Log from France #1

So, more details about my trip. The flight was rather long. About 2 hours into it I changed my watch to France time in hopes that it would help me to overcome jetlag faster. But then they insisted on feeding us supper at 2:00 in the morning, so I don't think my scheme worked too well. And, of course, I can't sleep worth beans on an airplane. I might have gotten half an hour. I spent most of the six or seven hours (I lost count) either trying to find a comfortable position or listening to the tower-to-plane communications. That is the coolest thing ever, and United Airlines is the only airline that lets you listen in.
As I sat in Chicago, waiting for my flight, I came across three young adults who are going to somewhere NW of here to study French. One of them even knows a little French, and I found out by listening to them that they were planning to take the same train that I was, just in a different direction. So I introduced myself to them and basically set up a mooching relationship so I wouldn't have to blunder around by myself in the Paris airport.
On the plane I sat next to a French guy who didn't speak much. I had high hopes, but he slept most of the time.
Once we got to the airport we stood in a fairly long line to get our VISAs stamped. While standing in line, I started chatting with the three young adults behind me (the three previously mentioned were right in front of me) I found out that they all came from the cities, and they are going to be working with a couple I met in the cities just last week. Not sure if I should go into any more detail on that, so I won't. But it was kind of cool to chat with them.
The officials pretty much stared at our passports for three seconds and then stamped them. And that was it. No customs lists, no nothing. I hope we didn't miss something, but I don't think anybody from my flight went through any kind of traditional customs check. Our luggage was kind of slow, so maybe they were checking it before they sent it to the baggage claim. Who knows.
After getting our bags, we blundered our way to the RER station. Actually, my first three friends changed their plans at the last minute and left me, without a translator. Fortunately the signs weren't too hard to follow, and even though I didn't end up where I thought I would at first, I ended up where I needed to be at the end, along with my three other friends. And then, once we had been standing around for 15 minutes trying to figure out the next step, my first three friends came blundering through, announcing that they had made a wrong turn and should have gone with me in the first place. That was the last I ever saw of them. I hope they got where they were going.
There was a half-hour long line for train tickets. There were also lots of instant ticket machines that had no lines at all- but they were machines. And even when you selected the English menu they made very little sense. I fiddled with one until I thought perhaps I had figured it out, but the wording wasn't quite what I expected and I didn't want to risk being wrong. So I joined the fossilizing line. There I met a poor fellow from Canada who had flown in for his son's wedding and nobody was coming to pick him up because they were all too busy. So he came to me hoping I knew more than he did. I guess I did, but barely. So we went through the line together and ended up on the same train. I was just on it a lot longer.
So far so good. The only bad part had been dragging my 130 lbs of bags down an escalator-length staircase descending from the ticket area to the train boarding station. I finally got off the train, and even in the right place. And that's when it got hard. I had somewhat foolishly been playing with my bags on the train, trying to make more room even though very few people were riding. As a result, my shoulders were already getting sore. When I got off the train, the first thing I had had to do was lug my suitcases up two flights of stairs. Then I had to drag them back down on the other side of the tracks. Then I had to pull my bags a couple hundred yards to the buses. When I got there, none of them had the right number. I followed a girl who looked like she knew where she was going and ended up on an uneven sidewalk leading to a couple more stairs, which had an info booth at the top. After surveying the buses in this new parking lot, and deciding that the one I wanted was among the crowd, I approached the man at the window and had a delightfully misleading conversation in half French and half English. So I dragged my bags over to the bus, expecting to pay at the bus. Not so. Tickets only. So I looked around and saw a sign for "billets" featuring an arrow pointed up the longest set of stairs I had seen all day. So I climbed and reached the summit sweaty and out of breath. Fortunately it was drizzling, so maybe people thought I had stepped under a rain gutter. As I stood in line I memorized and rehearsed what I was going to say, and when my turn came I approached the counter with confidence and belted out my version of French. The blank stare on the ticket lady's face was not encouraging. I tried again, with my last words trailing off into a mumble. We both kind of shrugged. She said, "I speak French." I said, "Je parle... uh, yeah." Then I had the bright idea of showing her the bus number that I had printed off. So I shoved all my random pages of maps and notes through her tiny little window, along with a 2 euro coin. She managed to glean what she needed from between the English words, gave me my change and a ticket, and I was on my way with a hearty "Merci."
I wedged my bags onto the bus, only after a couple of minutes realizing that I was taking up a seat made for the elderly or disabled. I followed along the map on the wall as we reached each stop. As we got close to mine, I corralled my bags around a pole by the door and got ready to get off. And then we didn't stop at my stop. I leaned closer to the door, so as to press the point, and I was able to get off at the next stop after I was supposed to get off. I checked my map and it didn't have any of the street names I was seeing. It only had the major streets. So I meandered my way backwards along the bus route, not really caring what mud puddles my bags went through, and found the school without too much trouble. That wasn't the end of the adventures, but I'm going to call it good for now. Au Revior!