well silly computer. I will expand more on the Libby-and-Madeleine-died-and-are-existing-in-some-other-state-of-consciousness theory later. Mom wants me to go to bed. Twenty years old--why do I feel like I'm twelve?
Right, back to nat'l protest day in Paris. We loaded up all of our luggage (I mean, I didn't bring that much, really) and walked all the way back to line 4. My hand fell asleep several times from the weight. Coming from the other direction were gobs of people with different signs, stickers, buttons, t-shirts. Some were singing; some were chanting. And the traffic was horrible! We walked faster than all of the cars the whole way, to the dorm and back. It was crazy--six weeks and I hadn't seen anything like it. At least the rain cleared up for a bit. . .
So we FINALLY make it down to the metro stop, and we got on right away. And then we sat there. And sat there. I think everyone had a seat; no one had to stand. After maybe 15 mintues, we got rolling. Stop after stop, the car filled. We sat at the first stop, and the car filled with people--protesters. And we sat there. It got stuffy. And then the second stop--more protesters. And by the third stop, I think we were as full as we could get. Everyone was squished together. But at the fourth stop, even more people decided to get in. Every stop after that, we'd stop, and four or five people would get out, and at least TEN more would try to get in. I had a lady leaning right up against me and two others sitting on my luggage. One man simply couldn't fit in, and he slammed himself in. The doors kept closing on him and jumping back open. Usually, when you feel like one more person can't fit on the metro, you just squeeze a little and then doors close and it's fine. This time, it was physically impossible. He just could not fit. Poor Libby had her upright suitcase and the guy yelled at everyone to move, and an elderly lady explained that no one could move. This jerk yelled to move the suitcase. It couldn't move because it was surrounded by people. So in the end the poor lady had her ribcage jammed into the suitcase by the man. Big city people. Drr. Luckily we had the sweetest men help us off. Two guys carried our suitcases and yelled at everyone to move out of our way. I was in the far back and had almost no hope of getting off. People always surprise me I guess.
We sat at the Gare du Nord for a while. First we thought we'd put our luggage in storage and wander around, get something to eat. We put most of our stuff in a big locker, and closed it. We didn't have the correct change, but the locker was dysfunctional. If you don't put money in the locker after 30 seconds or so, it pops open. This one didn't. So we got one of the men working there to come look at it, and he said it would have to wait until tomorrow. I said, oh no it can't, we have a flight tonight! We didn't have a flight that night, but it was at 7 AM which meant we needed to be there to check in at 5, and the locker room didn't open until 6. I didn't want to come back at 11 PM and have the locker not open! So poor Libby endured my paranoia and we took a taxi to Charles DeGaulle. A 60 Euro taxi ride. I think I still owe her for that, now that I think of it. . .
So on our last night in Paris, instead of getting to do all the things we'd planned, like our favorite restaurants and some last minute gift shopping, we sat up all night in DeGaulle Airport. I read Kundera's "The Unbearable Lightness of Being," which I rather enjoyed. It had interesting ideas, especially since Libby and I had concluded that we had died at some point during this trip. Perhaps I should expand on this.
