OMG I am in Paris
I have just woken up and automatically reach for my phone. I search in the dark, something falls to the ground and fills the room with its annoyance at being disturbed. No phone. My brain catches up, this isn’t your bedroom, you are in Paris, it reminds me with a sigh, I told you last night.
OMG I am in Paris, yes I remember looking up and seeing wrought iron balconies bursting with flowers as I left the Metro.
I remember, get out of bed and stumble around the room, banging my legs, tripping, arms outstretched. I do not know this space so slow down and feel for the walls. I now know where my phone is, I remember telling my husband to plug it in, to recharge. It is by the coffee machine, I watched him do it before I fell back to a jet-lagged sleep on a turquoise bedspread. My stomach full of red wine, pasta, truffle, pizza, meringue cheese, cream, sponge, cocktails, I had been greedy, I am in Paris and could not decide on just one thing.
Wow, I really am in Paris, yes I remember walking the streets looking for 74 Rue Bonaparte, being washed with the pale stoned buildings.
I find my phone, like a blind woman and turn it on, it big neon eye makes my human ones water and I fumble with the brightness bar, sliding it to dim. I can now focus on the clock, the digital numbers tell me its midday, my stomach is agreeing and asking for more food, but its dark. I am confused and blinking in the dark and now suddenly aware that I am very cold. I struggle with the settings, the international clock reveals the truth, it is very early in the morning in France.
How could I have forgot the cafes full of coffee, wine and chat, that I passed at every corner.
My phone and I have come back to bed, my husband stirs, I mustn’t wake him, but I can not sleep. My internal clock is wildly spinning, trying to find the right setting and my brain keeps telling me, Your in Paris, Whoo Hoo you’re in Paris. I can’t quite grasp it, I was hanging washing out on the other side of the world less than 36 hours ago. I am so hungry and cannot ignore it, so get out of bed again and search like a fox through the kitchen for anything edible.
I now clearly remember the wonder of leaving the brown leaves of autumn and arriving to the bursting green of spring.
My phone is charged and I start to write, on a diet of cheese, sour cream chips, chocolate and very good red wine. My husband had obviously planned something special for us, but he has been in Europe for a week and so can stay awake in the day and sleep when he should, we missed each other last night. He would have wanted to be romantic and reminisce about a night like this a thousand years ago, when firmer versions of ourselves stood at the top of the Eifel Tower and looked out at 1000 years of history. I shake my head and smile in the gloom.
I am in Paris the City of Love, how could I not know!
The chips have combined with the chocolate and have stuck to the roof of my mouth so I swoosh around some more of the beautiful French red wine. I read by the dim light of my phone that I should be tasting the round fruity notes of plum. The chocolate has melted on my fingers and I lick them clean like a cat, not wanting to get out of my duvet nest again. I hope I have not marked the beautiful turquoise bedspread.
I had pushed on a massive 15th-century door, with the fairytale brass door knockers, that opened onto a cobbled internal hall and walked up steep spiral oak stairs to get to this room.
I know there is no point in trying to sleep, so I write, as I often do in the dark, snuggly in bed. I look at the notification that interrupts my thoughts. It tells me some pictures are ready to view. I scroll through them and remember looking out of the plan window, thinking that I could see the curve of my world. I look at the first six grainy black and white photos I had hastily taken as I searched for my accommodation. I look down at the screen and re-read my words.
I have just woken up and automatically reach…………….