May 18: Arrival in Paris
I did not think I would ever eat pavlova for breakfast!
I really enjoy flying. I love airports. I like packing. I’m a good flyer so that’s helpful, but flying ‘fancy’ class is a massive bonus. I have strong opinions on anyone under 40 flying fancy; Economy travel builds character and resilience. Being handed a glass of Dom Perignon and soft jammies when you get on the plane should be a treat, not an expectation, (or maybe I’m just jealous.)
I responded to all the lovely birthday wishes that popped into my phone once I worked out the wifi. (Dubai isn’t on my Vodafone list so it costs a fortune to turn on roaming. We learned this the hard way last year.)
I used to cringe at birthday wishes and actually went through a period where I didn’t want anyone to know it was my birthday. This had little to do with aging and everything to do with this old chestnut; if you have to remind people it doesn’t count, if you have to ask for what you want it doesn’t count, if you have to plan anything yourself… You get it.
I slowly unlearned this behaviour and now I embrace my birthday. My little sister taught me this; if you want a yellow and pink marble cake with sprinkles and sparklers for candles, you have to ask for it! Jackie has Down Syndrome and is super chill, but she she knows how to get what she wants—by asking for it!
This seems to be a bit of a theme for me right now. You have to ask for what you want, even if no one else is involved and it entails being honest with yourself about what you want. Accismus is out of style.
Accismus is a feigned refusal of something earnestly desired. The 1823 Encyclopædia Britannica writes that accismus may sometimes be considered as a virtue or sometimes a vice.
In my opinion, pretending you don’t want something (in case you don’t get it) is always a vice. Which leads me to this excellent travel tip: always tell people if it’s your birthday or anniversary when you check into a hotel or flight. Don’t lie about it though, you usually have to hand over your I.D. at some point in the transaction!
It was so nice to receive Happy Birthday’s from the flight attendants, especially being so far away from my family and friends.
Breakfast in Dubai was shakshuka minus the Zaatar flatbread. I’ve been dreaming about that bread since we were there last year. The shakshuka was as good as I remember though I didn’t really need anything more to eat—the birthday pavlova on the plane was delicious.
I did laps of the lounge to work off some of that pavlova/shakshuka combo and to get my steps in (although my phone doesn’t count steps for some reason. I’ll need to look at settings.) Then I was back in the plane on my way to Paris.
Arriving at Charles de Gaulle Airport always gives me a thrill!
The new ETIAS system isn’t live yet but I have a biometric passport and sailed through Immigration, got my bag, and set off in search of an official taxi. I’d normally either book a driver or use the RER train but traveling on my own with a heavy suitcase and carry-on bags, I decided the train wasn’t a great idea. It was also pouring rain so no train for me.
I don’t use the car service here anymore after two really bad experiences, one very early trip involving me repeatedly shouting ‘Monsieur, dormez vous??? réveillez-vous!!’
So to get off on the right foot, I gave the cabby a box of chocolates. They were handing out Dubai chocolate on the plane so that became my peace offering. He was grateful and said ‘C’est pour mon anniversaire?’ which led to a confusing conversation which eventually revealed that the taxi driver and I have the same birthday.
What are the chances? (Now I know someone could do the maths there… something to do with 8 billion divided by 365? According to Google it’s actually a 1/365 chance. I don’t know.)
It was lovely to have a nice experience and a bit of awkward (me) chatting in French.
Fun Fact: My friend Darroll shares a birthday with my late mum and I share a birthday with his mum. Isn’t that a bit weird and fun?
And I’m here—I’m in Paris!
My spiritual home. The rain pours down the windows and I peer out trying to jag a glimpse of the Sacre Coeur or the tip of the Eiffel Tower. The sun comes out as we pass Porte St Martin, one of the old city gates, and we shift from Greater Paris, the banlieues or suburbs, and into central Paris.
I’m staying in the Marais and let me just say, you can tell this is a posh part of town because there’s a tea shop on every second corner, tiny boutiques selling what exactly? and a lot of clever street art.
My French Taxi Driver Birthday Twin dropped me off out the front and the super helpful Darren—my lifesaver—carried my enormous bag up 4 flights of very dodgy medieval steps! In 2024, we stayed in an apartment around the corner and Michael and I had to heft our own bags up 70 narrow stairs.
Darren showed me the washer and fridge, the thermostat and the key and said au revoir before starting back down the stairs.
I’d planned to unpack and get settled but did I? Nope. I had tea to buy and Paris was waiting!
This post was originally published on Substack.
