But it wasn't without its hiccups. While attempting to make myself presentable, I discovered that my flat iron (which my hair so desperately needed) didn't work (despite my conversion adapter) and charging my cell phone was also a struggle.
Breakfast, however, was delicious and problem-free. The hotel's buffet became a highly-anticipated start to each day, not only for its plentiful food (scrambled eggs, sausages, cereal, pastries, fresh fruit, bread (always bread) yogurt, cheese, coffee, and juice) but for its opportunity to connect with my tour mates and chat about their past and future adventures.
The first item on that day's itinerary was a group lecture - led by our British instructor Malcolm - on Paris's tumultuous history, which I found scattered and somewhat dull. But Malcolm's unceasing enthusiasm, encyclopedic knowledge, and love for all Parisian things were infectious, and I enjoyed hearing him - with his British accent - prattle on, regardless of topic.
At 10 a.m. we set off on a huge motorcoach for a panoramic city tour, my first opportunity to see anything other than the airport and hotel. I plastered myself against a window and shot photo after photo of the Arc de Triomphe, the Latin Quarter, the Seine, and the indisputable highlight - the Tour Eiffel.
We stopped and disembarked at a spot overlooking the Eiffel Tower (the closest I'd come to it) and one of my new travel pals snapped a serviceable photo of me in front of it. Mostly I just stood there and gaped while crowds of fellow tourists took selfies and persistent street vendors hawked their Eiffel figurines around me. That's when it hit me, really for the first time: I was undeniably there in Paris, a fabled place I'd only seen on TV and read about in books (and only fantasized about visiting). Looking back now, post-trip, that was unquestionably one of its greatest moments.
Following the bus tour, we stopped at a nearby cafe, where I dined with three of my tour mates and ordered a lovely "Indian salade" with sliced apples, fried onions, fried potatoes, grilled eggplant, and chicken (an unlikely combination of foods that unexpectedly worked) and a cafe creme (coffee with milk).
After lunch, my dining companions and I walked down the street to Shakespeare and Company, Paris's historical equivalent to San Francisco's City Lights, a wonderful old building haphazardly stuffed with books in every nook, most of which were surprisingly in English.
Our tour continued with a guided visit to Notre Dame and Sainte-Chapelle, whose stained glass windows and architecture are unmatched. I'll confess, though, despite my reverence, I was cathedraled out by the time we toured Sainte-Chapelle due to the day's heat (73 degrees and sunny), the stuffy buildings, and the throngs of people (potential pickpocketers) around me. It didn't help that I'd unwisely worn ankle boots (in an attempt to be Paris chic) rather than my more practical sneakers, not anticipating all the walking we'd do that day.
(It could have been much worse, though. To put events in perspective, the following afternoon after my tour group visited Notre Dame, a terrorist attempted to attack a police officer with a hammer outside the cathedral and was fortunately thwarted before harming anyone. But, as a result, all visitors were locked down inside Notre Dame until the crisis was averted. If we'd visited just one day later, that could have been us, having more adventure than anticipated or desired.)
We returned to the hotel afterward and I gratefully peeled off my boots and collapsed on my bed, though I didn't allow myself to doze off (determined to stay on French time). I was on my own for dinner, and I longed for room service or a hotel restaurant. Unfortunately, neither was an option, but there were plenty of cafes and restaurants within walking distance, so I redid my hair and makeup, eased on my boots, and limped down the street, stepping into a nearby cafe. What followed was one of the most embarrassing episodes of the entire trip, one that made me reluctant to ever dine alone again while in Paris.
I walked in and was greeted in French by a young male server. I attempted - in my limited French - to request a table for one with water to drink (as one does upon entering an American restaurant, right?). My server, however, did not understand what I was saying (I froze and forgot how to pronounce l'eau), and I didn't understand what he was saying. Thankfully he switched to English and we managed to muddle through the rest of the ordering process. He handed me a iPad with an English menu, from which I carefully selected tagatelle with foie gras (?) and mushrooms. The server politely informed me that option wasn't available. So I restudied the menu and ordered cod with vegetables, which turned out to be an excellent choice.
The entire meal was painfully awkward, however. I was mortified by my inability to speak basic conversational French (which I'd studied for months prior to the trip) and wanted to slide under the table (especially when I heard the server laughing with another server about the "Americain." (Any chance that wasn't me? Sigh.) The agony was the slow, torturous kind. My l'eau didn't arrive until halfway through the meal. (I wasn't about to ask for it.) Then, after finishing, I lingered, awkwardly waiting for the bill (l'addition). What I learned - eventually - is that you have to ask for it. If you order so much as un cafe, a restaurant table is yours as long as you want it. So, after probably 30 minutes of desperation to flee the scene, I walked up to the register and managed to ask for l'addition without further catastrophe.
So my first full day in Paris was a mixed bag. It had excitement (that first view of the Eiffel Tower), enjoyment (the company of friendly travel mates), exhaustion (stuffy cathedral tours in inappropriate footwear), and embarrassment (the cafe incident). In my fantasies, I'd cut a stylish (sneakerless) figure through the streets of Paris, long hair flowing in the breeze (not happening without my flat iron), speaking fluent French like a sophisticated woman of the world (snort). The reality was different, but no less rewarding,
