The Ramblings of an Aging Baby Boomer: Paris Done!

This is one story in a series of stories that tell about a backpack trip to Europe in the spring of 1976 by myself in an effort to run away from the pain of a broken heart. (To read from the beginning Google "The Ramblings of an Aging Baby Boomer" and go back to March 27th, "I'll Never Find Love Again.")

Tuesday, March 30, 1976, Paris, France

The phone startled me awake at 7:20 this morning. At first, I couldn't figure anything out. Where am I? What is that annoying noise? Then it came to me; I am in Paris...in the Hotel Du Pantheon. My room is tiny, only big enough for a twin bed, a small sink, and what looks like a toilet but Willem called it a bidet. (The real bathroom is down the hall.) The phone continued to ring; it knew I would eventually answer it, as soon as I got my wits about me.

(We left New York on Sunday, flew to Iceland, where we departed the plane. Don't ask me why. It was cold; really cold--snow everywhere--and all I have are sweaters and light jackets. We then flew to Luxembourg where we immediately got on a train and came to Paris where I crashed in my $7.00 room after twenty plus hours without sleep.)

It was Willem on the phone. He was anxious to get the day started. Lots to see, he said. He's been to Europe several times (his brother lives in Vienna) and he knows Paris well.

My feet hurt. We walked twelve miles today and toward the end, Willem could tell I was exhausted, so he hailed a taxi to take us back to the hotel.

I guess this is a good time to describe my two traveling companions. Willem is my age and single. He's a big bear of a guy, has a teddy bear demeanor; he's very good to me, but he's too serious. He's intelligent (he uses big words), is college-educated, but doesn't have a job at the moment, so why not head off to Europe for a month. I could be wrong--and time will tell--but he seems to be taking me on as a project. It's as if he had been assigned to someone who needs attended to because that someone--that would be me--cannot take care of herself. I hope I'm wrong about that because I don't need a caretaker. I'm quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much!

Charles is fifty and divorced. When Willem suggested that he take a leave of absence from his job to accompany him overseas, he jumped at the opportunity. Charles is an accommodator. He's a "yes" man. This may be a rush to judgment, but it's as if he has no original thoughts of his own. He's easy; he's pliable; he's a follower and Willem is the leader. So I guess Willem has two charges he's responsible for.

This is how we spent our one day in Paris: First the Sorbonne, on to Notre Dame, past St. Chapelle, across the Seine to the Right Bank and to the Louvre. Next Place de Concorde, where Louise 16 lost his head, up the Champs des Elysees to the Arch of Triumph, towards the Seine to the Trocadero. Willem leading the way; Charles and I following behind. We climbed up the Eiffel Tower, and went to the Hotel des Invalides, where Napoleon is entombed.

Paris Done!

We took a taxi back to the hotel to pick up our bags (we were ten miles away), went to dinner, ran to the train station, left Paris at 9:06 tonight for Port Bow, which is on the border between France and Spain.

Next destination: Barcelona, Spain