We had to get up so early in order to catch our train to Bethel! We took the Metro to Saint Lazare station and purchased our train tickets easily enough. On the train we tried to catch up as much as we could on our journal writing. The brother from Bethel we had spoken to over the phone told us that when we arrived in Val de Reuil we had to switch to the red bus which would take us to Louvier. He never told us which bus stop we should get off at. So, figuring that it was self explanatory and that we would most likely see the buildings and a sign from the bus windows we got on the red bus and, unworried, settled down to watch for it. The scenery out the bus window as we drove through Normandy towards Louvier was very pretty. We were soon in the heart of town and the bus was weaving its way through the narrow streets. Louvier appeared to be at one time a quaint little village that had grown over the years and was now a bustling town. There were now too many cars for the narrow roads and our bus was one of the many vehicles that were careening through the narrow streets. At one particularly tight spot our bus sideswiped a parked car and broke off the driver side mirror. But the bus driver very nicely stopped and spoke to the young woman who owned the car and I assume made arrangements to have it fixed and we continued on our way.

            I had been getting anxious as I looked out the bus windows, searching for a sign that said "Temoins de Jehovah" and had not yet spotted anything. I decided to ask the bus driver where I could find the Jehovah’s Witnesses. I walked to the front of the bus and as it was lurching through the narrow streets I asked him. His answer was very difficult to understand but I thought he sounded dismayed and indicated we should have gotten off the bus already. He began to gesture and look around at me as he spoke and I prayed he would keep his eyes on the road. We had already gotten in one accident this morning. We didn’t need another. Then I really began to panic when the bus stopped, the driver said something, everyone got off and the bus driver got out of the bus. Apparently this was the end of the line and he was to wait for his time to start the route over again.

            Should we get of the bus and walk back to find it? We started to get off the bus but the bus driver suddenly got excited and began telling us something very loudly and rapidly. Up to this point I had been very proud of my comprehension of the French language. I may not have been able to give a word for word translation of all that was being spoken but I thought I was able to understand the gist of what people were trying to communicate with us rather well. But this man’s French was entirely beyond me. Perhaps he spoke too quickly. Perhaps he had a heavy accent. Maybe it was his complete lack of useful gestures or body language. But try as I might I could not understand this man. I began to use exaggerated descriptive gestures to try to discern what we should do. He had flustered us so badly that we had completely forgotten about using our phrasebooks to try to communicate in French. So I asked him in very slow English which he obviously didn’t understand a word of, "Should…we…stay…on…the…bus?" And using both my arms gestured down toward the bus which we were still standing in. He rattled something off that was beyond comprehension. "Or…should…we…get…off…the…bus?" I asked as I pointed to Jayné and myself and gestured a sweeping movement through the door of the bus. He said something again. Neither reply gave me any indication of which was the correct move for us. In fact, he went on to speak sentence after sentence to us. At the time I thought he may have been imparting some useful information that we were clearly missing out on. But in retrospect he was most likely saying "Why me? Why today? I come to work minding my own business. I just want to drive my bus and go home! But first I bust some lady’s car mirror and now I’m stuck babysitting these lost tourists! Should I be expected to speak English? I’m just a bus driver in a small town. It’s not like I’m a tour guide in Paris or anything!" etc. etc.

            A young Arab looking woman wearing a scarf over her head was waiting to board the bus and at last in desperation the bus driver called her over and asked her if she knew English. She looked embarrassed and kind of shrugged but she did know a very little English. She was able to at last determine from the bus driver with certainty that we should stay on the bus. Eventually the driver got back on the bus along with the young woman and a few others and we pulled back out onto the roads once again. Meanwhile, Jayné had discovered a very useful phrase in the phrasebook: "Please tell me when to get off." We told this to the driver in French and alas, he understood! He assured us yes "oui, oui." I’m sure he was only too eager to get us off his bus and out of his life for good.

            We began heading back in the direction we had come and soon were back at a stop that we had passed earlier and the driver told us to get off here. He pointed to a large 3 story building just off the road and said "Temoins de Jehovah". We thanked him profusely and got off the bus. I had noticed this building when we had passed it earlier and thought it looked suspiciously like a Jehovah’s Witness branch building but as it had no such sign to indicate I had dismissed it. A small parking lot separated the building from the road and we could see the main entrance but it was entirely fenced and gated. With no way to access the main entrance and no bell to ring we began to circle behind the building looking for another entrance. There were a few more doors behind and as we were wandering around contemplating if we should try any to see if they were locked we heard a whistle. An older brother dressed in work clothes was approaching us.

            At first we thought he was just whistling to himself as he worked but we soon realized he was trying to get our attention. He spoke as he approached us and we explained to him that we did not speak French. "Parlez vous Anglais?" We asked. "Non." He did not speak a word of English. But he led us inside the building and found a sister who spoke English. He told her how he had found us wandering around outside. We explained to her that we were here for the 10 am tour (It was now about 10:15) but we had gotten lost. It turns out that we were at the shipping facility and the main offices were actually about a mile away. She found a brother who could drive us over there in his car, we jumped in and he sped down the narrow road. We soon arrived at the main entrance to the office complex. He pointed out the front door to us, we piled out of the car and he sped off again without speaking more than a sentence to us (in French).

            At last we were here! Walking in the lobby was like coming home. It was so comfortable and familiar. The sister behind the receptionist counter greeted us with a friendly "Bonjour!" And when we told her in English that we were here for the 10 am tour, but had gotten lost she replied in our native tongue "You must be Sister McCormick and Sister Franck." As she pulled from beneath her daily planner our letters that we had sent! I don’t know why this affected me so much but it did. I almost got choked up. Here we were halfway across the world and she had in her hand the very letter that I had sent from home. They knew us by name and were warmly welcoming us as sisters. She told us to make our selves comfortable in the lobby while she called for our first tour guide. We sat down and she offered us coffee or juice and snacks while we waited. We let her bring us some juice and while we waited for our guide she explained to us that there was a different bus that came directly to the office. The blue one. Or maybe the red one came by there only on certain days and it happened to be the wrong day. I’m not sure. In any case they were very patient and understanding with us.

            Our guide, Gentian Grasset, arrived and we began our tour. She spoke excellent English and she worked in the translation department. She gave us the tour of the recording studio, writing and translation departments. This was the most fascinating part of our tour to me. Of course everything in Jehovah’s organization is consistent throughout the world. The printing and shipping of literature, the building of kingdom halls and assembly halls, the legal departments etc. is all familiar to us. But Gentian explained to me that every article for each Watchtower and Awake magazine and every new publication is first written in English. This is true even if the article was written by a brother at one of the branch offices throughout the world. Then the article is sent to the Governing Body for proofreading before receiving final approval to print it. Then it is sent to the branches for translation. So if a brother from the French writing department was to submit an article for publication he must write it in English, even though it would be translated into French later. She showed us the research libraries, her office and the programs she uses to aid in translation.

            After touring these departments we watched a short film about Bethel, explored the displays in the lobby and met our next guide who gave us the tour of the legal departments and residence buildings. His English was good but he was very nervous and read the information from his notes. At lunch time he passed us over to Adrien and Estella Wlodarczyk, a married couple whom we were to sit with at lunch and spend the lunch time with. Estella, like Gentian, also worked in the translation department. It became clear to me now that we were to be supervised at all times. I would have liked to wander the grounds a little and I’m sure we could have with one of our guides but there ended up being no time for that. I had never had lunch with the Bethel family before although Jayne’ had once at Brooklyn Bethel. I was nervous and excited at the same time. The others at our table were brothers from Belgium who were attending the Ministerial Training School here. Adrien was our table head and after prayer he began passing the dishes that were brought to us by the waiters, some he passed clockwise and some counterclockwise. I was ravenous but was afraid to take too much food onto my plate. There were a lot of brothers at our table and the food had to go all the way around! Along with the bread and butter that were already on the table we were surprised to find a carafe of wine. Adrien told us that only three Bethel branches in the world serve wine at the table. (The other two were Portugal and Italy.)

            Part way into the meal I realized that I had forgotten my mini photo album with pictures of home in my backpack in the lobby. I was just about to jump up to run and get it so I could show it to them when Estella kindly stopped me. She said they customarily stayed seated until the second prayer, then you were free to get up from the table or stay and finish eating if you wished. I was so embarrassed! I almost committed a grave faux pas! After the second prayer I did go get it and showed it to Gentian and her husband Phillipe who I saw on the way back to our table. The older brother who had found us wandering around the buildings that morning came around to glean cheese from our table. He proceeded to tell Adrien and Estella and anyone else within earshot of how he found us and came to our rescue this morning. He was obviously greatly amused by the story.

            After we were done eating Adrien and Estella invited us up to their room for tea and to visit until the end of the lunch break. I had read in my Culture Shock! book that the French people are not quick to invite you into their homes. Of course I expected the brothers to be more open than that and so was not at first surprised. But I realized later that this was a very special invitation. As we sat in their room talking and drinking tea we learned that they had come to the United States for a vacation. They had been to California, touring San Francisco and Yosemite National Park and driven through parts of Nevada and Utah. They said "We think the brothers in the United States are very loving and friendly. The French brothers are not as hospitable as the Americans. We are trying to work on being more open and showing more hospitality."

            When lunch was over we jumped into the shuttle van to take us back to the shipping facilities where we had first got off the bus. We were now to tour the laundry, construction and shipping departments. Our guide for the afternoon was named David. We had just begun our tour when he got a call and was told we would be joined by some more Americans who had just arrived. He left us alone!!! while he went downstairs to find them. (I don’t know if that was technically allowed) We visited with some sisters folding laundry while we waited. We were joined by two sisters from California and a French brother.

            When we exited the shipping building to walk to the laundry and offices we were approached by none other than the old brother who had found us near that very spot this morning. He had to tell his story of how he found us there again to David. He seemed greatly amused that although he didn’t speak any English and we didn’t speak French that he was able to help us. Jayne wanted a photo but he protested and so she let him off easy. The others went on to tour what we had already that morning while Jayne and I went back up to David’s office. He promised to look up Kingdom Hall addresses and meeting times for the remaining cities we would be visiting for us. While he looked on the computer we had an interesting conversation about beer. We told him we were hoping to taste some good beer in Alsace. He had spent some time living and working at the London Bethel and told us how he never drank beer before then, but was initiated quite quickly by his department head when they went out for a drink after work and his Bethel boss ordered two pints for each of them. (In France that would be considered gluttonous.)

            He printed off the Kingdom Hall information for us and then insisted on escorting us to the bus stop. We knew where it was. It was the stop that the driver had let us off that morning and we could even see it from David’s office window. But by now I’m sure the story of our being lost and wandering around had spread, not just to those we had told and not just those that we had overheard the old brother tell, but to many more he had told throughout the day. In any case, they apparently didn’t want to take any chances of us getting lost again. David escorted us to the bus stop and told us which bus to get on. We said our goodbyes and he went back inside. It was a great relief to see when the bus arrived that it was a different driver than we had in the morning!

            On our train ride back to Paris we decided that rather than go back to our room to change we would go directly to a part of town we had not yet explored and find a restaurant to eat dinner. We randomly chose a Metro station in the Left Bank, went straight from our train to the Metro and navigated our way to the station we had chosen. We were pleasantly surprised when we came up the stairs from the Metro to street level that we were in a brightly lit neighborhood where the streets were lined with fancy boutiques and nice looking restaurants. Now the only problem was to find a restaurant that was affordable! We quickly settled on one called La Parisienne that was in our price range. It was smoky inside as all French restaurants are and when we told our waiter non fumer he led us to the back and up a small flight of 4 or 5 stairs to a second level where there were 3 or 4 tables. There were no people seated near us but the smoke from below drifted up to our section nonetheless. Do they not understand that smoke rises? At least we were in a warm room out of the cold.

            We decided quickly what we wanted to order since we were ravenous. I didn’t eat much at the Bethel lunch and it was long gone from my stomach by now. I opted for the salmon with haricort verts. Although we made quick decisions as to our food we had a harder time with the wine. We had no trouble deciding that we indeed wanted to order wine. It was just the amount of wine that we could not decide. There were many factors to consider. We wanted to each have a glass or two, the French wine glasses are small yet we did not want to appear gluttonous yet we wanted to enjoy our wine. And since many restaurants sell wine by the carafe measured in centiliters this was our greatest dilemma. I really have no idea how big a centiliter is. I can approximate the size of a liter. Okay, that’s half the size of a two liter soda bottle. So I think a centiliter would be one one hundreths of a liter. Okay, so now I divide that bottle into 100 parts. If the carafe was 75 centiliters then how much wine would that be? It was just too much math to figure out when you already have low blood sugar so we enlisted the help of our waiter. He was able to tell us approximately how many glasses of wine we would get out of each different size of carafe. When we got our wine it ended up being more glasses than he had told us it would be. We were fine with that. More is better, right? At least in America it is. But this is France and they don’t feel that way here. So I thought until my food arrived. I think the cook had the "more is better" philosophy also because on my plate was the hugest pile of green beans I have ever seen! And I ate them all.

            Back out on the streets with full stomachs we decided to explore a little. It had been cold all day but it seemed to get colder as the day went on. Waiting for the bus to arrive when we left Bethel was torture and we were hardly warmer at the train station waiting for our train. And now we were on the streets of Paris, it was freezing and all the shops were closed. The wind blew and sucked away any bit of warmth that our bodies could generate. We still had our skirts on and I had worn my lightest sweater under my coat this day. I was freezing! There really was nothing for us to see but window shop and it was too cold for that. We rounded a corner and came across a huge grating in the ground that was about 40 feet square. Looking down we could see some sort of subterranean tunnel below, probably some service access to the train tunnels. Air was blowing out through this grating and at certain points it was blowing so strong that it would blow your skirt up. We paused for Marilyn Monroe photos. (At least the air coming out the grating was warm!)

            We were both tired and ready to go back to our room but I wanted Jayné to see the Eiffel tower from a distance. We had stood right beneath it before but you cannot get the full effect or take photos that include the entire tower unless you are back from it a little. So we got back on the Metro and came out at the end of the Champ de Mars. We lingered, taking photos of each other. There were a few other tourists around doing the same. A greasy American offered to take our photo together. I was worried that it was just a ploy to steal my camera. I knew as soon as I placed it in his hands he would run off. I calculated whether or not I could take him down. But I noticed he had a large SLR of his own around his neck and concluded that he was a harmless camera geek so I handed him my camera and Jayné and I posed. In the first photo he made sure to include our feet but cut off the top of the Eiffel tower. I had him take another, assuring him it was okay to cut off the feet. The next photo was extremely blurry and quite a bit crooked. I asked if he could do another. This one was only slightly less blurry and slightly less crooked. He offered to take another. I just wanted to get my camera away from him and his greasy face but he insisted on taking another. I let him. I don’t really believe it was any better than the rest but I assured him in animated terms that it was beautiful and I couldn’t ask for a nicer photo, got my camera out of his greasy hands and we left, never to see him again. Well, I never saw him again. Jayné tells me she spotted him two days later at Versailles!