Lost Baggage / Sacre Coeur / Tago Mago / Monmartre
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| Receiption Desk at St. Christopher's |
First thing in the morning I went to reception and tried calling the number I wrote down. I couldn’t understand the French at all and graciously the receptionist called again for me. Turns out the number I wrote down was for the fire department. So she called the number on my baggage slip again, and they said the bag was still out for delivery. She said you need to answer the phone when the delivery guy calls you. That would have been nice to know at the airport two days ago. I’d have watched my phone very carefully and paid the $1.79 Verizon was going to charge me per minute.
Anyway, they called this morning, and I
successfully had a French conversation over the phone for the first time. She
said my bag would be delivered between 11 am and 2 pm. I had to check out of my
room at 10 am this morning, and the people I’m couch surfing with won’t be home
until 7:30 tonight to let me in. So, today I’m doing nothing except wait here
at a table outside the hostel. Which isn’t as bad as it sounds.
My legs are sore from all the walking I
did yesterday anyways, and as I sit here I can catch up on recording everything
that has happened until now. Plus I can read Emily Dickinson’s letters. I also
had homework to do from my online class, so this was a perfect time to get that
done. It’s now 1:41 and a UPS van just pulled up. I thought maybe they would
have my bag, but they only took an envelope and went inside. Perhaps they have
to verify they have the right place/person before getting the bag out of the
van? I hope they are here for me. I can stow my bag in a locker here, and
sight-see a bit before I go to my next place.
The UPS truck is leaving. Still no bag. I
don’t know what I’m going to do if it’s not delivered before I have to leave
for the place I’ll be couch surfing the next three days. That means another
conversation in French to let them know the place I’m staying has changed. I
also only have 1 pair of jeans, and 2 pairs of black leggings, and 3 shirts. I
sleep in one of the black leggings and shirts. The other two clothes I have
been washing in the sink and hanging to dry so I have a clean shirt every day.
Luckily I packed most of my shower stuff/makeup and all my underwear in my
carryon, so it could be a lot worse. I could have nothing, but I do have enough
to get by, as long as I wash my clothes each night in the sink and hang them to
dry. . . .
I went to get some dinner and am now back
sitting at St. Christopher’s again, but how things have changed. I didn’t want
to admit before, but I was overwhelmed, almost not able to contain ugly face
tears just at the thought of what to do if my bag doesn’t arrive. I had to sit
awhile in order to calm down, and I ate an apple I had saved from breakfast.
That seemed to help settle me, so I decided there was nothing else I could do
except go find some dinner.
The apple didn’t half satisfy me as I
hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it was then 4 pm. At first I just started
walking around the block because I didn’t want to get lost, but all the food
places were either restaurants that seemed too fancy for what I wanted at the
time, or Indian and Asian food. Neither sounded good at the moment so I kept walking.
I didn’t want to end up back at the hostel if I kept going around the block, so
I just started wandering. The further I walked the nicer the neighborhood
became and before I knew it, I had found a charming part of Paris just south of
Gare de l’est. I finally found a shady quiet side street.
I stopped in a small restaurant that
didn’t have a menu on the outside. Once again we could not understand each
other (the man inside the restaurant and myself) so he asked a lady there,
(maybe his wife?) to translate. They were really nice, but it turned out they
only served salad and beer, and the place was more on the bar side of things,
so I thanked them for being so gracious but explained I was very very hungry
and a salad would not do. Only a couple of shops down the road I passed a
restaurant that said Burgers and Vegan on the window. A burger sounded great,
and vegan, even better. (I have indulged in a few cheeses since I’ve been here,
and I’ve paid the price in stomach pains).
It was a tiny place, it reminded me of a
few restaurants I’d seen in NYC where there’s only a couple of tables. It was
nice to be out of the sun, but like almost all places in France, it had no air
conditioning. Almost as soon as I came in from the heat sweat just started
pouring from my neck and dripping down. It was so hot, and not much better
inside, but there was a fan. The owner asked me what I wanted and I ordered
aubergine, which I couldn’t remember the meaning of, but I remembered hearing
the word in French class and knew whatever it was, I liked aubergine. Turns out
aubergine is French for eggplant, which I do love. It may not seem like Paris
is the place you go to find vegan burgers, it’s where you go to eat snails etc.
. . But I needed comfort food, and this was the best aubergine burger I have
ever tasted. . . .
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