After a long and wearying flight we were haggard and disheveled. It’s practically impossible to get any decent sleep on an airplane and it didn’t help that there was a screaming baby on our flight. It was 8:30 a.m. Paris time and our plane was to land in less than half an hour. I tried desperately not to remember that for us it was actually 11:30 p.m. and I would normally be in my cozy warm bed with a whole night of sleep ahead of me. No! I mustn’t think that way! We had our first day in Paris ahead of us! I was so tired my head throbbed. The screaming child was screaming again. I felt like screaming myself. "Would someone shut that kid up?!!"

          Jayné and I were the last to disembark the plane. They were unloading us directly onto the tarmac and then on to buses to shuttle us to the main terminal. It took two double length buses to hold us all. Since Jayné and I were the last off the plane we were also the last to board the bus. I climbed on first with my suitcase and the door immediately closed behind me and started to pull slowly away, leaving Jayné and her bags standing on the tarmac.

          I was so shocked I didn’t know what to do or say. So I stood there dumbly with my hand pressed against the glass of the bus window, staring at Jayné as a last goodbye. This was it. I knew we would be parted and never find each other again. The entire scenario flashed through my mind. The hours of searching, the questions, the struggle to express what had happened in French, finding someone who spoke English but just didn’t quite understand exactly what to do, and finally, the phone call to Ty to tell him I lost his wife before we even left the airport.

          Jayné’s face was expressionless as the bus slowly pulled away. Luckily, everyone else on the bus saw what had happened. Several people yelled out in English "Stop! Wait!" When the bus continued to edge forward others yelled something in French that I didn’t understand but apparently the bus driver did because the bus came to a stop, Jayné climbed aboard and we were not forever parted in a strange land as had just flashed through my mind.

          We got through customs, purchased train tickets into Gare du Nord, then connected to the Paris Metro and were able to find our chambre d’hôte without incident. Our hostess, Marie Claude, was there to welcome us and we checked in. Our room and the house itself was perhaps a bit more "shabby chic" in real life than what I could tell from the photos on the internet, but it was still charming. We had the entire ground level, which consisted of our bedroom, a parlor, a bathroom and toilet room to ourselves. The parlor had large windows off the back which looked into a small walled garden. The building front looked like they were in the middle of resurfacing it, but it was on a narrow and quiet street. We were pleased.

          After freshening up we left our room in search of food and for exploration. We stumbled upon a crepes geantes street vendor and got these incredible quesadilla-like giant crepes grilled with champignon et fromage (mushrooms and cheese). We wandered the streets and looked in shops. All day long Jayné was finding herself a bit hesitant to speak French. So, every time we interacted with someone – getting our first train ticket from the airport into Paris, purchasing our Metro pass, buying fruit from the subway vendor, and buying our crepes geantes – I just jumped in with my horrible American accent and asked for whatever it was we were purchasing. Then Jayné would say "moi aussi" which translates to "me too". Hey wait a minute! I think she’s got this French thing down. I have to do all the fumbling around with learning new phrases and words and she has perfected her one phrase to capitalize on it!

          After a while we decided to head to Montmartre to find Jayné’s stairs - the famous stairs of Montmartre that inspired our trip. We got on the Metro and found our way to the Abbesses station. When we got off we didn’t bother following a map but just started walking uphill. I knew the Sacre Coeur Basilica was at the top of the hill and the steps had to be somewhere near. We found them and Jayné was enraptured. I have to admit they are very impressive. The area has a peaceful calm to it and when you are at the top of the stairs looking down the city seems so distant and quiet. We snapped photo after photo and planned to come back the next day with the tripod to take our "professional" one. After basking on the steps below the Sacre Coeur and soaking up the view of the city below us we moved on to the Eiffel Tower.

          The tower was swarming with tourists of course – most of them English speaking Americans or Asians. We were in the ticket line behind an American family whose 14 year old son was literally bouncing with enthusiasm. He wanted to climb the stairs to the top. He got Jayné all enthusiastic about taking the stairs too. I just looked at her with a withering glance. "I don’t think you realize just how far it is to the top." Of course, this I knew because I had been to the top before. I remembered Ty calling me the "travel guru" and I didn’t suppose he meant it in a sarcastic way.

          When we reached the ticket booth I was relieved to hear them tell the boy in front of us that you couldn’t climb up the stairs. They wanted everyone to take the elevators. We took the west pillar elevator to level two, looked around briefly, used the toilets and got in line for the second elevator to the top. Although there were four elevators shuttling people up and down the tower we somehow were never able to get on one. We’d be standing in front of one door, waiting for the elevator to come back down when another door would open up behind us. So we would turn to enter that one but everyone would cram in so quickly that it was soon full and the doors would close. So then, we were standing in front of that one and the one we were originally in front of would open up behind us. So we would turn to enter the first one, yet everyone would cram into it before us and the cycle continued.

          This had happened to us several times and we were starting to get annoyed that we would never get to the top. A large group of Asian tourists were also standing there when an elevator behind us opened. Determined not to be left out again we stepped quickly forward and were swept up in the crowd of pushing Asians into the elevator. I was able to find a place just inside the door but I saw a look of panic sweep across Jayné’s face as she was shoved further in to the back of the elevator. The panic changed to determined anger and I saw her begin to "swim" against the flow and push her way back out of the elevator. As she stepped out she grabbed my arm and said "Come on Lara! We’re getting out of here!"

          She pulled me so hard it took me by surprise. As she was pulling my arm out the door the elevator closed. Now this elevator was built in 1889. It has no safety bumper as most elevators of my experience do. So I was a little shocked, then panic stricken when the elevator closed on my shoulder and didn’t stop. It just kept pressing, crushing me. All the while Jayné still had a hold of my arm outside the elevator. I was almost wondering what would happen to me when the elevator began to move. Would I be torn in two? When, thankfully, the door once again opened. The lift operator had apparently pushed a button to open it. Jayné pulled me the rest of the way out while he yelled angrily at us in French. I’m assuming he said something like this: "On or off lady? Make up your mind!" Then he no doubt muttered under his breath "Stupid American."

          We did eventually get to the top and were able to watch the sunset and see all the lights of Paris slowly come on. It was magical. Paris truly is "the city of light".