The 12th Arrondissement

As the plane approached Charles DeGaulle Airport, I nervously checked the folder containing all the documents the official websites told us were necessary. The stack of papers included proof that we had a sufficient amount of money to support ourselves during our stay, copies of hotel bookings and information about the villa, a return flight reservation, and proof of travel insurance. No one asked to see any of it. We breezed through Customs and Immigration and emerged into the busy terminal where we sat in a somewhat dazed state for awhile watching the rain fall in a steady drizzle outside the windows.

Finally we gathered our luggage and set off to find the train that would take us into the city. The first hours in an unfamiliar city are always a bit overwhelming, and we were out of practice. There was no one to ask for assistance, and the only other people near the ticket dispensing machines looked as confused as we felt. Eventually we found ourselves sitting on what we hoped was the correct train. It was pretty much empty at first, but the number of passengers increased as we went along. By the time we arrived at the station where we had to change trains, it was quite crowded so we stood against the wall of the station as we usually do in foreign cities to let the locals hurry past.

I was quite surprised when a well-dressed middle-aged woman who spoke a little English approached us and asked if we needed help. We had figured things out by then, but Walt explained where we were going. She consulted with other people standing nearby who pointed us in the direction of the correct metro line.

A very crowded train soon arrived, but we only had to go one stop so we squeezed in. As I clung to a pole so I wouldn't fall, a young woman stared at me intently. I began to feel nervous. The tourism guides and web pages are full of warnings about pickpockets and crime in the metro. Was she deciding whether it would be easy to knock me down and steal my purse? When we arrived at the station, the more assertive passengers pushed ahead of us and the woman who had been watching me suddenly spoke up to tell me that this was our stop. I had totally misjudged her. She had been watching out for us the whole time. I thanked her and we got off.

I had expected French people to be aloof and condescending, but two total strangers had already gone out of their way to help us. My impression of France was improving by the moment.

Later that evening as we sat in the sidewalk cafe near our hotel enjoying our first meal in Paris, we felt relaxed and so happy to finally be in France.

We had booked a hotel near the Gare de Lyon because the high speed train we would take to Avignon in Provence in a couple of days leaves from that station. The neighborhood, known as the 12th Arrondissement, is a working-class area with a lot of immigrants. Although the tourist guides don't recommend it for a tourist's first visit to Paris, I enjoyed the diverse nature of the area.

After breakfast, we set out to explore the neighborhood. Our first stop was Marché d'Aligre, a market street. There were blocks of stands packed with neatly arranged, very fresh-looking vegetables.

This delicious-looking bread was in the window of a fancy boulangerie.

I thought pedestrians had it rough in London, but Paris is actually worse. Stopping for people in crosswalks seems to be optional for drivers. The bicyclists and people on various sorts of scooters seldom stop at all.

We stopped for a rest and some people-watching in a small park. A woman on the next bench went on and on and on and on scolding a young boy for his bad behavior tous les jours. A couple near us played ping pong enthusiastically, but very badly.

After our rest, we continued down the street and stumbled upon our first monument in this city full of monuments. The July Column, was built on the site of the Bastille prison to commemorate the so-called "3 glorious days" of the Revolution of 1830 when Charles X was overthrown and Louis-Philippe became the King of France.

We continued walking down the Canal Saint Martin admiring the buildings along the way.

Eventually, we arrived back at the Gare de Lyon and found our hotel once again.

When we visited London, it took days for me to appreciate the city, but I was in love with Paris from the start.