A friend sent me a postcard from France. The rolling hills of Provence, lush vineyards and charming chateaus – yes, I remember it well.
When my husband and I went along to France, I packed so much he accused me of wanting to smuggle things into the united states for a storage sale. I’m a woman scout at heart. I wished to be prepared.
To be prepared for the change in time a buddy advised me to stay awake on the flight and go to bed at my usual time – local time. Blurry-eyed and exhausted, I collapsed into bed in Paris at 10pm, having lost a day – however not my luggage. By 10am (1am PST) 24 hours later I was tempted to call my friend to thank her on her behalf advice.
The suggestions about hotel originated from helpful tips book, but hotels in France are like hotels everywhere – overpriced and understaffed. Needless to say, if I’d had the right adapter to plug in my own hair dryer, I wouldn’t have needed one hotel’s electrician to help dry my hair. If I’d restrained myself from buying funky souvenirs, I wouldn’t have needed bellboys to help with my luggage.
Small things, including the corkscrew shaped just like the Eiffel Tower, weren’t problems. However, transporting a cushion that appeared as if a giant croissant and umbrellas decorated with French fries were problems – for my marriage.
John didn’t think France was the spot to Christmas shop. John’s notion of a souvenir was his now-gray underwear, which a resort laundry wrote his name in large, indelible letters. If John had given me time, I would have introduced the French to laundry whiteners and brightened their lives.
In France our lives were full with quaint buildings, which would be called dilapidated in the States; and there was always one more museum to visit – however not by taxi. French taxi drivers should need to take their foot off the gas pedal as frequently because they take their eyes off the road.
I would have taken my eyes off the pastries, but I couldn’t. A day break with coffee and pastry; followed closely by time break with wine and pastry; and, obviously, pastry for dessert at dinner – I carried memories of these pastries home on my hips.