Paris: A lesson in humility

I don't even know where to begin with this one. When we left CDG (which wasn't as terrible as I expected from reading reviews), we had really no problems getting to the train station that was supposed to take us into Paris from the airport. The biggest issue was our semi-large suitcases (only one each, though!), which made it a tad difficult to get through the very narrow turnstiles. Still, in no time, we were on the train and headed to Gare du Nord, which was our first stop on the 17-step process of getting to our hotel (okay, like 4, but it was rough).

That itty bitty train started to get way crowded, and soon my mom's suitcase was pushed up right up against a woman across from her. It only proceeded to get more crowded, and of course, everyone wanted to get off at Gare du Nord. There was no way my mom was going to get out, especially with that suitcase. Out of nowhere, the aforementioned squished-by-the-suitcase woman had convinced another random girl (whom she did not actually know) to grab my mom's suitcase and carry it off the train for her. We were super grateful. But she didn't stop there.

She asked us (in English, PTL!) where we were going. We pulled out our lengthy, convoluted directions. She took one look at those, shook her head, and said, "Oh no. With these big bags? Too complicated. Follow me, it's better for you." Then she grabbed my mom's suitcase, once again, and we followed her.

We followed her for the next hour or so, down hallways, through (and, occasionally, over) turnstiles, and up many, many stairs. Every time we got to a big staircase, she'd grab someone to help us grab them. I seriously have never encountered that many helpful strangers. I think my suitcase was carried by at least 4 other people. As they heaved it up those stairs, I kept wanting to apologize for its weight, and to explain myself. No, I didn't overpack for a little vacation...that was my whole life for the next year! But I didn't speak the language, so I just blushed and accepted their assistance.

Something that is important to mention is that this woman had to go pick up her kids at 4:30. This was all happening around 3:30, and by assisting us, she was not only going out of her way but was also using a good amount of time -- something she couldn't really afford to waste on us clueless Americans.

Ultimately, she got us to a bus stop, told the driver to tell us which stop to get off at, turned and left. She wouldn't take anything we offered her to thank her for her help, except for verbal appreciation. She simply told us that she was happy to help, and then said goodbye. We didn't even get her name.

I'll just call her a blessing. Our own Parisian angel.

We got off the bus when we were told, but then weren't quite sure where our hotel was from there. We found a McDonald's with free wifi (which, incidentally, they call "weefee") and looked it up. Once we thought (key word) we'd figured it out, we pressed onward, dragging out suitcases behind us.

After stopping and asking for help another two times, we finally arrived. Sweaty (sweaty, sweaty), bleeding (my mom ripped up her hand) and sucking air, we checked in. I'm sure the clerk was more than just a little alarmed at the sight of us, but she smiled sweetly and gave us our key. We climbed one at a time into the smallest elevator ever, had a ton of trouble with the lock, and finally made it inside our room to collapse on our bed before venturing out to find food...since I hadn't eaten since the dinner the day before. The whole thing took approximately 4 hours. It should have taken 2, max. But we made it. Finally.

Hello, little room. We are so, so happy to see you.

The moral of the story is this: French people don't hate Americans as much as you hear. Not any that we encountered anyway.

And God is faithful to get us where we need to be. But just a heads up that it could involve complete helplessness, His provision, and a big lesson in humility to get there.