Paris Trip
Late October is a good time to visit Paris. It is less expensive, less hot, and there are fewer tourists, like me. I began planning this trip six years earlier after an impromptu day trip from London with my son, who wanted to see the Eiffel Tower. Until then, I had no desire to go to Paris. However, from the moment we stepped out of Gare du Nord Train Station, I was enchanted, and I vowed to return and spend more time.
Most people in the city speak English. However, out of respect, I downloaded a French lesson app and learned as much French as I could in a month. As long as the conversation involved a man, a woman, a girl, a boy, a dog, or a cat eating a croissant, I was “good to go.”
Since no one else in my family wanted to join me, this was to be a solo trip. I was both excited and nervous about this. “Solo” meant I could travel as I wished, with few plans and lots of wandering. The main thing I wanted to “do” in Paris was simply to “be” in Paris. That excited me. However, “solo” also meant being more vulnerable. My biggest fear was getting hurt, needing help, and being alone.
On my second full day, I took a long walk along the Seine to Notre Dame Cathedral. I have a beautiful memory of eating a delicious crepe that had seconds earlier been on fire right in front of me, as the bells of the cathedral rang above me. “I am so very fortunate.” I thought to myself.
As the sun set, I headed back to my hotel. It was dark by the time I reached the busy intersection near my hotel. I noticed the crosswalk sign lighting up green just before I reached the crossing lines. Not wanting to wait, I broke into a slow jog, intending to cross just a little bit before I properly got to the crossing.
Suddenly, and as if all at once, I was both flying and landing hard on my right side while listening to the sound of my glasses skittering across the pavement. I had tripped on something after taking no more than one step. I was embarrassed, ashamed, afraid, and I WAS IN THE ROAD! I quickly grabbed my bent glasses, staggered to the median, and leaned against a pole to begin assessing how badly I was hurt. My right lung ached, but nothing was broken. “How hard did I hit my head?” I wondered.
I continued leaning against the pole in the median for what felt like five minutes, assessing my condition and trying to figure out how I had tripped. I realized that in my hurry, I had failed to notice a small curb that separated the bike lane from the sidewalk, A curb that ended at the crosswalk. “That was so dumb!” I scolded myself. “Slow down and be more careful. That could have really been MUCH worse.”
For the first time on my solo trip, I felt alone. Many people saw me fall, but no one asked me if I was okay. I almost began to cry. I began speaking more compassionately to myself. “I am okay. I may need a stitch or two above my eye, but I am okay. I am very fortunate.”
Then I noticed a hand reaching out to me. A woman discreetly offered me a small tissue that I imagine, upon seeing I was bleeding, she had taken the time to dig out of her purse. By the time I could say “Thank you,” in English, she was making her way across the street.
Without saying a word, she had said, “I see you. I care. You are okay, and you are not alone.”
