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Published: August 8th 2007
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Escargots
C'est si bon! Meli: A Much Needed Rest in Cairo At Cairo, I was picked up by Khaled after only five minutes of waiting, and back to Maadi it was. Apparently, there was a kamsin, a sandstorm, because Cairo looked completely different with no bright sun. There was light, but its source was not apparent, as though clouds had moved in but instead it was sand. There had been a car on fire on the highway to the airport, and when I passed, there was nothing but a burnt out shell. There had also been a fire at a market in Maadi close to where Khaled lives, and he said the flames reached eight stories. All I saw were drowned thatched roofs. It seems a lot had happened in Cairo while I was gone, but I forgot about this quickly as Khaled and I conversed about George Bush and the war in Iraq. It’s a touchy subject to talk about in a “Middle Eastern” country, much more so when you don’t speak the same language. Khaled’s English is rudimentary, but I got the point (he does not agree with the war). I stayed away from more complicated topics and simply tried to make one
Escargots
Maman served up a great first dinner. point - the American people should not be judged by one man just as all Muslims should not be judged by the violent few. And I left it at that.
Back in Maadi, I was super happy to see Tita Marie again, and she told me stories of Leroy’s last few days. She fed me a lovely pasta that they had saved for me from the night before. I took a much needed nap and showered. And I admit to being quite cheesy - I looked in the bedroom and saw not a vestige of Leroy’s presence. Knowing that was where I had last seen him, it definitely made me miss him more. No worries, just another 20 or so hours, and we’d be in each other’s company again. Tito Armando came home and we had a fantastic dinner of beef filet (marinated in red wine) with dijonnaise potatoes and green beans. Then, we watched “The Hills Have Eyes” and I freaked Tito Armando out with every scream and startle. I can’t help it - no matter how much I anticipate the scary moment, I will still jump and shout. That’s why Leroy likes hiding behind corners and inside
closets.
At 8:30pm, we all piled into the car and Tito Armando drove us to the airport. He warned me to put my fleece on because my tank top might get me in trouble. Of course, I put it on, even though it was over 30 degrees outside. The airport was empty, which made it a bit eerie, but free wireless meant I could IM my brother Linus in order to while away the time. All I could think was, “just two more flights and I’ll be in Paris with everyone.” Granted, this journey was everything you don’t want. MCO - JFK - CAI - MAD - CDG. Four segments totaling about 20 hours of flying time with over 20 hours of layover time. Forty hours of traveling that was made so much better by a nap and a shower in Cairo. But I was still anticipating a 3am arrival in Madrid and a 6-hour layover in an empty airport before my flight to Paris. So close. I’m almost there.
Leroy: Muy Bien Iberia…giving credit where it’s due I would like to take a moment to pay tribute to the pilots of Iberia Airlines. Never in my life
have I had such a soft touchdown on the tarmac. Even better, they did the impossible and then did it not twice, but thrice. In Barcelona, Madrid, and Paris, three flawless landings. My praise for the airline stops there.
Introduction to My Paris: Flashback to 1999 Arriving at Roissy Charles de Gaulle airport is exciting every time I come to Paris. I doubt it will ever lose its mystique. This is my 6th time in the City of Lights, the City of Love, my favorite city on God’s green earth. My first time in the city that Pépé le Pew and I love so dearly was during the autumn semester of my junior year at Stanford. The original family that I was supposed to stay with canceled 10 days before my arrival. The Stanford in Paris program scrambled and at the very last minute they found me a family. Heaven sent, because the new host family, The Marcuéÿz family, turned out to be the best thing to happen to my semester abroad. Eight years later, I am still very close to the mother (Béatrice, whom I call Maman just as her kids affectionately do because she was very much a mother to me during my stay), and her three kids (Hubert, Domitille, and Quitterie). We are all close in age, which meant that in 1999, I had a cool set of French siblings to hang out with, deluge with my questions about Paris and places to go, and ask for help with my homework. And to top it off, the father was a doctor. Clearly, the pairing was meant to be and whenever I’m in Paris, Maman does her best to make sure “my room” is available.
J’arrive. Paris (again) at last Je t’aime Paris! The real thing is always better than in my dreams, and much better than I remember. My preferred route to enter the city from the airport is the regional train, the RER. However, this time I change it up and take the Roissy Bus, which stops in the city center at L’Opera. Afraid that I’m going to miss something, I walk instead of taking the Metro. It’s a leisurely 20 minute stroll with my luggage on Boulevard Haussman and Boulevard Malesherbes. I still remember the door code and I let myself in. Maman lives on the top floor (the 5th) in a large duplex, and the elevator that only fits three carries me up.
Maman and Lotus, their black Labrador, greet me at the door. Lotus is not as hyper as she was in 1999 when she was just a baby, but she is still full of energy. Maman asks me what I want to do: eat, sleep, shower? I drop my things off in my room, shower, and meet her at the table. She breaks out some smoked salmon, crème fraiche, and a baguette. The simplicity of it all, influenced (of course) by the Parisian ambiance and the great company at the table, makes it a killer lunch. Maman has been reading the blog, so there is not much to update her on about the trip, but we still somehow manage to sit there for over an hour. She works from home and I am quite aware that I’m distracting her; therefore, I arrest my selfish desire to hog her attention for hours and let her get back to work. But I don’t leave. I sit on the couch a few feet away from her desk and play Risk, chatting with her from time to time. Maman loves to host students and currently has a Brasilian guy (Felipe), an American girl (Valerie), and a half French/half Japanese girl (Karine) staying there now. Domitille is an engineer working in Canada near Vancouver and Hubert and Quitterie live elsewhere in Paris. The duplex has six bedrooms (three downstairs and three upstairs where my room is), an office, three full bathrooms, a W.C., a half bathroom with a shower, a grand parlor, a small kitchen, and a dining room with an adjustable table that can fit up to ten.
The only time that I leave the house today is to get baguettes for dinner. On the Rue de Levis, I go to the boulanger with my favorite baguette, pan de tradition. Dinner tonight is escargots, the first of many savory French meals to come.
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Alea
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Aww, that's great that you still keep up with your host family-- and they're reading the blog!!! I'm really far behind on the blogs (just got back from 10 year) so I'm not commenting much ...but I AM reading. :)