Touch down ...

With a spring in my step I headed to the carousel to collect my big ass backpack. I reached the baggage claim area, stood up right, adjusted my watch to its tick ,carefully collected the strands of my hair and tied them together in a bun and wishfully waited for my backpack to arrive .A swing and a miss, another swing and a miss.  I remember waiting for its arrival as though I were five years old eagerly waiting for dad to get back home from work and help me steer my balance on the wheels while I dodgily attempted to complete one round of the park.

"Is it there yet? Is it there yet?” is what raced through my mind. I could feel the tension in my legs building up.’What if' thoughts began to pour in but before they could hog all that was left and drive me mad, there it was --  my only steady companion, naturally progressing towards me ,dying to be held up and piggy backed ! I managed to roll my baby over effortlessly and buckled its waist belts tightly enough to hear them click .I was all set, ready to rock n roll...

The Parisians oh so knew that Paris was about to be set on fire! I could already hear the sizzles!! :P 

Minutes later I found myself making way to the information counter. As I waited in queue to be called upon on, I scurried through my purse foraging for relevant address print outs, slid them in my travel guide and clasped it tightly to my side. Momentarily I was face to face with a mid age, gray haired woman. As she glanced through her round glasses, I picked the unsaid hint and hurriedly reached out for my phrase book that lay buried in my cluttered purse. Amidst the labyrinth of items , I managed to skillfully locate it in time and out went the mighty words , " je je je je  vuuuuu aeeelleeer " which read " je veux aller " ( I want to go to ... ). As retarded as it may have sounded to the woman behind the desk , I went full on with my attempt !

"Madam , Je veux aller Rue des Morillons , aaaa Arty hostel ".

I heard a voice replying back in a language that sounded familiar.

"Let's not waste our time. Let's just talk in English! How may I help you? Where do you want to go? "

Both embittered and delighted, I gave in and asked her directions to Arty hostel. She directed me to take the Air France bus, line 4 to Gare Montparnasse and told me that I could walk the distance from there. So there I went ,happily prancing out of the airport, locating the bus station, playing with the ticketing machine, reaching the correct spot and boarding the bus. I offloaded my backpack in to the luggage rack , showed my ticket to the bus driver and parked myself on a comfortable seat by the window ,all ready for the ignition to ignite me even further .45 mins to an hour later with a few shut eyes in between , I reached Gare Montparnasse terminus.

Gare Montparnasse !  Ah ! Gare Montparnasse !  Teeming with people, Gare Montparnasse is one of the largest stations in Paris. Confident, based on my airport experience, I headed to the ticket conductor and asked him for directions to the hostel and WOOOOAAAAHHH ! What do I hear? Blah! Blah! Blah! Blah! I repeat my question a few times, make hand gestures, point out to my print outs, play charades with him but all go in vain. I then head to snack stalls to hear the same story. I stop passengers walking past me and yet again the same story .I remember literally going "Holy Smolly!!What do I do now? No one here understands English!!! “I was about to have panic a attack when my navigational instincts (LOL! -- if you knew me better, you would know that I don't have any) directed me to get out of the station and try asking people outside, conveniently pretending that people outside were any less French than the ones inside :).I laugh at that thought till date but comeon I was weary, tired, lost in an unknown land and didn't speak their language .What more could be expected of me? 

I walked a little further up and came to a stop. I saw a bunch of white tents, trinklets and charms hanging, pottery and other art forms on display, brightly colored fabrics swinging in the direction of the wind,vin chaud ( hot wine ) and hot chocolate stalls and tones of people -- selling , haggling, buying , exchanging glances, laughing but all in an incomprehensible language .It was a street fair , one of the kinds I had imagined but instead of being bedazzled, I remember feeling like a spectator of a silent film. I could see the reel roll in action but it was all mute. I continued asking the same question," How do I get to Arty hostel? Rue de Morillions? Can you tell me which direction? “. Alas! No luck .From their gestures I could understand that they didn't get a word of what I spoke and I didn't get theirs. At this point, my neurons were frenzier than ever and I decided switching on my international data plan and using Google maps completely ignoring a well known fact that I'm directionally challenged and that reading maps has never been my forte. Yet, hoping that today I might behave differently, I took my chances and gave it a shot. I started walking in the direction that I thought was correct and from one 'rue de something something' to another  'rue de something something' ,I got so 'rued' up that I was pretty close to having a nervous breakdown. It didn't take me long to realize that I was going in circles around the terminus. At least one thing was deduced from all this seemingly futile activity - the GOD DAMN terminus was ovular!! I will never forget that! :D
 

Completely despaired with options running out, my eyes located a hotel nearby and I thought to myself there could be a fair possibility that the hotel staff might know English and to my delight I was right!!! It worked!! The receptionist was kind enough to not only direct me to where I wanted to reach but also to tell me that the distance might be a little too much by foot and that it would be wiser to take a bus which would drop me a few steps my destination. She also told me that the 'rue de something something' meant roads/avenue/blvd/streets or whatever you call them in US. What a solid piece information that was!!!

I followed her advice and got to the bus stop .The display showed 18 mins to my bus's arrival. I checked the route on the board and put my back pack on the ground .It was getting a little too much now .My jet lag had started to kick in and the load on my shoulders wasn't of much help. I decided to give myself some rest and landed my butt on the tiny blue seat behind me. A few minutes later, a young black woman came by and I was tempted to cross check with her about my route. By now I had become adept in asking questions with incomplete, unstructured statements.

"Bon Jour ! Aaaa bus 59 ..aaa Rue de morillions (spoken in the manner the receptionist taught me) ....aaaaa Arty hostel " 

And to that she nodded. I felt at ease and went back to my spot. Soon after , an old woman came by and I felt obligated to get up and offer my seat .She gestured me not but I did any way .2 mins to the bus's arrival and I thought it would be a good idea to load up and get ready. I stepped forward for my bag and swung it by one of its arms and as soon as I did that ,I felt a tender touch helping me put the second arm around .I turned back to see who it was and found the old lady ,who was half struggling to keep herself balanced, there. It just melted me .Such an act of kindness! A few moments back I was overwhelmed with the idea of being in this unknown land and the very next I was being so warmly welcomed by a complete stranger. My spirits restored. I thanked her "Merci !", and boarded the bus. 10 mins later, I saw a familiar image, the one I had seen on Google Earth while making hostel reservations in October. The building looked familiar .The flags of different nationalities hanging outside the building also looked familiar. I pressed the stop button and stepped out of the bus. I knew I was at Arty, my destination .I knew I had touched down ...