Welcome (Back) to France

Traveling all day is inevitably taxing, but changing time zone takes the disorientation to a new level. I left the States yesterday, and while France is buzzing along at it's usual midday pace, my body's clock is aligned with the midwest. And it's very early there.

My intercontinental travels have lead me to sleeping pills which help aid the transitions and minimise my jet lag. For this trip, I don't think they helped do anything but further disorient me. I squirmed in my seat for what felt like hours until I finally pqssed out like a light. When I did wake up, I had only twenty minutes to prepare for landing (which meant rapidly getting ready to re-enter a foreign country and operate entirely in French.)

When I landed, I was not surprised and not happy to find my phone totally drained of battery. That being the case, I had no way getting in touch with my friend/hostess. At least though, I knew where I needed to go from the airport. So I wandered with 70 lbs of luggage to the metro and headed towards Celine's neighborhood. I must have been a sight with my huge backpack, a duffle, a shoulder bag, and a mandolin. I know I looked as dazed as I felt, but since I knew where I was going I could move quickly.

Moving quickly didn't last long, as it soon lead to a blister on my foot (it's quite a hike from the metro stop to the apartment). Navigating Parisian sidewalks also involves much sidesteping to avoid constant piles of dog shit. So after an hour train ride and a half hour walk with all my heavy belongings, I was overjoyed to see my car -- sans parking ticket.

It was a physical and mental relief to unload my bags and lock them in the car. It was another blessing that my car started on the first try. Hooray. After that bout of relief, my good luck ran out.

I had no way to reach Celine and no way for her to reach me. I think it was to much to hope that she'd be home when I knocked, especially since my flight arrived late. I went to move the car closer to her house to stake out the door in case anyone came home, only to realise my joy about the car was premature.

Sometime in the last few weeks, someone hit the front of my car knocking off the grill and busting the brights. She was already in bad shape and the lights were already weak. Now Anita's even losing the dignity of her good looks. Before vacation, I bent and chipped the side trying to get out of a narrow garage. After this recent hit-and-run she looks gap toothed, and the former highbeams flop around like googly eyes.

I think I'm going to adopt a new mantra for my daily life that sounds something like, "Things are bound to go awry, right?" I started thinking that while traveling around Haiti, since transit is so unreliable there. It has continued to help alleviate any surprise or frustration I have when my flights are all delayed, or my car is busted, or I look and act like a zombie for lack of sleep, or there seems to be even more piles of shit in my way than usual. I think things will look up after I get some rest, and if nothing else, my zombie atributes will be reduced.