TDY Step 1: Make it to Paris

Check! I’m in Paris. (Oh, and TDY stands for this). And the meetings I was supposed to attend today happened, I was there, I was awake, and I think I even managed to spit out some intelligent-sounding questions. So overall the last 24 hours go in the positive column, although my French-speaking ego suffered a bit along the way.

I took an overnight flight from Dulles airport, arriving in Paris at 5:45am (which allowed me plenty of time to get downtown and to the building where my meetings were to take place, but meant very little sleep happened.) However, I generally like long flights. I’m not accountable to anyone, I’m not expected to check email or call anyone, I can pretty much just mind my own business and watch a few movies (“Hyde Park on Hudson” – FDR has weird affair-like-things with various women including his 5th or 6th cousin Laura Linney while the King and Queen of England are visiting. The takeaway kind of seemed to be “remember the good old days when presidents could cheat on their wives in peace without the media going nuts?” – huge snoozefest. The other one, “Quartet” – not amazing, but very enjoyable, particularly because of the presence of Maggie Smith. She can make anything good. Come to think of it, they should have cast her in “Hyde Park on Hudson”.)

Anyway. I arrived in Paris at 5:45 am, which is early and horrible, but it also means the airport is very empty, which kind of makes the early hour worth it. I got to the hotel and dropped off my bags with about an hour and a half to spare before my meetings started. Fear of sitting down on one of the hotel lobby couches and passing out for the better part of the morning motivated me to go for a walk. Paris is lovely in the morning – it was 8:00, but very few people were out on the streets and many poissonneries, boulangeries, etc, were just opening. Comparing that to the crazy hours people work in NYC and DC, it seemed very civilized. It wasn’t until 8:30 that the streets really started bustling with commuters and parents walking their kids to school.

After my lovely (if chilly – Paris is cold and I packed for Africa!) morning walk, I made it to the offices of Africa Regional Services (a State Department entity that produces publications, speaker programs, arts programs, internet content, etc for Public Diplomacy sections of African posts.) The idea is that being in Paris puts them in a stronger position to provide materials and manpower for the many Francophone posts (and the lusophone – Portuguese speaking – ones as well). They still don’t provide too much in the way of Arabic-language services, but my hunch is that that will change at some point.

So I spoke to those nice folks for the better part of the day, and, fresh off my victory of staying awake the whole time after no sleep, I decided to take another walk, with a destination in mind. I was going to walk to the Champs Elysees. A decent walk from my hotel, but nothing crazy. Then it started to rain. And not a nice, spring rain. A cold, frigid, drippy, icky rain. And did I mention I packed for Africa? Yeah. I turned around. But the beauty of the lower buildings and the windy streets of Paris compared to, say, the grid and skyscrapers of New York, is that you can see fun things just by peering down a few boulevards:

At the end of the street – The Louvre (I’m pretty sure)

Palais Garnier – I was actually up close to this one

Sacre Coeur

Oh – I can’t forget my ego-busting story! I was determined to speak French to people, since, well, I’m supposed to be able to do that now. I successfully negotiated the airport, cab, and hotel without anyone switching to English on me (a huge punch to the gut for any fledgling speaker of a foreign language). I was especially pleased with my performance at the hotel check-in desk. The hotel is a UK chain, and the French people who work here speak impeccable English. Certainly better than my French. But the guy didn’t switch on me. Hooray! Or so I thought.

I returned to the hotel later in the day to actually get the key to my room (sadly, it wasn’t ready at 8am), and the same guy who had spoken French to me that morning greeted me with an enthusiastic “Hello Ms. Long? Your room is not ready, but we’ve been able to bump you up to a larger one. I think you’ll be pleased.” Now, a casual observer might think I should be thrilled about what he said. An upgrade! That never happens to me! (It really doesn’t). This is fantastic! Well, that casual observer would be wrong. Because the news of my upgraded room was broadcast to me in ENGLISH. My proud French moment evaporated. But, then I looked around and saw the super-cool elevators that were going to take me to my upgraded room, and I got over it.

How can you not feel better when faced with an old-timey (but seemingly up to safety code) elevator?

Plus, there will be COUNTLESS opportunities for me to butcher the French language in my future. I am certain of it.