It will only happen once

Despite my refusing to believe it, our first week in Paris is coming to an end.

And since I'm new to the blogging thing, here's what you missed:

On day trois, reality bitch slapped me big time. I was grabbing lunch at the usual creperie that I've frequented one (or two or three) too many times. Cheap, fast, and really, really good. With a freshly made crepe in my hands, I reached into my bag to pay. And I felt... nothing. That's right. Wallet. Gone.

My first thought was "OHHHH, shit." My second thought, "It's totally in my room." My third thought, "Oh god, it's definitely not in my room."

Unfortunately, I was right. It was definitely not in my room. Or in my suitcases. Or in the classroom. Or in one of the 5 or 6 purses I brought. I couldn't believe that I had just lost everything on my third day in a foreign country-- cash, credit cards, license, and most importantly MARC JACOBS! I started to cry, then did what anyone else would do... I called Mom.

Now, Mom-- I love ya to death, but the panic I felt from across the Atlantic made me want to vomit.

Luckily, nothing can really shock the director, Dr. Ed Costello. He calmly suggested that I return to the restaurant where I last had it, and reminded me that everything can be replaced. He then proceeded to tell us straight up horror stories of students on past trips. Including one girl who needed an emergency root canal after drunkenly chipping her tooth, and another who broke both her ankles and had to be sent home. Suddenly, misplacing my wallet didn't seem so bad.

So, I returned to the restaurant, and out of the sheer grace of God, they had found my wallet. I wanted to hug each and every person in there. But since zat is not french, I just thanked them over and over and over again. Until I realized that my one hundred euros cash had conveniently been plucked from their usual holding place. I knew it was a long shot, but I asked them in the most polite way I could...Where's my money.

Here's what I think went down. I dropped my wallet after I paid at dinner. The server found it, swiped my 100 bucks, then figured the rest was useless. They probably assumed I would return, and when I did, they told me they'd found it "in ze toilettes." Yeah, okay. As long as Marc was safely in my hands again, I figured that it was just a really expensive life lesson -- LEARNED.

That night, we decided to go out on the town. We met a cute french boy on a bike (let me rephrase, we met Charlie from Charlie & The Chocolate Factory, on a bike) who gave us directions and showed us to where the cool bars are. Apparently, the "cool bars" are now charging 19 euros for a burger and 12 to wash it down. Uh, thanks but no thanks, Charlie. We retreated all the way back to our hostel, still a little tipsy from the 3 euro wine we drank earlier. And although the day wasn't exactly a success, a bad day in Paris beats a good day just about anywhere else.

Bienvenue

Salut tout le monde!

Like promised, I'm finally starting a blog to document/broadcast my semester in Paris, France. From shopping, to cooking, to studying, to exploring, to loving-- my goal is to keep it lighthearted and entertaining at the very least. Just bear with me, this is my first blog.

I arrived in Paris on Sunday, August 29. Today will be only my 5th day here, but trust me, I've got stories.

As expected with any world traveler, the voyage came complete with it's fair share of challenges. The primary challenge being that I needed to actually come to terms with the fact that I was moving to France for the next three months-- which has lit-er-ally been my dream since high school. And now, 2 days before departure, I still couldn't believe it was really happening.

What did this mean? It meant that only at 10:00 Friday night (with a flight in t-minus 17 hours) did I begin to pack.

Challenge #1: Packing. Anyone who knows me well, knows that packing even for a weekend trip to the Outer Banks of North Carolina brings on great stress and anxiety. To think that I was moving to THE most stylish country in the world?? I needed a Xanax. (And apparently a very costly shopping spree...oops).

So after some serious procrastination (which included cooking a four course meal/ichatting for too long with my biff Cway) and some gentle coaxing from twin sis, Amanda and my equally stressed out mother, I opened my closet and began... one shirt at a time.

Five (+) hours, over 100 lbs of luggage, and 4 different yet completely necessary pairs of boots later, I was pretty much done.

Challenge #2: The goodbye. Oh, the dreaded goodbye. Aside from a minor breakdown due to a terrible pre-departure haircut, I'd say I pretty much kept it together. Not many tears shed, which surprised even me! (But that's not to say I wasn't on the verge of tears 90% of the time during the last 24 hours.) Hugs, kisses, and a few wet eyes all around, then I was on my way.

Challenge #3: Airport security. Every time I make my way down the roped aisles of the airport security line, a familiar panic sets in. I start sweating. I'm fumbling with my ticket and passport, holding half the documents in my mouth while I try to wiggle off my sandals and somehow get everything to land in one bin.

I survey the crowd, praying that I get in behind an elderly man or a mom toting three small children.

You're probably wondering... What the hell would make anyone want to be behind one of these slowpokes. The answer? I myself, am an airport security slowpoke. Nothing relieves me more than when I scoot in behind someone who has to take the little shoes off of all 3 children, all while simultaneously trying to disengage the stroller and send it through the X-ray. Gives me plenty of time to put my laptop, shoes, jacket, purse, and bag neatly in their bins and actually take a breath.

Once I'm at the gate, the rest was easy. Well, relatively.

Somehow. I don't know how, but somehow, I left the country with $0.06 cash. I had only my credit cards. Stupid, I know. Not the best way to start off my European adventure.

Needless to say, I arrived safely at our hostel, le Foyer International des Etudiantes. Exhausted, drunk with sleep but overwhelmed with excitement, we began our trip. I had my first French dinner of quiche and salad and red wine. At 7h00 when I had officially been awake for 30 hours, I passed out at the hostel. Only to awake to more challenges.