Kimberly Wirtz It’s been a while since I’ve posted a blog entry and for that, I apologize. If you’ve forgotten who I am, feel free to refresh your memory.
My day job and family commitments kept me so preoccupied that I didn’t have the creative energy to sit and write. Lucky you…I do now!
Why?
Because I’m traveling on the TGV train from Paris to Monte Carlo and I need to kill six hours. I’m on an epic girls’ trip with a midlifer with whom I’ve been friends since the age of 10. For those keeping track, that’s 44 years.
Over the next few weeks, I’ll post several blog entries that develop from this trip. There’s so much to tell! By the time I write them, I will be back at home recovering from jet lag and…very likely…injuries.
I’m not manifesting injuries, mind you, but I have realistic expectations about my travel karma. With that, I give you The French Connection: Chapter 1.
Girls’ Trip!
After our last vacation, my husband told me he was done traveling for bit, but I have a travel habit that needs enabling. I proposed the idea of a girls’ trip and asked, “Where do you not want to go that my friends and I would?”
Paris.
“Paris is always a good idea.”
Audrey Hepburn
And so an idea was hatched to go with my lifelong besties to France. One of them, Shawna, was able to fit the trip into her schedule. Yay!
I planned the trip for months. Most nights, after work, I would scour the internet to assemble a trip full of historical tours, shopping, iconic French food, and skip-the-line access to national monuments.
Fortunately, Shawna hates to plan details and I love it. Yin and yang.
Shawna’s husband was just as supportive of the idea of a girls’ trip to France as mine was. “This may be the only time you go, so do everything.”
The only time?? I mean, I know we’re 54, but surely, there is time and opportunity to go again someday. Maybe five or 10 years from now the girls will want to go to France again. Maybe we’ll make this an annual tradition. He doesn’t know! (Our budgets won’t allow an annual balls-to-the-wall trip to Paris. So, maybe he knows a little bit more than I give him credit for.)
Fast forward to today.
Too Old to Travel?
Shawna and I are currently on our French vacay and I must confess, after climbing the millionth staircase in Paris, I did hear myself say, “I’m getting too old for this sh*t.”
Too old to travel? No. Too old to explore? Absolutely not. What is it I’m “beyond” at this stage in my life?
Discomfort.
Paris is known as the “City of Lights.” Isn’t that romantic? Yeah, well it’s time to update that moniker and get real. Let’s be honest. In truth, Paris is the “City of Stairs.”
So. Many. Stairs.
As you go through the tunnels of the Paris Metro, you navigate more stairs than I can count. It’s mind-boggling. There are more than 100 stairs in a dizzying spiral staircase leading down into the catacombs and back up. The Arc de Triomphe has about a billion stairs to get to the roof. (Yes, I’m exaggerating. It couldn’t have been more than 900 million.) Our small hotel even had stairs to get to the elevator. THE ELEVATOR – you know…that thing for people who can’t take the stairs.
Younger/healthier people don’t notice. They skippety-skip right up those things while moms with strollers, those with mobility issues, and me look at them with contempt.
It’s not that I’m too overweight to go up and down a lot of stairs. I hated stairs when I was 20 years old and a size 2. I was the girl on college hiking trips who said, “I’ll hold the dog’s leash!” The dog had energy to burn and more than once provided propulsion up a trail.
I’m not too proud to admit it. Good dog.
But I don’t have a dog with me on this vacation and my quads are pissed that I haven’t spent enough time in the presence of a Stairmaster for a long while.
Before you say, “Well, just get in shape” I’ll add another wrinkle to this review of the myriad of staircases of Paris.
Looking at You, Dr. Scholl
We have walked miles upon miles around the city, seeing and doing everything we could possibly cram into four days. In anticipation of all the walking, I purchased Dr. Scholl’s highly-rated walking shoes. I wanted to do this right.
Why didn’t I think my trusty Nike trainers could do the trick? Because the “What to Wear in Paris” blogs all mentioned wearing solid white sneakers. My Nikes are black.
But I digress.
I now have six blisters — four on one foot alone — thanks to the good doctor. I had to follow up my investment in his shoes with an investment in his blister pads. (A much better investment, by the way.)
Quite a marketing racket you got there, Dr. Scholl.
Adding to the fun is my tailbone, which I broke on day two of this trip.
That’s right – a broken tail bone. (But more about that in another post.)
I’m limping up and down stairs, wincing as I sit and stand, all while grinning and bearing it because, damnit, I’m having a good time. All those stairs lead to some really cool stuff and, by God, I am not going to miss out and I’m not going to make Shawna regret her life choices.
Pharmaceutical Diplomacy
The icing on this French confection is that I am also now sick. I don’t just mean I’m sick of stairs, which I am. I’m “sick” sick with a raging head cold.
I found a “pharmacie” and Googled what cold medications are available in France.
As I stepped forward in line, I showed the pharmacist(?) the picture of French-labeled Actifed on my phone, drew a circle around my nose area with my finger, made a face and said, “Ick.”
It was a beautiful moment in French-American relations – immediate understanding. A seamless transaction. I should be a diplomat.
Afterwards, I realized I forgot to show her a picture of the French version of Aspercreme (if there is one), which I have looked for over the past three days to use on my tailbone. Those 4×6 lidocaine patches I brought for my back will bunch up in my butt crack if I try to get any relief with those.
And so, as I shift in my seat and bite my lip to keep from screeching about the sharp pain in my ass for the next [looks at phone] five hours, I can honestly tell you that every second of it so far has been worth it. And I vow to myself I will still feel this way on the flight home.
The “Kim Kit”
If you are anything like me, or will be traveling soon with someone like me, follow my advice and pack the following for what I like to call the “Kim Kit.” This is much more practical advice than buying expensive white blister shoes for Paris.
- Ibuprofen
- Aspercreme (it’s unscented so you won’t smell like your grandparents)
- Waterproof Band-aids
- Blister kit(s)
- Anti-chafing cream
- 24-hour non-drowsy allergy medication
- Non-drowsy cold medication
- Portable heating pad that charges via USB
- Reusable ice pack
- Travel-size Kleenex
- Chapstick
- Benadryl (for those pesky allergic reactions)
- Peptobismol (foreign food — ’nuff said)
- Melatonin (For those of you who live in weed-friendly states, don’t take cannabis edibles to help you sleep. Pot is still illegal in France and can result in a fine from 200 euro for possessing it to thousands of euros and a one-year jail sentence for using it.)
- Sense of humor
That last one is not optional. A lot can go wrong on a trip that could ruin it all but don’t let it. Keeping a sense of humor is critical.
No one wants to hear you whine. They already have to listen to you chew.
-Kim
P.S. – Add an inflatable butt pillow to that list.
