am officially back in the land of Pain au Chocolat. The journey here was a long one. This time, I opted for the cheaper route and ended up taking three planes, two taxis and two trains to reach my Airbnb.
I’m staying in the pedestrian-only zone of the city so when my taxi driver dropped me off on the street that bordered it, he plopped my big, red suitcase on the sidewalk and pointed up the steepest incline I’ve probably ever seen, and tells me it’s all the way at the top. Good luck.
And if I didn’t already think my life was some sort of comedy or secret long-running prank show on MTV, I definitely did now. You could say I made a lasting first impression on all of the French people on the street and in restaurants who stopped what they were doing to stare as the funny American girl dragged Big Red up the cobblestone hill with all of the willpower she could muster. A group of middle aged men approached me and looked like they were about to offer their help, but I just said the street name I was looking for (at this point, I was still in disbelief that it really was all the way at the top of the hill). And they too pointed all the way to the top, laughed and said “bonne courage.”
I’m sure that’s just the first of many funny stories I’ll have to share when I get home.
The rest of the week has been apartment hunting, setting up my phone & bus pass (which the neighbor was kind enough to help me do on my first night here), learning the bus system, speaking subpar French to amused locals and going to the beach.
I’ve always wanted to live in a beach town and plan on taking full advantage of the location I’ll be dwelling in for the next eight months.