Day 1
I arrived in the City of Lights around noon of February 2nd. My Uber driver was fantastic — he came right to the spot where I was standing with all my luggage driving this massive van. I was praying that whatever vehicle Uber sent me today should just be spacious enough for all my suitcases (because imagine fitting my suitcase marked HEAVY in a Prius). Thank God. And Thank God he helped me with my heavy ass bags, even though he said “Oooof” in a tone that I assume is the universal language for “Oh my god, woman, what’s in here?”
Yes, I know I overpacked. I wanted to be sure I had all my creature comforts if I was going to live in another country so I basically packed EVERYTHING. In fact, I packed so much, one of the TSA agents who x-rayed my luggage commented to his coworker, “Damn, did she pack her whole house or something?”
First off, sir, no one asked you. Second, I could be moving to another country, which I am, so I basically needed to pack A LOT. Judgy-ass-TSA-mothertrucker….
Anyway, back to the excellent Uber driver who navigated through all kinds of traffic heading to Paris. It was a weekday at noon, and the traffic was still insane. Overall it took about an hour to get to my arrondisement.
Pro Tip: The best option is to take the RER (train) to go to the city, but if you need to take a cab and you’re lugging around tons of luggage like me, it’s better to use Uber or a taxi app called G7. Both apps give you a fixed rate when you book, and you can avoid getting scammed by random taxi drivers all calling out “Madam? Taxi? Taxi? Madam?? Madam??” as you exit the airport.
Honey, I’m Home…
I got dropped off at my apartment and had to figure out how to use the building’s call box. Each apartment building has their own security code with numbers and letters that you need to know before the door can open for you. I also realized that I was staying in the first floor, which in France means one flight of stairs. (In the US, first floor = ground floor. )
Did I mention I overpacked? Even though it was just one flight of stairs, hauling big suitcases up those rickety steps was not ideal. But I finally made it inside my apartment.
I wish I could say I immediately felt at home. I did not.
The heat was off, the curtains were shut, and that one plant by the window was so dead it had basically turned into dirt. Also, things needed a little bit of extra cleaning. But, I managed to unpack and find homes for everything. Praise rental units that actually have enough storage space so you can organize your things.
After I puttered around for an hour, feeling somewhat settled, I realized I was feeling nauseous from a combination of lack of sleep and food.
My First Grocery Store Trip
My second mission now was to stock up on groceries. And horror of horrors, there was no coffee in the unit. For a caffeine fiend like me… that can be a dealbreaker. Yes, I’m exaggerating, but caffeine withdrawal is tough for me. Plus, I just LOVE the ritual of making coffee in the morning. Or in the afternoon. Or in the evening, because honestly, if I can get away with it, I would probably drink it all day.
Google Maps helped me locate the nearest grocery store, and off I went.
After picking up everything I needed– including coffee, ingredients for chicken noodle soup, some oranges and chocolates — i headed to the self-checkout.
Pro-tip: While American grocery stores will let you grab individual produce and either weigh it on self checkout or tell the cashier how many you’ve got (like three carrots), in Paris, you apparently have to weigh your produce in the section, print a sicker, and scan the barcode on the sticker during checkout.
Side note, don’t do what I did and stare blankly at the employee when they start speaking rapid-fire French to you until they finally give up and say “Vous comprenez français?”
To top off my stressful shopping experience, the machine wouldn’t take my credit card , and I had to scramble to pay in cash. Carrying cash with you is a must!
After finally paying and making the walk back home, it dawned on me that I was alone in a country where I could barely understand the language.
Chicken Noodle Soup
The whole awkward experience at the grocery store made me shy away from dining out that night and interacting with any French-speaking population in the foreseeable future. Instead I decided to cook myself some chicken noodle soup– for a few reasons. One, cooking relaxes me and makes me feel at home. Two, there’s nothing more comforting than soup on a cold winter day, especially when you’re jet-lagged and feeling inadequate due to language barriers.
I wish I had taken a picture of my soup because it turned out to be one of the best I’ve ever made. I used French butter to saute the veggies and opted for leeks, garlic, carrots, and onion instead of the usual mix with celery in for my mirepoix. It felt so warm and cozy to prep, stir the pot, and feed myself something hearty.
Not going to life, I was already feeling homesick by Day 1. I knew it was just a temporary feeling through. Discomfort is something to embrace — logically I know it’s part of the growth process. Still, it didn’t stop me from missing home, missing my partner, missing the ease of communicating and expressing myself.
Why again did I think this was a good idea?
Day 2
Day 2 turned out to be MUCH better than Day 1. I still only got three hours of sleep the night before, so I’ve been running on caffeine for the last few days.
To help myself adjust, I forced myself to get out and explore. Instead of staying inside, I soaked up some sunshine and walked around the neighborhood even though my body just wanted to be in bed. Honestly if I didn’t push through, I would have slept from 1 PM to 10 PM on my first days and there’s no fun in that right?
I went to Jardin du Luxembourg, I sat by the fountain and watched people soaking up the sun like myself. I treated myself to some decadent hot chocolate and did more people-watching.
Oh and bird-watching too. (The birds here are definitely some characters!)
I also stopped by a plant shop to replace the dead plant in the corner of my apartment (which I’m beginning to think was the source of my bad juju on the first day). This cute little thing called out to me, and I’ve since named him Plantypus — he’s my new apartment companion. I also chatted with the plant shop owner (me in my broken French and him with his better than average English), and it was surprisingly fun. He told me how to care for Plantypus and asked where I was from.
I walked some more and found a shop that sells only meringues. Naturally I grabbed a bunch of macarons and got the employee’s recommendations for flavors. (Spoiler: They were all delicious.)
Next, I visited Parc Mountsouris, a lovely park where I sat on a bench and saw some cute interactions. A kid kept peeking and smiling at me shyly while his father wasn’t looking. An old lady tried to yell and catch up to a couple who dropped their umbrella without them being aware. Unfortunately she could not walk as fast as they could and they also couldn’t hear her as they were listening to music! So I did the reasonable thing being a younger able-bodied nerdy do-gooder and picked up the umbrella and ran after the couple to return it.
The old lady thanked me and said more things in French, and I apologized for my limited French. She smiled and switched to English, saying “Thank you for doing that. I was trying to call out, you know, but they couldn’t hear me!”
On my walk home from the park, I discovered a very long avenue specifically designed for walkers; where the path was wide, lined with lamp posts and trees. It made me appreciate the thought they put into making their city beautiful and walkable.
Day 2 was me wandering around aimlessly, with no agenda, and stumbling upon some great shops and hidden gems in the neighborhood. I had a handful of sweet interaction that made me feel a little less far from home.
Paris definitely felt a lot more friendly today. 🙂
The Wren's Journey 
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