It was Bittersweet

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It was Bittersweet
Returning to Paris after a six-month-long absence was bound to present challenges as well as highs. My dreams of being chez moi were about to be realized. Climbing aboard the Paris-bound plane was a symbolic culmination of a tragic period of my life. My traveling companion, Miss Kitty, was ready too. She’d been inspected by the veterinarian, certified healthy, (thank you, $65, please) and was ready for her voyage cuddled (OK, crammed) in her regulation Sherpa sack.  There was a forced liberation when we reached security check. Kitty didn’t like being inspected with a wand that emitted screaming beeps. By the time we made it to the boarding gate, I breathed a deep sigh of relief. Visions of blood perpetrated by a “vicious” feline attack flashed through my mind. The Washington, DC (IAD) – Paris (CDG) United Airlines flight was uneventful; we even landed early. Traveling on a Saturday and arriving Sunday at dawn minimizes traffic both at the departing airport and on the autoroute as we whizzed into town. No one even asked to see Kitty’s health certificate much less her EU passport. During the taxi ride home, there was no question I was in Paris. The Seine was still here as was Notre Dame. My breath was taken away as we drove by the Luxembourg Gardens. I was finally home after so many changes that are going to permanently impact my life. I felt like so many Expats who are returning home after an extended time away. Everything looked wonderfully familiar but in a different light. In reality, I was too jet lagged to know or to care much.  I hit my bed and was out like a light. Upon waking, my first line of business was to call some friends to tell them I was in Paris.   Happily, I have two lines since MY personal and professional line wasn’t working. The same recording telling me the line was no longer operative.  Come on, I’ve had the same number for 18 years and started thinking of all of the printed materials citing it. My first call would definitely be France Telecom early Monday morning. When I launched into a mini-tirade and each operator responded he or she couldn’t understand me. What? I was speaking French. There was a definite difference of opinion. After being transferred to an Anglophone employee of France Telecom, I continued fighting for “my” number. “That’s impossible” the woman said. We never give back the same number.” I shouted, “C’est possible, c’est tout.”  When we’d finished our business dealings, I complemented Mme Miracle Worker about her excellent English.  Mind you, I never spoke a word of English but the deed was done. Whew – my life could continue. I started watching French television hoping that I’d get my ear for the language back. I’d occasionally flip to CNN International. It was the day Anna Nicole Smith was being laid to rest in the Bahamas. The Playboy Magazine ‘former playmate of the year’ was finally receiving her day of glory. Between her myriad sexual encounters, drug usage, lawyer and companion Howard Stern refusing to take a DNA test, Daniel, her son’s death in his mother’s hospital room after she delivered her daughter Dannielynn, many Americans were riveted to the TV as if there were no tomorrow.  Judge Judy even chastised talk show host Larry King (while appearing on his show) for giving this sordid story too much air time. Who could blame him even though the US may be on the precipice of electing the first female president, Hilary Clinton or Barack Obama, a Black African American. Sex, drugs (OK – they were allegedly prescription – Vicodin, Valium, Percocet, Methadone) but Cocaine caused her demise. There were rumors of more than one suicide attempt..   Anna Nicole was certainly rocking and rolling at the Seminole Hard Rock Hotel & Casino in Hollywood, Florida. But the French appeared to neither know nor care. Flipping between  TV news channels, the talk was of France’s upcoming elections. Socialist legislator Segolene Royal, conservative Interior Minister Nicolas Sarkozy, centrist candidate Francois Bayrou and far right leader Jean-Marie Le Pen, whose campaign slogan in the 2002 Presidential elections was, “France for the French.” LCI commentators were discussing every aspect of what each candidate said. Would Bayrou be the spoiler?  What about Segolene’s economic policies. Sarko? French citizens are taking this election more than seriously  since they know it will impact France’s place in the EU. The first day home always consists of being greeted by mail – even if you have someone looking after it. Fading in and out of real life is my modus operandi.  I couldn’t wait to meet some friends for dinner at Le Caméléon, my former canteen where I’d been eating for 18 years. It was where we went to eat if we didn’t want to eat out since it’s a two-minute walk from the apartment. After being closed for more than two years, Jean-Paul Arabian has given the bistro that Patricia Wells anointed the best in Paris ever so many years ago, a total and complete facelift and it’s now in and hip without being over-the-top trendy.  Dinner was fabulous and I realized I was truly back. My apprehensions were melting away. During dinner I asked one of our very French dining companions if he’d heard of Anna Nicole. He looked at me quizzically. Finally, with faultless timing, he said, “Mais oui, I am the father of the leeetle baby.”  All of us laughed. C’est la France and it’s so nice to be home. © Paris New Media, LLC [email protected]
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