Lost in Paris, literally.

Chapter 1

Paris is beautiful. Of course lately, things in the City of Lights have turned a bit sour. But even yet, the Eiffel Tower is still a marvel to behold, the Parisians streets are filled with quaint little cafes and flaky sweet croissants, and there’s plenty of sweet wine to indulge yourself with.

I remember when we first arrived to Paris after an 8-hour flight and then a very nice taxi driver picked us up at Aéroport de Paris-Charles de Gaulle. As he drove us across the city and head to the hotel, through the passenger window, I watched as the tiny glistening Eiffel Tower popped up and then began fading into the distance.

I held my breath in awe, watching the tower glisten so spectacularly until it disappeared from view within the Parisian buildings once the taxi turned to the 15^th arrondissement and eased to a stop in front of the glass double doors of Hotel Mirabeau.

Just a few blocks from the Seine River and the famous Pont Mirabeau Bridge, and a short walk to the emblematic Champ de Mars and the Eiffel Tower area, the Hotel Mirabeau greeted us with a warm smile from a young man standing behind the Front Desk. The reception was elegant with gold and chrome accents, and artistic pictures from all over Paris hung over teal blue walls. Even a black and white sepia of Audrey Hepburn.

With a couple of hours to go before our first planned outing and with barely two hours of sleep on the flight, it was quite easy to slumber off and nap for a bit. The bed was so comfy, I could have easily slept the entire afternoon. But, a handy tip, do not fall for the ‘I’ll take a nap and wake up when I wake up’. You’ll easily screw up your sleep hours for your entire stay.

MOVIE SUGGESTION

“Paris, When it Sizzles”

The classic 1964 comedy movie.

Starting the incomparable Audrey Hepburn and her gallant William Holden

After just a couple of hours to recharge, we headed out to our first Parisian outing. A visit to the Parc des Princes for a Ligue 1 football match between Paris-Saint Germain and Lyon, and then our first Parisian dinner at a nearby cafe restaurant for warm French onion soup and freshly-baked baguettes.

The night, at that point, was turning out to be le magnifique. A starry night sky across the entire Parisian hemisphere, and even the Eiffel Tower glimmered at us with splendor from a distance.

We even had the chance to walk across the canal and become up close and personal to the majestic and emblematic structure.

I was in awe! I could not believe that after years, ever since I was a little girl, I was here, in Paris!

But suddenly, everything – I mean, everything! – turned south after boarding, traveling, and then attempting at stepping off the metro train. 12:30am. The last train stop of the night.

The doors parted open, and after entering the station Gare de Javel, my boyfriend, Jeffrey stepped out. I was right behind him, ready to step down from the train again. But as soon as he stepped out, the double doors swooshed shut and I was left inside.

I fidgeted with the door handle, my hands desperately going all over the hinge hardware. But time soon ran out, and the train slowly started moving forward. Jeffrey’s face froze in time. My heart skipped several beats watching him shrink little by little.

As the train eased out of the station, I neared the window, planted my hands against the glass and watched as Jeffrey’s frozen posture snapped suddenly, and with a boomerang of his arm he gestured several times, “Take the other train back!”

I took a deep breath to pace the beats of my heart, and shook my head to him before he was completely gone.

I skimmed the empty seats around me, figuring that perhaps someone might help me. But the train was empty and I was the only passenger in the train. I was left with no other choice but to sit down and wait for the train to reach the next station. The Gave de Javel, the closest station to our hotel. For some reason, I’d had remembered the name since it rhymed with ‘caramel’, one of my favorite ingredients to bake with, and I must say, I was equally surprised at the remembrance since I am a notorious, absent-minded, daydreamer, and I forget…everything!

You might ask, “Why did you not use your cell phone to call him and let him know your location?” Yes, thank you. That was a really good suggestion. Well, unfortunately, your idea would just simply not work because…MY PHONE WAS IN HOTSPOT MODE!!! I had connected my phone to Jeffrey’s prepaid international sim card. My phone was useless without his connection.

You might also suggest, “Well, why didn’t you paid for a cab after arriving at the other station?” Again, yes, thank you. I appreciate another great suggestion. Unfortunately, that also would not work because…ALL MY CARDS WERE IN JEFFREY’S THEFT-PROOF MAGNETIC FANNY PACK!!!

So then, let’s recap. I had no phone service, and no credit cards. And, yes, again, thank you but no, I had no cash with me.

As I sat alone, slouched down on a very uncomfortable train seat, I breathed a long hard blow without the slightest clue as to how I’d survive this situation. I did not know how I’d contact Jeffrey, or get to the hotel – which I also must say, thank God I remembered the name because Hotel Mirabeau rhymed with ‘dough’, a key ingredient in my baking.

After what felt like, literally, the speed of light, the train had eased to a stop at the next station. By then, I’d already figured of exiting the train and take the other train back to Javel, just as Jeffrey had mimiched.

And all hopes sprung to life when I came across a station guard. “Oh thank you, Lord! I’m saved!” But no. The skinny, middle-age French with a thin moustache and side-parting hair hardly spoke English, and the only clear words he could communicate were, “Mademoiselle, you go out of station. Station closed,” followed by a shoo-ing of hands. He repeated the same words over and over again, it did not matter how many times I begged, “Pardone, monseur, please help. I need to get to Javel.”

It all felt like a scene out of a movie.

The last thing he told me in a broken English was to exit the station, climb up the stairs, cross the street and head down to the other metro entrance, which would lead the direction back to Javel.

And so I did. Walked up the exit stairs, crossed the street – noticing for the first time that it was nighttime and I was alone – before heading to the other metro entrance. But once I climbed down the staircase, I stumbled upon a closed station entrance. The rolling metal gates had been pulled down, and my only hope to catch a train back withered in a second.

To be continued….

As I neared the closed gates, I curled my fingers over its metal slats, and after shaking the gate in desperation, I simply sighed, deep and hard.