July 18, 2006: from the Paris backlog
Posted Monday, August 07, 2006 @ 11:44 PM

9:32 PM, Paris time

We arrived and waited at the McDonald's in terminal C for Rainier and Erin, who were set to arrive thirty minutes after us. Our flight was late by nearly an hour, but still no Erin and Rainier. Finally they caught up with us and we all went down to la Gare to get train tickets and take the RER into the city. Already it was insufferably hot, although once we got on the train it became hotter. Charles DeGaulles is an archiectural beauty in many ways, but becoming a greenhouse during the summer months is not one of them—the glass design allows plenty of beautiful, natural light to filter through, but with it comes the heat.

The RER is a train train, rather than a metro, although by most standards it's exactly the same (the only difference being that it makes fewer stops). From Charles DeGaulle at the end of the line to St. Michel, the area we're staying (a stone's throw from Luxembourg Gardens at one end and Notre Dame on the other, if you have a good arm), it's around ten stops, which I suppose took us around 45 minutes. The train was probably ten degrees hotter than the outside, which was in the low 90s (err...excuse me, 30s). The longer we were on the train the more the heat became like a sedative.

Despite some good sleep on the flight, I was tired and had my usual unsettled airplane stomach, which is a pain that comes annually whenever I suffer through an international flight. Everything else is fine, but it's the stomach aches that get me. Even when I don't eat they come—I figure it has something to do with the dry air or cabin pressure. It always leaves me wondering why the hell I put myself through traveling overseas, since the first day is miserable—delicious food becomes unappetizing, like watching a stomach cramp writhe in grease or salad dressing on a plate. I did surprisingly well on the Abernathy Trip, with very little illness at all, but this has been more like last year's trip to France where I try to eat something, thinking I'll feel better, and then get nauseous and nap in the hot hotel room, sticking to my sheets, while the rest of the travelers go out for their first activity.

This time the activity was the Pantheon, which isn't far from our hotel. Apparently it's cool (temperature wise), has a pendulum, and a crypt where lots of famous Frenchmen are buried—Voltaire, Hugo, Curie, etc. I don't regret going all that much, but I do sort of feel like a fish—my bedsheets are damp from all the wet washcloths and towels I used to try and cool off. It's amazing how much more powerful nausea becomes when there's no air conditioning.

Before I plopped down in the bed for several hours, smothered by wet towels, the five of us (me, Mom, Dad, Erin, Rainier) walked a few blocks to find a place to eat, and settled on a creperie. My salad, la Parisienne, was delicious, with mustard vinegarette, ham, egg, tomato. When the crepe arrived, I felt thoroughly ill (so far this is turning out to be a journal of my digestive system), and Mom and I left early to come back to the hotel so I could lie down.

I feel like I haven't seen much of Erin and Rainier yet, perhaps because I haven't been feeling well so I can't pester and play with them like we usually do (my sister and I are very silly when we're together). They have their own room down the hall, and I have one with my parents. The trouble with being single while traveling, or with traveling singly, is that you get all the crap beds. It's not the case with this hotel—they're all the same—but usually there is a queen and a cot, and since I am the youngest and sleep only with my computer, I'm a natural choice for small, uncomfortable mattresses. I'm betting this will especially be the case once we arrive in Le Mans where beds will be scarce at Christian and Viviane's (my uncle and aunt-in-law, as we shall call them). Before Rainier was in the picture, my sister and I sometimes got a separate room, but now that she's married I suppose those days are over. [It turns out all this was true—I had crap beds until we go to Tours and I had my own room. The good thing about being single and traveling singly is that you get a whole dessert to yourself when eating out.]

Dad is already snoring next to me. I forget this is one of the other advantages of sharing a room with my parents.

Can you tell that the stomach ache has put me in a rotten mood?

Tomorrow we'll wake and wander to our favorite bakery down the street (I rather like staying in the same area every year—you get to know places as if you were a local, gradually adding more restaurants and shops to a small list of favorites). Dad mentioned starting at Jardins de Luxembourg—my favorite gardens in Paris—and I think we'll also shop on Rue de Passy, a market street with lots of fromageries, boulangeries, etc. to collect food for a picnic at the Eiffel Tower, one of our annual traditions. In the future, if I come to study at the Sorbonne or I travel here without Erin and Rainier, I shall miss them terribly when I picnic at the tower.

So, at 10:03 I'm off to bed before Dad's snoring gets any heavier. Hopefully more sleep will rid me of my belly ache and I can start the day with a good cup of coffee and a light pastry.

Bon soir.

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