Surviving family: Two sisters, one bed, and a 37-page itinerary

It had long been my dream to go to Paris, as an artist I have always felt the pull, but I normally don’t travel out of a 90 mile radius of NJ. My sister Debbie on the other hand, travels to Europe for business on a monthly basis for work.

When Debbie asked me if I wanted to go to Paris for a long weekend before she had to report to work I jumped on it. But a lingering voice in my head was trying to warn me: remember, Debbie is an A type personality. No, let me correct that, she’s an AAA type personality.

I knew I was in trouble when she sent me a 37 page itinerary, with bullet points. My own personality is further down the alphabet, more like a Z personality. I still have “To Do” lists on my kitchen table from 2004 that I haven’t gotten around to. Yes, this was going to be interesting.

I started to resent her even before the plane took off as she breezed through to business class, a comfy chair and a glass of Champagne. I was stuck so far back in coach, I was practically in cargo. I could hear the puppies crying. The teenager next to me smelled like he hadn’t showered in a few days. Smell or no smell I was intent on getting a little sleep as soon as the plane took off. But the plane refused to take off. For 3 hours we sat on the runway, my teenage friend having fallen asleep with his head on my shoulder. Turns out that being in the air didn’t help either. By the time we emerged in Paris 10 hours later I was bleary eyed and I think I had chicken feathers in my hair. My sister, however, was refreshed and sparkly and ready to hit to begin on her 37-page itinerary.

I was instructed by Debbie not to do anything but throw down my bags and get moving, it was day one, Thursday, and we were meeting Gary for a walk. (I’m from Gary’s hometown.) Where was my coffee? my croissant? my toothbrush? Coming, Deb.

Gary gave us a fabulous tour and will forgive me, I hope, for remembering only one thing: that he knows his stuff and that the heart of Paris is beautiful. That’s two things actually, but I’ll forever associate the two.

Five hours later we were back at the hotel and my sister informed me that I could take a shower and could sit down on the bed to put on my socks and shoes but could not lie down because we had a dinner planned with a friend she’d met the last time she was in Paris. I looked forlornly at the bed and off we went. We walked for 40 minutes to meet him, had a drink in bar, and then he led us 40 minutes back to a restaurant by the hotel. At least it wasn’t going to be a long walk home. Meal: fabulous.

Hotel room: tiny, with a double bed. Bonding with sister in Paris indeed! Unfortunately, it’s hard to bond at night with a sister who snores. She slept like a champ. I was going for the world record of sleeplessness.

Friday officially started up at 8am. I looked like I had through interrogation, but Debbie was ready to attack her itinerary with full A-type force. Day 2 started with coffee and croissant for me, cigarettes for her. We head for Montmartre, first to buy fabrics then to Sacré Coeur (by the stairs of course) then along the top of the hill. Debbie had a bullet point to look for old windmills, which I’d previously associated with Holland, but we never found them, though we did see the red mill above the entrance to the Moulin Rouge. It was then that I realized that my sister doesn’t eat or drink anything. I snuck a pastry into my mouth while she was checking page six of her list.

Mid-afternoon we returned to the room long enough to wrap rags around my bleeding feet then went out again to meet with Gary, who promised us a late afternoon and evening of explorations relative to food and drink. At the food market I spent a lot of time leaning against food cases, both out of awe and to keep myself from falling over with hunger. But eventually we got down to business: wine, cheese, more wine, dinner, more wine. Well worth the wait. My sister didn’t want her dessert (what is she not human??) but at least she ordered one. I told her I would stab her if she didn’t let me have a bite—it was a soufflé, which went perfectly with my dark chocolate delight—and she politely handed it over to me.

When we got back to the room I was sure sleep would come to me, but no, I was so exhausted and I kept imagining monkeys running around the bed. Debbie, meanwhile, must have been imagining sleep and fluffy white clouds.

Saturday was greeted by me seeing myself in the mirror, as I would appear at 75 years old. My eyebags had bags, my hair was a big frizzy mop, and why were my lips so swollen? Oh right, dehydration… but I threw on my scarf (that’s one way to feel Parisian), stuffed my feet in my so-called walking shoes, and listened to Debbie inform me “We have a full day, yes a very full day.” I wanted to cry.

First stop, Versailles. What splendor, I just wanted to lay down on one of those gilt laden tapestry beds. After 4 hours of walking its marble halls, it was time to go to the Orsay Museum. Was she kidding me? Ok I sucked it up, drank two bottles of water, shoved a cheese sandwich down my throat, and, once inside the Orsay, realized that I was now in my element. This is what I came to Paris for… ok, that and the dark chocolate. Still, I kept thinking: if I could just lie down under the marble statues and sleep for a few minutes.

I was abruptly taken out of my stupor with Debbie’s announcement that we had 7pm tickets to the Eiffel Tower. What was in those cigarettes she was smoking? Off we went. I was delighted that she wasn’t going to make me walk to the top… or was she? … no, no we took an elevator. Spectacular views, great pictures. When we realized that the elevator going down was going to take a while, Debbie’ suggested “Hey lets walk down a bit.” Why not, my feet were already numb? After 10 flights, I keep thinking “If I could only catch up with her I might be able to fling her to the bottom,” but I remembered I loved her and that her husband and children never forgive me. We finally got the next elevator, and off we went to a little café for some wine and omelets, which, if you haven’t tried that, makes for a great dinner combination.

That night I did sleep for 20 minutes, enough to have visions of dolphins dancing in my head, don’t ask me why.

Sunday, our last day. We had agreed to a little picnic in the Tuileries Garden near the Louvre. I liked that plan because I knew it would involve sitting for awhile. But first off to Rue Cler for bread, cheese, wine and fruit. Wonderful sights and smells. Then to a flea market, where I bought a silver bracelet and she some postcards, then off to another flea market, where she found a sleek little blazer and I a huge, heavy, bulky old coat that would keep me warm in case Debbie ever took me to Russia some winter. And it was only 5 euros for both!!! We were thrilled with our purchases. Then it then dawned on me that I would have to lug this big heavy coat all over Paris, in September. If only I could rip it into strips and tie it around my swollen feet.

Next was the picnic, but for me it was the best time, just to sit, and eat, and talk. Even though it was raining and cold, it was the highlight. After the picnic we were off to the Louvre. We went from one end to the other. My favorite paintings were created by artists I’d never heard of and the bonus was that you could take pictures of them. We wandered around for awhile and ended up at Napoleon III rooms that rivaled Versailles for glitz.

Now you don’t think we were done yet? Nooo, off to window shop for souvenirs, and then one last push, a boat ride on the River Seine. Did this require extensive walking? You bet it did: we walked from the Louvre down to the very last pier. I was starting to lose it when we finally reached it and were told we were at the wrong pier and that our boat was on the other side of the bridge, all the way down. I told Debbie, I would swim across and meet her on the other side. She smiled and told me to ”suck it up.” I would have thrown my shoe at her… if I could have peeled one off my foot.

The boat ride was lovely, I got to sit and see the lights and sights on the Seine. It was a nice way to end the trip.

At dinner, we talked about our trip and she said we hit most of the itinerary, all 37 pages, which didn’t surprise me at all.

Next morning she left before I did to get to Luxemburg for work. I would be on my own for a couple of hours before I left. She had told me how to get to a certain bakery so that I could pick up some bread to bring home, but after circling the same pile of dog poop three times I realized I was lost and gave up.

It was at that moment that I realized what a gift my sister had given me. She had made the trip seem so effortless and easy. She had planned everything, made all the arrangements, all I had to do was show up. She had been to Paris before and been to all the sights, she didn’t have to do that for me, but she did. It’s why I love her and why I won’t forget my trip to Paris. I will come again, to sit and breathe in the city, and I hope she comes with me.

Thank you, Debbie

I didn’t get to bring back my French bread but I did grab an egg salad sandwich to bring with me on my 8 hour flight to enjoy at home. Trust me, not a good idea.

– Wendy Most, September 2010