It’s a truly beautiful day in Paris.  Probably about 50 degrees, partly cloudy.  I am lying on a futon on the floor of Tristan’s apartment, and I am dead beat tired.  I have been awake for 24 consecutive hours.  I have navigated the Parisian RER and bus systems.  And I have been harassed by a drunk Frenchman.

There are these things that happen to me that I can’t explain, that I don’t understand, but that are beautiful and wondrous in their mystery.  Like leaving Detroit at 9 in the evening and somehow appearing, seven hours later, in France.  Breezing through security screenings and customs.  And then getting hopelessly lost trying to find this apartment.

Tristan is an awesome guy I found via couchsurfing.com.  When we first learned we were going to Paris I started canvassing and Tristan was my first positive response.  The ten minutes we’ve talked, he’s been awesome.  He had to run out to grab a friend a birthday gift, but I think that this was a great idea.  It took us a while to get from Gare du Nord here, because I’m hopeless with directions in a city I’ve never really been to before.  Though I explained to a cranky Stephanie that now I’m going to really “get” Paris.  You have to get lost to really get to know a city.  Granted, we could have gotten lost another time, like not immediately after a seven-hour flight that followed a full workday.

I gotta wash up, take a nap, and figure out plans for the evening.

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