10/26/19: an idiot abroad: paris to london

So I just had to take a video of myself trying—and failing—to use a shower, and I had to send that video to a stranger. Well, I say “stranger,” but I’ve become very close to the Support Team for this AirBnB and am starting to think of them almost as a friend. I call them “ST” in my messages now, and while I am extremely nervous that this shower situation might be user error, I feel like ST isn’t going to judge me too harshly, at least not to my face, because it is literally their job to deal with idiots like me. Dirty idiots, even. Still, I have blisters forming on my right hand from the amount of time and effort I have spent trying to pull a knob up higher than it wants to go, trying to confirm that I have pulled it up as high as it will go, and I really should just settle for taking baths for the next week as there is something about videoing yourself failing at operating a shower, and then sending that video to really anyone, that just isn’t good for the ego.

Prior to the video I did a lot of google research, naturally, and it turns out that a lot of people the world over have trouble with foreign showers. One such shower was operated by pulling a string that was located across the room from the shower and so yeah I absolutely spent more minutes than I’d care to admit carefully examining my bathroom for ceiling strings, false panels, hidden switches, and the like. I almost hope this apartment has a nanny cam so someone somewhere can laugh themselves silly watching me feel each tile on the wall in the bathroom, wondering if there is some Indiana-Jones-like combination I needed to tap out, and probably “God Save the Queen,” which I don’t even know how that goes.

Anyhoodle, a nice man just arrived and told me that the shower did in fact need some sort of something done to it, which he did, and now I have a working shower. Ta fucking DA. 

I swung by the Arc de Triomphe the other day, sniggering to myself about how the second place plaque is in the ladies’ room, and while I was there a woman approached me and said something in French so I gave her back my usual, “Je ne parle pas Francais.”

“What do you parlez,” she asked me, just like that, so I knew the jig was up: Big Dumb American, ici! Once we agreed on English, she wanted to ask me a big favor, which is always not a good sign, except in this instance her “big favor” was could I take a picture of her holding her bicycle in the air in front of the Arc. She told me she had just ridden said bicycle from London to Paris, which, okay, I think there is some water in between but whatever, so I took a bunch of pictures of a nice lady holding a bicycle triumphantly in front of the Arc de Triomphe and then darted away before she realized she could not possibly have found anyone worse at photography, it’s not like I didn’t try, I did, but I think we all know I was not the right woman for the job. (I asked Brandon if he thought I could figure out how to use a drone for photography and once he understood that I thought the drone carried one's phone into the air to take pictures his answer went from "no" to just a really heavy sigh.)

A lot of store windows have “tampon” in big letters and I think the French version of that word maybe has something to do with shoes? Opening hours are kind of weird, like “24 sur 24,” or “7 jours sur 7,” which…24 on 24? I like our 24/7 better, sorry, France.

It was more than one day of noticing that all the tourist shops had tote bags that read “PARIS” with a huge letter “A” behind the name of the city before I realized the “A” was in fact the Eiffel Tower.

I have with me the journal I kept last time I was in Paris. I went there to meet my friends Shannon and Chris but had some trouble doing so because when I arrived I realized—and I quote—“I did not have the address to my hotel or theirs,” which is a reassuring reminder that I’ve never been good at stuff like this, where “this” refers to anything having to do with living in the real world.

HOWEVER, I did manage to thwart the evil geniuses at EZ Jet, which is one of those budget airlines that lures you in with low fares but then wants to charge you for everything including the air you breathe (optional, £15). For once in my life, I actually did extensive research which actually worked, as I learned I could pay £47.20 to check my bag or purchase something called a “Hands Free” pass for £7, which also enabled me to check my bag, so now, just £7 later, I’m in London. It’s pouring rain and super windy today which seems like a good day to catch up on email, do some writing, generally get organized for the week. 

I went to the grocery store earlier and it was a Lidl, which I guess is kind of like an Aldi’s? It was very confusing (to me) but I managed to buy some crumpets (£1) and some orange juice “without bits” (89 something…89 p?), plus more butter than I really should need (£1.99) and in conclusion groceries seem very cheap, but maybe that’s a Lidl thing? I also found a “real” coffee shop but they don’t have iced coffee—you can get an iced latte or an iced americano, and they only had one size of cup (too small), so when I get home and back to my beloved coffee shop, I am going to prostate myself at Megan-my-favorite-barista’s feet and swear never to leave her again.

Though I’ve been in London less than 24 hours I’ve been called “darling” twice, told something was “grand,” and the nice shower-fixer-man actually said “Cheerio!” as he was leaving. On the “underground” there is a recorded lady voice telling us that if we see something, we should say something, which is something we are also told by the MTA, except by a man, and in this case the lady adds on the option to text that something to the police and then confidently assures us, “We’ll sort it.” At the end she sums up her message: “See it, say it, sorted,” and I have been thinking a LOT about why the MTA/NYPD leave off that last part. Aren’t the Americans the ones who should go around confidently bragging we can solve problems we don’t even know about, that we can fix anything? Can’t decide if I am offended or impressed that London Transit has taken such a bold stance, but I guess one look around any given MTA station would make it clear we’re not fixing much of anything, so…good on you, London. Sorted!

It’s nice to be able to read signs and menus and food labels again, to mostly understand people, and I am really looking forward to this, my first time in London, but I’m also going to keep very fond memories of Paris. My favorite might be the old man I saw sitting outside a café, in one of the red and tan cane chairs, along a cobblestoned street. He was drinking a glass of wine at 11 am on a Thursday, his little dog on the chair next to him, and both of them looked perfectly happy just watching the people going by.

Still, the front door to my apartment here comes with two keys, a normal one which opens a normal lock the normal way, and then a skeleton key that works a lock that is about 18 inches off the ground so you have to crouch down to lock/unlock the door and I have no idea why this is a thing but of course I am totally into it, so I'm going to toast up some crumpets and find out what this London situation is all about.