Nana Pub

Oh, Genevieve. A trip would not be complete with out its fare share of injuries. In my case, a sprained ankle.

Kendra and I planned a lovely weekend in Paris before we start teaching on Monday, complete with a day trip to Versailles, mass at Notre Dame, and lots of walking.

Never in our wildest dreams would we have taken a two and a half hour train from Creuse to come to Paris, have coffee, check in to a hotel and sit on our computers. Dreams can come true, because not 45 minutes after stepping off the train at Gare d'Austerlitz was I stumbling like a 95 year old drunk Gumbi in front of what felt like the entire city of Paris. I heard my ankle 'pop' and knew I would be taking up residence on the sidewalk for a while.

As I was falling, I looked up at Kendra and explained, "This is my ankle."
An older man insisted that I couldn't sit on the ground, and could he call an ambulance? And oh, by the way, the French love the Americans because so many of us died for France in the war. That counts, you know.

So my 6' tall, Gobles, MI born and bred dear friend Kendra served as my pack horse, crutches, tour guide and body guard for what seemed like the longest walk of our lives. We saw the metro stations in an entirely new light at the blinding rate we were traveling. Enough time to thoroughly study, translate, discuss, and ridicule every ad posted on the wall. Enough time to practice saying "I can see Alaska from my house," until we couldn't tell each other apart from pitbulls, without lipstick, that is.
Arriving at the hotel was a relief. We exhaled, plugged in and zoned out. Sick, right? Mady came to see us, picked up an ace bandage and an ice pack and then peaced out to go be doted upon by all of the men in Paris. Kendra went to find food and came back with a bottle of wine and two packages of cookies. After 15 minutes all that was left was a package of cookies.
I couldn't submit to the will of the world, and well my ankle. So I decided we needed to leave our hotel room, and see the Eiffel Tower in all of its gaudy glory lit up at night. 19 metro stops later, we arrived to find not the Eiffel Tower but a giant neon blue look alike paying homage to the EU. What the hell? It sparkles too...

The Seine is beautiful by night, and the sound of jingling Eiffel Tower key chains is music to my ears. "Hallo girls, wan you-roh wan you-roh. Hallo!!" A few steps more and I would've fallen and sprained the other ankle. We hailed a cab and saw the rest of Friday night Paris in October as a blurred stream of bistro signs, cigarette butts, pursed Parisian lips in the midst of heated conversation and finally a glowing beacon in the night: our hotel. Good night Paris, better luck next time.