The Hub and I went to Europe the first time 11 years ago. We traveled around to different countries, and he studied in the south of France. The next year, we studied in Belgium. I utterly broke down and barely spoke French. I felt I knew so much and had too much pride to admit when I didn’t understand what people said to me (the instance where a man asked for the time and I thought he wanted money and I said no and ran off comes to mind).

I have regretted that ever since.

I admit, I’m not the best travel partner. I cave under pressure. I melt at the first sign of stress. The Hub threatened to leave me the first trip, I was so bad. So understandably, I was nervous about how I’d react this time (it’s out of my control! I swear!). I wanted to handle it all gracefully. I wanted to speak French and learn from my environs.

So far, so good. I’m much older now, and I find grace in admitting when I don’t understand. Yes, the young storeclerks think I’m an idiot because I clearly speak French but didn’t understand that they asked if they could assist me. But whatever. At least I speak French and at least I try. I’m here for me, not them.

And the random experiences are already etching themselves in my mind. Like after trekking through the rain, we came across one of many kebab/crepe fast food restaurants. We stopped in for a snack and a coffee, and ended up speaking to the Algerian guys that work there for a while. They think Max is so cute when he speaks French (which is hardly ever). We’ve been back to Abdel’s restaurant every day since. He’s a new friend.

Or the guy in the comic book shop who helped Max pick out a book he could read. Max did his best not to talk to the guy (his shyness is a detriment) but the guy was very nice.

Whoever said Parisians are snobs is just wrong. Maybe it just takes having the right attitude. Like me.

Want more of my adventures in Paris? Read them on Carol’s blog, NYCityMama.com.

So we’re finally in Paris, nestled into our little apartment in Monmartre. It’s all so perfect and sublime. So much to share, but here are just a few vignettes.

White Pre-Christmas

It snowed giant fat snowflakes last night. In the hour it took us to eat at the Indo-Pakistan restaurant, it snowed about an inch. By morning it was starting to melt, but the streets are filled with slush that’s a bit precarious to walk on. I found this out as I braved the crowds to shop at Tati (think Wal-Mart broken up into lots of individual stores all next to each other) for the boys’ Christmas presents.

Farmers’ Market from Hell

I fantasized about buying fresh fruits and vegetables at the farmers’ market. Found one nearby and went. It was an endless row of stalls, with vendors shouting in Arabic. The food didn’t seem local and fresh. Insane crowds. Poor Max let me guide him around people stopped to chat in the middle of the crowd. It was like being in a river’s current; you go with the flow and hope you don’t drown. We bought nothing.

The French Like Last Minute Shopping Too

Against my nature, I decided we’d wait til we got here to buy Christmas gifts for each other. We went to Galeries Lafayette, a ginormous (Max’s word) shopping center with 6 levels. They were all crowded, but naturellement, the toy store was the worst. Guess where we needed to go. I was surprised to find so many American toys, like Ben 10 and Transformers.  I stupidly let Husband go to the Men’s section while we went elsewhere. We took an hour to find each other again.

The Dome on Sacre Coeur Has a Lot of Stairs

We’re near Sacre Coeur, the 125 year old church in Montmartre. It’s beautiful (though not so white when snow is on it), so Max and I paid to see the view from the dome. They warn you that there are more than 300 stairs but you think “Bah, I can handle that.” Oh lo lo. The steps are that of a turret: winding and narrow. And they don’t exactly go through and sweep them off to make sure you don’t slip on the icy water. Be careful.

That’s it for now. Signing off.