Down and Out in Paris and London

This title is from a novel by George Orwell. It is somewhat fitting for this post. While I am not "down and out" in Paris or London, I am sitting in a Pret a Manger in London (ironic since I am meant to be on my way to Paris now) down the street from Victoria's Station in London because I made the second worst traveling mistake of my life.

The absolute worst mistake I made was two summers ago when I missed my plane back to the states after traveling in France. I ended up calling my parents at 5am their time to leave a panicked, teary message in which I predicted the end of my life and the world. It did feel like the end of the world because all the flights were booked and I had to wait three days for the next one. To top that, I was completely unprepared to stay in Paris: I had thrown out my guide book (too bulky to pack), I threw out all my toiletries to make room for souvenirs, all my clothes were dirty, I had run out of minutes on my phone, and had run out of euros. I had no idea where I was going to sleep for the night. I considered being a hobo.

But it all worked out really well. I found a cheap hotel for the night run by this really cool Italian couple who became surrogate parental figures to me. The guy really liked to tease me (mostly about missing the plane) and I really enjoy when older people tease me. The porter at East Slope (where I live now) likes to see if he can make me blush. I love him. And after the Italian couple, I met a family friend who has lived in France for forty odd years and she put me in this REALLY nice apartment from which you could see the Notre Dame.

The woman who used to live there was a journalist and she was living in Paris when JFK was assassinated. She had been out at the Opera and a Frenchman heard her accent and said something along the lines of "something terrible has happened in your country." When she arrived home she had a thousand messages on her phone because years earlier she had interviewed Lee Harvey Oswald in the Soviet Union when he was "defecting" his citizenship, i.e. giving it up so he could join the Soviet Union. Everyone wanted to speak to the journalist who had interviewed Lee Harvey Oswald. So, staying in Paris a couple of extra days was pretty cool.

But today, maybe not so cool. I was supposed to take the Eurostar departing at 1:37 from London and arriving in Paris around five. I, however, forgot my passport. I had a nice little interaction with the french police. I wish, for the sake of adventure, that I could say that they roughed me up and asked why I was trying to illegally enter their country, but the sad truth is that I just had to fill out some "refusal of entry" forms and they exchanged my ticket for a later time. And my amazing friends from Sussex got my passport and delivered it to London for me. In fact, I have to go meet Nora at Victoria's Station right now. I'm sure all the hassle will be worth it. I'm so excited for Paris!